Oceans of Red Ink

I feel a sort of kinship with Michael Ramirez: if I were a genius and could draw really, really, well, I would be just like him. His latest will appear in newspapers tomorrow; it blends old themes (Obama’s pretensions and the federal debt) with new ones :

Watching Ramirez day after day is sort of like witnessing Mozart, or Rembrandt, or the Beatles in 1964. It inspires awe, or should, anyway.

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