http://www.prospect.org/web/page.ww?section=root&name=ViewWeb&articleId=7785<snip>
It was a lovely day for browsing. I took my time at each table. Of course, many of the items were familiar to those of us who spend our weekends prowling for bargains inside the Beltway. There was a nut dish from the old Nightline green room. (I was there once when Henry Kissinger hurled one of them against the wall because somebody had forgotten to take out the red M&M's.) There were poker chips with Bill Bennett's face on them, and cocktail napkins emblazoned with a phone number that Newt Gingrich used to use. There was a basket full of those old Sam Donaldson mohair wigs that were so popular with the kids back in the 1980s, and even an autographed copy of Cokie Roberts' 1998 best-seller, The Cigar in the Closet: Talking to Your Kids About the Starr Report, of which I already had several anyway.
However, at one long table over by the driveway, a sizable crowd had gathered. A pundit I'd met on Scarborough Country picked up a small jewel box containing what looked like a length of beef jerky.
"Paul Wolfowitz's soul!" she exclaimed.
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