There's no escaping the buffoons.

When I arrive in Sardinia just before Christmas, you'll get daily dispatches from me. With reports of life in paradise. With my true love. I'm gonna leave my native country (America) for a few months. In order to escape to a better place. Off the beaten track. I know I may have to pay some sort of homage to the likes of Italian prime minister Silvio Berlusconi. But I tell my beautiful and intelligent Italian girlfriend he can't be any worse than our American politicians. We have the absolute worst. Especially on the far right. Full-fledged lunatics. Anyway, Berlusconi has a villa on Sardinia. One of his many homes. After all, he's a billionaire. He can afford almost anything. That includes the good life in Sardinia. And he even speaks broken English. If I see him, I may ask for his autograph. And I'd ask him to pose for a picture with me. So that I can prove to the world that I met a genuine Italian buffoon. And survived it all. And thrived. Maybe I can do the same thing in America some day. After all, I expect to be back in Minnesota for the summer. When maybe I can meet my crazy congresswoman, Michele Bachmann. The American version of Silvio Berlusconi. No matter where I go, there may be no escaping the buffoons. --Jim Broede