This Week On A Very Special Real Time

When named in a lawsuit, it is generally thought that the defendant should keep his mouth shut. Except when the legal action is a waste of everybody's time, and the defendant has a very large microphone.

The fact that Bill Maher actually received a letter from Donald Trump's attorney, Scott S. Balber, attaching a birth certificate and a denouncement that Mr. Trump is not the spawn of an orangutan, is both troubling and hilarious.

You know in the coming days, Trump will be searching feverishly for some type of comeback that can level the playing field. But in his head, George Costanza is no doubt grumbling, "Jerk Store!"

The hour-long show was brilliant in a number of areas. There was the satellite interview with Julian Assange. Newsweek's Tina Brown explained the precipice of "culture change" in the Arab world, that the Taliban fear an educated woman far more than a drone strike.

But aside from the politically salient points and topics, there was satire at its height. Maher and his writers took the infamous Obama skeet-shooting photo to the next level.

Maher questioned to what lengths Obama would pander to endear himself to the nation's rednecks.

He could guest star on Hillbilly Handfishin'.

Or pimp out the presidential ride.

He could get tattoo renderings of his children - though you don't have to be a redneck to appreciate that one.

Or he could moonlight as everybody's favorite meth cook.

When I watched this sequence in my hotel room in Lexington a couple of nights ago, I was laughing out loud and nearly broke my hand slapping the desk.

I put the computer down and had to follow up down in the hotel lobby with the riff-raff after the Rascal Flatts concert let out. I didn't have DVR so I was operating off of memory. Either my delivery was bad or the Kentuckians didn't get the irony. But today I watched it again and it was brilliant - an all-time Real Time.

Songs You Can't Get Out Of Your Head

When you're driving the kids all over town, the repetition of bubblegum pop becomes almost as second nature as the incessant questions of an 8-year old.

As I'd mentioned before, the kids overruled me several months ago on Kids Place Live in favor of Radio Disney on the XM. It was a seismic shift. There's a reason these songs make millions of dollars and send tweens screeching, it's some formula that music-appreciating adults can't get their arms around.

Not that one couldn't occasionally become trapped. The Macarena was impossible to shake in the 90s, and I was whistling Who Let The Dogs Out? for months when the New York Mets made their run to the World Series in 2000.

But now it happens all the time. First it was Call Me Maybe. Then it was One Direction's boy band anthem, What Makes You Beautiful. Now I can't keep Taylor Swift out of my head for more than a few minutes.

"I knew you were trouble when you walked in"

But unfortunately there's a pattern with this brilliant 23-year old singer/songwriter. Her hit songs are all about breakups and resentment like I Knew You Were Trouble, We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together, and You Belong With Me (you know instead of her).

She's like the American Amy Winehouse, except with Winehouse it's "I told you I was trouble" (from You Know I'm No Good). With Swift it's "I knew you were trouble." Transference much? How very American. Bill Maher even posited that one day Swift will have a moment of clarity and write a song called "Maybe It's Me."

Regardless, Disney has decided to play the shit out of Taylor Swift. And it's catchy as hell.

Attempted Murder of Satire: David Brooks

What I saw today streaming virally was the equivalent of seeing this.

We bicker about 30-second negative adds which are misleading at best, whether it be a SuperPac slamming Bain Capital or Romney torching Obama on welfare. But all the "experts" seem to agree that the spots work - they appeal to the visceral biases of the American voter - the lowest common denominator. Joe Sixpack doesn't get sarcasm.

Which is why today's David Brooks opinion column The Real Romney makes no sense. Not that it wasn't somewhat clever, but what was the point and who is it reaching? New York Times Republicans?

Here are some snippets:

Mitt Romney was born on March 12, 1947, in Ohio, Florida, Michigan, Virginia and several other swing states.

He was given the name Mitt, after the Roman god of mutual funds, and launched into the world with the lofty expectation that he would someday become the Arrow shirt man.

The Romneys had a special family tradition. The most cherished member got to spend road trips on the roof of the car. 

Romney also went on a mission to France. He spent two years knocking on doors, failing to win a single convert. This was a feat he would replicate during his 2008 presidential bid.

After Harvard, he took his jawline to Bain Consulting, a firm with very smart people with excessive personal hygiene. While at Bain, he helped rescue many outstanding companies, like Pan Am, Eastern Airlines, Atari and DeLorean.

After a successful stint at Bain, Romney was lured away to run the Winter Olympics, the second most Caucasian institution on earth, after the G.O.P.

OK David Brooks. You aren't as pragmatic as your righty colleague Ross Douthat or as incendiary as your lefty counterpart Maureen Dowd. So I see your point in writing this...to establish some internet street cred.

But I'm not sure what to call it. If Bill Maher spoke or Matt Taibbi wrote those words, nobody would bat an eyelash. But since you're who you are, a conservative columnist at The New York Times, it's so rogue.

There are other places to take that kind of...work. There's the blogosphere, which you are eminently qualified for (this site for example). Or there's another publication where the editor could teach you about satire.

Or maybe the part you really wanted us to read was in your final paragraph:

At the convention, where his Secret Service nickname is Mannequin, Romney will talk about his real-life record: successful business leader, superb family man, effective governor, devoted community leader and prudent decision-maker.

But we've got a weeklong pageant from the national media for that. Which will be all but forgotten  by the end of next week.