We didn't expect the despicable, Robert Novak, to be warm and, like, human. No, we like our Novak served cold. When Novak distorts his face, spittles up and wags his finger we half expect purple bolts of Sith lightning to strike the hapless, though we cannot fail to note, delicious Michelle Cottle (The Corsair sips a glass of Pernod). But no: Novak is more Dickensian --the three piece suits, the vapid insistence on a Capital gains tax cut -- than Lucasfilm. even this attack on Michael J. Fox went beyond his Luciferian limits. On Bloomberg's Political Capital, Novak rants:
"Michael J Fox admitted to (sometimes) not taking his medicine ... when (Fox) gets into the political arena, he's fare game."
Even the normally staid Margaret Carlson blanched, throwing an acid "shame on you" to Novak, who, at last sighting, was descending back into the bowels of Hell to do Satan's fetid handicraft.
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