while you were stepping on that used condom...

Oh, wait. I mean, while I was stepping on that used condom (is it just me who sees soggy prophylactics strewn about DC on a semi-regular basis?), Marion Barry was enjoying a night in New York City watching himself on the big screen.

And you, my non-used-rubber-attracting e-friends, can watch him tonight, apparently, on HBO. That's right! His life of shambles has been turned into a documentary!

"After a youth of extreme poverty (which included picking cotton) in Itta Bena, Miss. — “dirt, dirt, dirt poor” he says in the documentary -- Mr. Barry became an Eagle Scout and earned a master’s degree in chemistry at Fisk University in Nashville. But his head was turned by the civil rights movement after he got involved in the Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee and he quit a doctoral program in chemistry at the University of Tennessee. In 1965 he moved to Washington and commenced an enduring affair with a city that was then a ward of the federal government."

Wow. So before a bitch set him up, he was legit. But then, of course, he became the Marion Barry that we all know today. My favorite part was the slogan he used in his 1994 bid to get re-elected to the City Council: "He may not be perfect, but he’s perfect for D.C."

Now, not often does the Anti DC get angry. We (meaning my helper horse Sven, our bean stash and I) usually tend to treat most things in life with a great deal of devil-may-care nonchalance. In fact, save for Putin's glorious moobs, there is nary a news item that elicits any sort of emotion from our collective cold, dark, heartless souls. But the fact that someone could actually run on a slogan like that, implying that a crack addict is "perfect for DC" and actually win, makes our beans boil.

"How is a CRACKHEAD the PERFECT representation of DC?" Sven will neigh as he stomps his hoof.

But then I point out the used condom that's gently attached to his horseshoe and he understands. This town is full of messy slobs with little respect for the city or themselves.

I am angry. Sven is angry. My bean stash is angry. This is a battle we cannot win. This city is lost. This city is dead to me.

Well, except for my best friend's barbecue grill. That is alive and well.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go take my first ice bath of the day. And then go disinfect Sven's shoe. Who knows what kind of syphilis he's tracking into the hobo lair...

Sigh.

If only people in DC would watch this informative Indian video about the proper usage and disposal of the "nirodh," we wouldn't have this problem.