Back when newspapers were worth reading…and I’m outing myself as a real old-timer by admitting I can remember that far back…the San Francisco Chronicle featured a columnist named Herb Caen…who put three dots between everything he wrote…and just about everything else he wrote… Herb earned his keep by emitting a steady stream of witty little blurt-outs and brain-farts. Few rivaled the epigrams of LaRochefoucauld. But at least Herb kept them coming, day after day, week after week, year after year. The guy was a maestro of three-dot journalism…a nattering nabob of non-sequitur…a supreme potentate of suspension points…an elevated eminence of…
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