This time on the outrage in pot circles (phooey says Rosie) about the cops' bust of medpot hangout the Kindred Cafe.
Not sure if DiManno was trying to be satirical or was just drunk when she penned this anti-pot rant.
Whichever it was, DiManno reveals a lot about herself. Like how she's had occasion to visit the cafe with a medpot user friend with depression, but only to smoke cigs on the rooftop patio.
And how during a trip to cover Holland's liberal laws on "soft" drugs a few years' back she happened to take a few puffs and down some hash brownies, strictly for research, at a few of Amsterdam's famous cafes.
Not for Rosie. The shit makes her "staggeringly stupid." Beer is more her pace.
Besides, most of the pot smokers she knows "are dull-witted, poor conversationalists and prone to giggling at bad jokes."
Weed to combat depression? Rosie wonders. You must be joking, right? Try Prozac. No it won't kill you.
Says Rosie, "If recurrent melancholia is an accepted malady for obtaining otherwise illicit drugs legally, then I should be smoking crack." Rosie makes us laugh.
From this twisted sister's perspective the whole medpot thing is a smokescreen, a hoax on the masses. DiManno's reefer madness knows no bounds.
Guess we should ignore, as Rosie obviously has, all those court rulings that are supposed to be protecting the rights of medpot users, but that the cops keep defying to bust innocent victims.
Who's on crack here?
Was it that tour of fury in Afghanistan after 9/11 that so embittered Rosie?
Back in the day when her daughter-of-Italian-immigrants-makes-good story was being writ large in heartfelt dispatches, readers could usually count on DiManno to raise a progressive voice. And take on the cops when it counted.
These days, DiManno's columns have taken on a familiar right-wing whine that makes her indistinguishable from the other middle-aged mavens, or white guys for that matter, in the daily press corpse.
Pass the Cheezies. There's a rerun of the Simpsons I've got to get to.