ALT DUMB: The juiciest morsel to come out of the past election, even for known Computer Dopes like me, was the fact that Hillary Clinton’s campaign manager’s password was:


(I almost did a spit-take when I heard that.)

Democratic bigshot and certified grandee John Podesta, who has been known for years as a prickly liberal who does not suffer fools gladly, clicked on some email link that even guys like me know not to click on because our wives told us in no uncertain terms not to. And that opened up a floodgate of snarky emails about Bernie Sanders and other people to hackers everywhere. Those emails even got fellow Democrat bigshot and party chairperson Debbie Wasserman Schultz fired for being snarky.

One must figure — even Luddites like me — that people who are as clever as Podesta would know not to click on, say, that link from the rich guy from Nigeria who just wants us to help him free up untold millions, if we’ll only send him some token fee and all our passwords, to get the ball rolling. Even guys like me know not to do that.

But, apparently, not the guy who managed Hillary Clinton’s campaign. And now we’re left to wonder, along with apoplectic Hollywood elites like Meryl Streep, how on earth she lost.

One must wonder (I mean, really) how long it took those wily hackers — either dastardly, up-to-no-good Boris Batinov types in Russia or computer-savvy American junior high kids having fun in their parents’ basements — to crack the code, solve the great mystery, and figure out that Podesta’s password was: “Password.”

Could this really have been the campaign manager for the woman our current president told us was the best prepared person ever to run for president? Better prepared than, say, Washington? Lincoln?


Apparently so.

I have my own issues with computers, but this is ridiculous.

And one is reminded, if one is old enough, of the old television series “Topper,” which ran from 1953 until 1955, in which Cosmo Topper played a banker, and the combination to his bank vault was “1, 2, 3, 4.”

I keep waiting for someone to suggest that maybe we should all take a lesson from this, and not tap our snarky comments and deepest secrets into our clever little computer devices. You think? Maybe we should put them on paper, and only mail them to people who can be trusted with snark.

The Wife, however, tells me this is impossible, and to, I quote, “get a clue.”


But, I find it truly delicious to see a prickly man who does not suffer fools gladly, exposed as a fool.

With the password, “password.”

BIG LAUGHS: Another thing I will miss about election season is the national electronic media geniuses and panjandrums slaughtering the names of Wisconsin towns during primary election season.

My family vacationed in Wisconsin for years, and I went to college there, so I can give you the straight skinny on how to pronounce a couple of particularly troublesome towns.

Maybe the worst is Oconomowoc, which is often mispronounced OCK-a-NOM-a-WOC. (And you call yourself a Packers fan?) No, no, no. It’s oh-CON-uh-ma-WALK. Write that down, Skippy. And I laugh when highly-paid TV reporters call Waukesha wok-EEE-shuh. Here’s a tip, buster. It’s WALK-uh-shaw.

Wisconsin is a mine field.

That said, the state where I live — Wyoming — has it’s share of pronunciation cracks a guy can get his leg caught in, like the town of Dubois.

I’m not going to reveal how to pronounce Dubois, any more than I would let the cat out of the bag on how to pronounce the Popo Agie River, the haunting rocks of Vedauwoo, or Togwotee Pass up near Yellowstone. It’s too much fun to hear tourists — in their stiff new bluejeans tucked into their flashy new cowboy boots, and their pearl-button cowboy shirts, duding around during Frontier Days — mispronounce them.

Let’s just say that if you pronounce Dubois like the character Blanche DuBois in “A Streetcar Named Desire,” the guys in that great little bar on the main street up in Dubois will get a pretty good laugh.

Contact Dave Simpson at