Last night I went to see a friend in the hospital.  Her name is Mojo, she’s 85 years old, and was in the hospital because she fainted.  Mojo cast her first vote for Franklin Roosevelt and has voted straight Democratic since then.

She was not a happy woman because the doctors put her on a heart-healthy diet, which means she couldn’t have salt on her eggs.  She’s 85 years old and has eaten salt on her eggs her entire life and this is her first trip to the hospital since she had a baby.  Give the woman some damn salt.  Whatever she is doing must be working.  I want my obituary to read, “She died at age 85, after not having been sick a day in her life and living in her own home, of … you guessed it, salt.”

I took her cupcakes.  Screw ‘um.

Anyway, leaving the hospital, which is St. Luke’s Episcopal Hospital (keep that name in mind), at about 7:30, there were protestors.  Three woman in the dark on the street corner outside of St. Luke’s Episcopal Hospital.

Good grief.

I mean, holy cow.

Whiskey Tango Foxtrot.

I did not give them a cupcake.