Obama's feet of clay. . .

. . .crumbled a bit in last night's debate. That's why we're reading reviews like this from Tom Shales:

"For the first 52 minutes of the two-hour, commercial-crammed show, Gibson and Stephanopoulos dwelled entirely on specious and gossipy trivia that already has been hashed and rehashed, in the hope of getting the candidates to claw at one another over disputes that are no longer news. Some were barely news to begin with."

Far be it from me to tell a news guy what the news is. But, since when did a Style columnist get to make the determination? (On an unrelated note, how many chins are you allowed to have while still claiming the mantle of style columnist?)

In any event, how predictable is it that the most venomous review of Obama's inquisitors should come from a style columnist?

Look, Tommy Boy. Stick with reviewing will.i.am's Obama videos. The only thing we learned from this particular column is that it's possible to get an entire pair of big-girl panties wedged into a man's gluteal cleavage. If you truly care about this nation's welfare, you won't conjure up that noxious image again by waxing dyspeptic on the state of the nation's politics.