Archive for ‘Andrew Sullivan’

June 30, 2009

If Andrew Sullivan is not stupid . . .

. . . he must be trying to deceive people. No alternative explanation works, when he describes me thus:

Robert Stacy McCain, a supporter of the genocide of Palestinians in Israel, in a blog-post that has to be one of the most single-mindedly bigoted diatribes I have read. And I’ve read a few.

So says the Trig-Truther impressario of The Atlantic Monthly, in honoring me with yet another “Malkin Award” nomination, my fourth since February. Earlier today, I paused for a moment to pray and Andrew may therefore be an angel unaware. God bless you, sir, for providing me this opportunity to elaborate on important principles of rhetoric.

Right-click that “genocide” hotlink up there, and choose “open in new window” from the pulldown menu so that you may read Andrew’s Feb. 20 post in a new browser window. (Alt+Tab to toggle between the two.) Andrew quoted this:

Swear to God, if [the Israelis] ever want a Gentile prime minister, my first order would be to deploy the IDF in a north-south line, facing east. My second order would be “forward march” and the order to halt would not be given until it was time for the troops to rinse their bayonets in the Jordan. After a brief rest halt, the order “about face” would be given, and the next halt would be at the Mediterranean coast.

To which Andrew replied, “Words fail.” No, sir. Perhaps your understanding fails, but words do not.

“If” is the largest two-letter word in the English language, proposing a contingency or hypothetical. If Andrew Sullivan were hung like porn star . . .

The more farfetched the hypothetical, the more we should consider what follows “if” to be hyperbole, that is to say, an expression carried to an extreme. Argument by hypothesis always involve the risk that some dullard will fail to grasp the point being expressed and incorrectly suppose that one actually desires the scenario described.

Therefore, it becomes unfortunately necessary to reveal that my campaign to become the first Gentile prime minister of Israel was intended as a jest. Furthermore, my tactical plan for Palestinian “genocide” (actually, Andrew, it would be mere ethnic cleansing, since they’d have the opportunity to flee the advancing IDF bayonets) was a hyperbole, a sort of verbal clue that the reader had reached the punchline.

There is truth in humor, of course, and anyone who wishes to read the entirety of my Feb. 20 post may attempt to discern what truth I meant to express. The title and first paragraph:

Glenn Greenwald: ‘No anti-Semite could
possibly hate me worse than I hate myself’

Well, that’s the subconscious meaning of his latest column in his ongoing effort to win the Nobel Prize in literature with his wicked satire of a stereotypical self-hating Jew. . . .

Greenwald is one of these people who has never seen a fight between a Jew and an Arab for which he did not blame the Jew. My Feb. 20 post begins by discussing a category of critics of the U.S.-Israel alliance that includes some of my paleocon/libertarian friends, remarking that one cannot dismiss all such critics as anti-Semites: “The world is more complex than that.”

Being notorious myself, I hesitate to attach the evil stigma of anti-Semitism, an implicit accusation of mala fides, on those who are attempting to offer serious comment on serious matters of policy. Whether it’s James Pinkerton, Pat Buchanan or Taki Theodoracopulos, only conclusive evidence of irrational and irredeemable Jew-hatred will suffice.

Perhaps I am too tolerant in this regard, just as I am too patient in hoping that David Frum will reconsider his “Unpatriotic Americans” anathema against Robert Novak, et al. Similarly, I may perhaps be too hopeful that there is still within Andrew Sullivan’s soul some shred of conscience that would cause him to retract the accusation that I am an advocate of “genocide.”

This essay will be extended over the next several hours. I had other things I meant to do today, but it seems the angels meant otherwise. So if you’ll do me a favor, refresh this post in a couple hours. Meanwhile, the waitress has arrived with your check. (Click the link, buddy. She’s a hot redhead.)

UPDATE: My buddy tipped the waitress in a respectable manner, but a certain resident of Connecticut — maybe Ed’s got a thing for redheads — doubled that tip. My gratitude to both these gentlemen, and to the several others who know how To Insure Prompt Service. Hope you’re all enjoying this latest spectacle, which now continues . . .

Kathy Shaidle is the Only Canadian Who Matters, a woman of such excellent character that I am tempted to forgive the Northern Menace for foisting Neil Young upon us. Lead me not into temptation.

It was she, the diminuitive Canadian, who seized upon the “Ransom Note Method” as the key to understanding a certain species of ad hominem by which the Left cuts-and-pastes various remarks and assembles them into a dossier of distortion, like a kidnapper gluing together a ransom note.

The primary purpose of such an attack is to depict the target — among others, Ann Coulter and Michelle Malkin have both received this treatment — as a person of such despicable sentiments, guilty of such vile hatreds, that no respectable person can view them as anything but a bogeyman, a demon, an agent of evil.

