Pravda on the Potomac gives a sloppy wet kiss to drunken, sexist bigot Jon Favreau
The job requires him to work unnoticed, even in plain view, so Jon Favreau settles into a wooden chair at a busy Starbucks in the center of Penn Quarter. Deadline looms, and he needs to write at least half a page by the end of the day. As the espresso machines whir, Favreau opens his laptop, calls up a document titled "rough draft of inaugural" and goes to work on the most anticipated speech of Barack Obama's life.
Double shot with that, sir? Cinnamon?
[Reach me another slice of that honeymoon cake, wouldja, hon?]