by Benjamin J. Kirby
Rick Santorum's sugar daddy, Mister Freeze, has been abducted by Martian bandits sky-high on peyote and forced at gunpoint to make this outrageous statement, live on MSNBC's air:
It's clearly a cry for help.
In the meantime, hey, how great is it that I get to use this graphic again?
Anyway, there you have it, America: the thoughts from the number one super-pac donor to the Republican front-runner for the presidential nomination, Rick Santorum.
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In the real world, the good economic news continues: weekly jobless claims fall to a four-year low.
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Nobody really talks about it much anymore, but I'd venture to say we're living in the Golden Age of Campaign Data, and this Slate article about the Obama campaign's database consolidation plan (kind of) backs me up:
This year, however, as part of a project code-named Narwhal, Obama’s team is working to link once completely separate repositories of information so that every fact gathered about a voter is available to every arm of the campaign. Such information-sharing would allow the person who crafts a provocative email about contraception to send it only to women with whom canvassers have personally discussed reproductive views or whom data-mining targeters have pinpointed as likely to be friendly to Obama’s views on the issue.
Brilliant.
It's the kind of stuff that older campaign dorks like me daydream about.
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Duncan has been gone most of this week, and she's back tomorrow night. I can't wait to have her home, safe with me, where she belongs.
It's almost Friday.
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