Walking through Midtown streets awash with foul-smelling dignitaries, I hoofed it yesterday to the Libyan Mission on the East Side.
It was my civic, moral and aesthetic duty to confront the butcher on the very turf where, I believed, he had parked his camel.
Ha, "foul-smelling dignitaries." I don't even get it! Then Andrea went up and harassed a Libyan security guard, who, after much prodding, turned Khadafy over to her. She and Col Allan are currently taking turns beating the soles of his feet with a nail-studded clothesline deep inside the News Corp. building.
Her next column will be about sex.