That look on Bobby’s face? That’s the look you get when Bono starts talking to you.
That’s Dick Durbin from Illinois on the left, and Patrick Leahy is next to Mickey, but does anyone know who the tall lady and the round man are?
“Bob. Can I call ya Bob?”
“Oh, yeah, sure. Otherwise, you know, I won’t know I’m part of the conversation.”
“Bob, what d’ya know about African debt?”
“Just what I hear on the radio.”
“Tremendous problem in th’ Third World.”
“Y’know, when I have money troubles, I do a tour and get a new business manager. Has, uh, Africa considered that?”
“I don’t believe so.”
“Always worked for me.”
“Bob, there’s one more wee matter.”
“Can you get John Mayer to stop trying to join U2?”
“Tall kid, wears clothes.”
“Oh, Josh. He doing that to you, too?”
“We’re both correct here.”
“Bob, it’s got to stop. The Edge is gonna punch him.”
“You really call him that?”
“The Edge? Of course.”
“Okee-doke. I’m gonna talk to anyone else.”
Seriously, look at him. Schnockered. Trying to stand perfectly still, keep a neutral expression on his face: Durbin’s laced.
Is Bono just allowed to come and go from secure buildings at will? Can he wander into the Situation Room? Can he play basketball in the Supreme Court’s court? (The Supreme Court has a basketball court in it. The building, I mean. Not the nine people who we refer to collectively as the Supreme Court. You could not fit even part of a basketball court in Ruth Bader Ginsburg. She is tiny.)