JUST LOOK AT REV. AL — with his processed Mother-Popcorn tresses, that canary yellow shirt sheathing the brick-oven belly, and the neckwear explosion that could pass for a Maryland state flag jammed into a six-button sausage casing. Say this for the new gear, it beats the living hell out of his old Le Coq Sportif sweatsuits and Richard Roundtree medallions.

But the man has a charm that’s all his own, sitting on the stage of the Israel Baptist church in northeast Washington on the eve of his planned ” prayer vigil” in front of Clarence Thomas’s house. To hear Al Sharpton tell it, not since Plessy v. Ferguson has such injustice been perpetrated by the Supreme Court, what with Thomas lending his highly treasonous vote throughout last summer’s spate of decisions against affirmative action, minority set-asides, and voter districts drawn on the basis of race. For God’s sakes, Thomas has set The Movement back 30 years (Sharpton still calls it “The Movement,” as if he’s just off the Selma red-eye). “I remember growing up reading Harriet Beecher Stowe’s Uncle Tom’s Cabin,” barks Sharpton. “Now I get to see it.”