In city after city after city, the story is the same: She rolls into town in her shiny blue car, hauls out her laptop and a camera, and spends a day or two taking the pulse of the place, charming the locals with her easy, breezy glamour. And then she is gone.
But who is this Bossy person? How much does she know? How does she manage to take group photos that include herself? What do the initials "WH" in her address book mean?
At Suburban Kamikaze, we were determined to get to the bottom of it, even if that meant pulling every single book Howard Hunt had ever checked out of the Library of Congress. Or plying her with mimosas and hard questions on a Sunday afternoon... Eventually, she spilled.
Bossy: Isn't it obvious?
SK: You can't expect me to believe that.
SK: Look, I am tired of your chicken shit games. I need to know what you know.Bossy: No kidding. What is up with all the kittens? Are you writing a pet blog now?
SK: I will ask the questions here. More champagne?
SK: What about Jack Kerouac?
Bossy: Not so much.
SK: Yeah. Me neither. Speaking of which, does your road trip include any stops in the "bleakness of the mortal realm" or the "holy voids of uncreated emptiness"?
Bossy: Those early GPS systems must have been very unreliable.
SK: How about the innumerable lotuslands falling open in the magic mothswarm of heaven?
Bossy: I will try to hit as many lotuslands as possible, but there are so many.
SK: We are going to get to the bottom of this you know. Otherwise the champagne just goes flat.
Bossy: I may as well spill.
SK: Everyone does eventually.
All the president's posts: Get out your notebook, there's more.