Phillipe headed to Florida last week to meet with Jill Kelley, the Tampa socialite involved in the Petraeus-Broadwell scandal. P.'s rendezvous with Kelly had been arranged long ago. P&J, you see, throw an annual "Don't Ask, Don't Tell" soiree at Casa Diablo for our friends in the armed services. And we figured Jill, unofficial social director and party planner for the US Central Command headquarters nearby, might be able to offer some advice.

But when P. steered the conversation to her role in the sordid little dance with the head of the CIA — and her relationship with the top US commander in Afghanistan — she offered up a "don't ask, don't tell" of her own . . . .

Having spent a few days in the Sunshine State, P. feels he can convey a few tips about traveling here. Well, really, one tip: learn a second language, like English. Spanish seems to be the coin of the realm, but unfortunately P.'s "habla espanol" is limited to "Yo soy un hombre sincero," accompanied by some fluid salsa dance steps and a bit of whistling to the tune of "Guantanamera."

When he wasn't dancing, P. hit the links with his personal assistant. And he ran into his share of golf course employees from Little Rhody, who invariably said they love Newport and fondly remember playing at Triggs.

P. and his partner played with a Francophone couple from Montreal and two Swedes. Fortunately P.'s "Ou est la bibliotheque?" French and his inability to speak a word of whatever gibberish it is our Scandinavian friends spout, was offset by the fact that both couples spoke English better than half of the graduates of the Providence public school system.

Vo Dilun stacks up well against Florida, which many call "God's waiting room" for its vast number of senior citizens, in one respect: our election officials, amazingly, seem more competent than theirs. The state screwed up its voting process in one House election, and a recount was still underway a week later in a deserted shopping mall. There is no truth to the rumor Al Gore had his face pressed against the window of a now-defunct Walmart as workers counted ballots.

Sleep tight and "ole," Katherine Harris.


Nice to see Mannequin Mitt Romney go down as ungracefully and bitterly as possible, finally revealing the true measure of the man.

The entitled cultist, he of the Magic Underoos, blamed his defeat on the "gifts" President Obama bestowed on the voting public, most notably free access to birth control for young women — implying that all these ladies have round heels and are hot to trot 24/7. No doubt Mitt's attitude was a big hit with the chicks at his college "hops" back in his footloose and fancy-free days.

Perhaps the best response to Mitt's line came from Jon Stewart of The Daily Show, who said GOP voters had actually offered up the biggest gift by nominating the Mittster.

Congrats Karl Rove, Grover Norquist, Sheldon Adelson, and the Koch brothers. Have a nice four years.


The public seems shocked — shocked! — that Army generals, especially the four-stars, have egos bigger than a Sherman tank. Perhaps they forget George Patton and Douglas MacArthur, who had to Vaseline the doorjambs to get their heads into a room.

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