One Taco Short of a Combination Plate

Howard Dean's bark was missing its bite. And his socks were missing their warp. Not to mention their woof. He was flashing his ankles, his old black socks threadbare above the heels, showing beneath the same old gray suit he wears day after day.

Maureen Dowd, self amused and incoherent in her Sunday column.

And it goes downhill from there.