Politics, I guess

In an attempt to escape from the horrors of my beloved country's alleged foreign policy, I've been rereading Rex Stout's Nero Wolfe books. Partway into The Red Box I realized that there really is no escape, but at least Archie Goodwin has delivered the last word on the use of torture. Here it is:

"They say it works sometimes, but even if it does, how could you depend on anything you got that way? Not to mention that after you had done it a few times any decent garbage can would be ashamed to have you found in it."

Further commentary cut-tagged, since it's really redundant.

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Oh, right --

Happy Solstice to all, and to all a good night. Or something.

It's bitter, bitter cold here, with just a bare touch of snow. Not very Minnesotan at all. Under the snow is a layer of nasty ice, which is fairly Minnesotan, if not very kindly. David is photographing a wedding today, and I'm working on my story, and my youngest brother and his wife are crossing the Minnesota/Wisconsin line on their way to my mother's place, right about now.

P.