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Before last week, I was already writing a column taking Los Angeles to the woodshed for not being and doing and thinking boldly enough.

Keep in mind that any large-scale sale of Trump’s shares would probably crater the stock price and take his unwary investors to the stock market woodshed.

They don’t just lose home nailbiters, they get taken to the woodshed.

Then the police find a human skeleton in the woodshed, and “The Dog of the North” takes on the scent of “A Rose for Emily.”

He stacks them in his woodshed until he feeds them into the stove in the kitchen of the low-slung house where he grew up.