Patriotism, Projection, and the Press: Huppke's Fourth of July Hypocrisy

<![CDATA[(The following is satire.) The snow is just starting to melt. A door creaks open. Out stumbles Rex Huppke, wrapped in flannel, hair matted like a possum in a leaf blower. He clutches a pillow that smells faintly of NPR and soy candles. His eyes squint at the sun, confused and blinking.]]>