The hit of convention week so far has been a satiric group calling itself Billionaires for Bush. The group dresses like Mr. Peanut, with hideous formal suits and sailing outfits, and in their best faux-hauteur droll screams slogans like "Four more wars!" and "No justice, no problem!" They appeared on 34th Street surrounded by beautiful women in ball gowns, and pretty soon had everyone screaming "Four more wars!"
Mr. Curtis is too kind. Mwah! He even excoriates that tiresome band of street urchins known as United For Peace and Justice. Mr. Curtis can spot a class act. Billionaires: young and scintillating, UPJ: middle aged, goofy, normal people who accessorize with toddlers. Whose side are you on, America?
Not that of self-hating near billionaires, I trust:
After the turn on 5th Avenue, I found a group of reporters bunched outside a Maui Tacos restaurant ("The Mexican food with Mauitude!"). Michael Moore was said to be inside having his lunch, and a bodyguard was posted to the door. (Michael Moore has a bodyguard?) About 10 minutes later, a spokesman (Michael Moore has a spokesman?) emerged to say that Moore would be taking leave of the restaurant. "But he's not stoppin' and he's not talkin'," the spokesman said, and sure enough, Moore plowed out a side door and raced behind a police barricade before turning and giving the crowd the peace sign.
I guess we should let Mr. Curtis in on a little Billionaire secret: The merely wealthy hire tacky and conspicuous private security, but Billionaires sashay unencumbered. Why? Because we own the police.