Rebels without a Cause
Jonah Goldberg
Dear Reader (Including anyone else who needs to disclose that they’re Michael Cohen’s client),
When I lived in Prague as a younger man — by which I mean when I was literally younger, not when I creepily went there and just lived “as a younger man” like it was some playacting thing, because that would be weird. Sort of like the time I spent three days in a Baton Rouge motel pretending I was really Martin Van Buren IV, the world’s greatest competitive hot-dog eater, after being kicked off the circuit because I was a maverick who played by my own rules.
Where was I? Oh, right. When I lived in Prague, I took a lovely young Czech lady on a date to see The Silence of the Lambs (not a Warren Zevon or Dr. Demento lyric). She was considerably horrified — and even more confused — by this “American movie.” At one point, she peeked out from behind the hands covering her eyes (her hands, not mine), and asked in her stilted English syntax, “He thinks it is good to eat people, yes?”
“Yes,” I said. “He thinks it is good to eat people.”
“Oh,” she replied and put her hands back over her eyes.
I bring this up ...
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