Bubba Bubble
May, 1998
With a small sense of restless regret I found myself back in the Lincoln Bedroom, pondering a night of highly interactive television with my newfound electronic friend, or perhaps reading something racy like Leaves of Grass. But no sooner had I flopped down, fully dressed, on the famously uncomfortable mattress than I felt something poking me insistently in the back. At first I thought I had maybe encountered a crystal wallaby from the Australian PM, or a Camembert Eiffel Tower from President Ch...
