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Trying To See Things John Rowland's Way

Rowland 770096 Virtual Reality Goggles — 50mm Eye Cup. List Price: $18.99. Amazon Price: $16.99. Ideal for seeing the world the way it looks to former Gov. John G. Rowland. Not appropriate for welding or swimming.

OK, I've got them on.

Why am I on trial? I didn't do anything wrong.

I was looking for honest work as a campaign consultant. And who's better than me? Did I ever lose an election? Hell, no. How did they finally beat me? They went through my #@&*ing garbage. They dug up a lot of stuff that — if you looked at it a certain way — made it seem like I was awarding big contracts to people who gave me things. Well who the &@#$ am I supposed to award contracts to? My enemies? People who never gave me so much as a candy bar? That's crazy talk!

You know, this judge is not bad looking for 70. I guarantee you, she was my type back in the day. OK, focus. Can't think about that right now.

So I was looking for work, and first I went to that pompous lunatic Greenberg. If he had listened to me, he'd be a ranking member of the Foreign Relations Committee by now. Yes, we'd be at war with Oman. No, that's not my problem. I quoted him a nice price, $720,000 for the primo El Rowlando Grande package, taking him through his victory party and beyond. Like he would even miss that money, the rich so-and-so!

I told him, "I don't want that buffoon Lender from the Courant sniffing around and writing about me. I've done more for that dumb slob's career than Usher did for Bieber. Pay me through your cat farm or whatever that thing is. Pretend I do spaying and neutering."

So what is that, the Brinks job? Anyway, he didn't go for it, which is why — five years later — he still has a bigger impact on hairballs than on earmarks.

Zzzzzzzzz. Hey Tawny and Porsche, I'm exhausted. Go to the back of the plane and pay Ralph and Vinnie a little visit, will you? Wait a minute. You're not strippers! You're FBI agents. Aaaaaaaaugh!

Jeez. I must have dozed off and had one of those nightmares where I'm back on the charter jet. Is that prosecutor still talking? All he needs is a peg leg and harpoon, and he's Capt. Ahab. Cast off, jerkface! Let a whale swim in peace.

Where was I? So two years passed, and this time I go to Lisa Wilson-Foley and her husband Brian. Why did I go to them? Because apparently I felt Ken and Barbie's faces were insufficiently vacant and plastic to suit me. Who knows why I do these things. Why couldn't I find a nice trustworthy well-adjusted couple, like Bonnie and Clyde?

What a mess. And it was way more work than I should have been doing for a lousy $5,000 month. Who do we run into? Andy Roraback of Hotchkiss and Yale — exactly the kind of tweed-worshipping snotty-nosed stuffed shirt who's been looking down on me my whole life! Are they saying somebody had to pay me to tear Little Judge Fauntleroy apart on my radio show? Hell, I would have done that for free.

Look, the point was never to avoid election laws. Heck, I don't even know what the election laws are. The point was, sometimes it's nice to have a little walking around money. It's nice to pick up the tab at Boru's, am I right, people of Waterbury?

You know what scares me? I go back to prison, and they ask me: What are you in for this time? And I say I got $5,000 a month, and I had to work for it. I'll be laughed out of the weight room.

You know what I want to come back as? A newspaper columnist. Like those weasels Rennie or McEnroe. Neither one of those stunads has ever had an idea worth two cents. The Bridgeport casino. Fort Trumbull. Luring the Patriots. You think they had those kinds of visions?

But who's on trial for stealing his paycheck? I tell you, it's just not fair.

Colin McEnroe appears from 1 to 2 p.m. weekdays on WNPR-FM (90.5) and blogs at He can be reached at

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