For decades, the “Ransom Note Method” has been employed against the Left’s enemies, living and dead, and has repeatedly achieved not only its primary purpose, but also its secondary purpose: To intimidate and confuse the Right, to cause them to ostracize those conservatives who are most dangerous to the Left, and to discourage other conservatives from engaging in direct confrontation with the ideological foe.

Kathy don’t scare easy. To quote our hero J. Coddington Van Voorhees VII (“Coddy,” to his friends), I like the cut of her jib. And now that a few people have begun to discern the methods and objectives of the Ransom Not Method, the method’s effectiveness has been permanently impaired. It will soon be destroyed entirely and the Left will be deprived of one of its most reliable weapons.

You assholes picked a fight with the wrong Canadian. Kathy was called a “racist” for her full-throated criticism of Canada’s Orwellian political correctness, so that the book she co-authored cannot even be purchased via Amazon. But she has friends, among them Mark Steyn, and with friends like that, she can handle as many enemies as may come against her.

Welcome to the Camp of the Saints. Hit the tip jar, and come back in an hour or two, because I aim to make sure you get your money’s worth, folks:

“My God, Scarlett O’Hara!” said Tony peevishly. “When I start out to cut somebody up, you don’t think I’ll be satisfied with scratching him with the blunt side of my knife, do you? No, by God, I cut him to ribbons.”
Gone With The Wind

UPDATE 4:05 p.m.: James Joyner is an extraordinarily insightful writer, and when he calls me “perhaps the most skilled attention whore in all the blogosphere,” my instinctive reaction is, “Perhaps?”

Dr. Joyner began blogging in January 2003, when the ‘sphere was as tiny and helpless as little Trig Palin, and his excellent Outside the Beltway blog has grown along with it. The Good Doctor therefore may not appreciate the difficulties confronting a writer who got 6,000 visitors in March 2008 — his first month of full-time blogging — and who did not aim to fail at this new endeavor.

“Attention whore”? Heh. This implies that I would compose a quite risky 1,500-word analysis of anti-Palinism merely to gain attention. (Check the gazongas on that redhead!) Yet it is a fact, one which too many journalists fail to appreciate, that there is no point writing something if no one is reading it.

Dr. Joyner comes from an academic background where entire careers are devoted to that sort of writing. If my prose style is . . . engaging, this is surely no sin in the realm of commercial writing. But I did not come here to argue with my dear friend James, rather to eviscerate Andrew Sullivan. (Just a figure of speech, a metaphor, a bit of engaging imagery to whet the appetite of the reader who is encouraged to suspect that Sully’s intestines will be displayed in the next update, in about an hour.)

UPDATE 4:52 p.m.: Before that interruption, I was discussing principles of rhetoric, namely, if you’re going to attack a man, destroy him.

Don’t shilly-shally around. Don’t snipe or gossip or kibbitz or damn him with faint praise. Be a man about it, and take him head-on, determined that when you finish, there shall be nothing left of his reputation except a smoldering crater and the hushed awe of the spectators.

To do otherwise is to advertise yourself as a soft target. That this principle could be applied to Israeli’s response to rocket attacks from Gaza might make Andrew Sullivan pause, if he were a thoughtful man. Or hung like a porn star.

Ken Layne’s attack on Sarah Palin, involving her son Trig, was astonishingly sadistic. I saw it at Professor William Jacobson’s blog — the Professor quotes it in full, so that you don’t have to click over to Wonkette to see it — and immediately forgot whatever it was I had planned to do before I saw it.

What could motivate Layne’s wanton viciousness? What did Sarah Palin ever do to him to deserve that? Rather, what could anyone ever do to provoke such cruelty? Nothing. Layne’s attack was a raw specimen of undiluted evil.

It reminded me of similar specimens of evil, also involving the governor and her infant son. Motherhood is among the many institution our society once revered, but which are now widely mocked and derided. As I pondered what sort of response Layne might deserve, I thought about that: Why is it Sarah Palin’s maternal qualities that Layne and others like him choose to attack?

A horror and hatred of . . . the “birth canal”?

UPDATE 5:44 p.m.: Hate to repeat myself, but . . . Heh. No point knocking yourself out, eliciting accusations of being a “single-minded bigot,” if nobody’s going to read it.

“Attention whore” or not, as I contemplated Layne’s attack on Palin, the exposed flank was clear. Like others, he seemed offended by motherhood.

Q. What manner of person would do this?
A. A vicious cocksucker.

Now, I have occasionally remarked on the forms of misogyny characteristic of gay-male culture. Others have made similar observations. There is a type of woman that gay men typically venerate — The Diva, e.g., Cher, Bette Midler, Liza, Madonna — and there are types of women that gay men typically despise, perhaps none more than that unglamorous stereotype, the frumpy housewife. If you add the descriptor “Christian” to “housewife,” it’s like chumming the waters near the Great Barrier Reef.

Why is this so? In Principles of Logic thirty years ago, our professor warned against any statement containing “all” or “always,” “none” or “never” (a danger that is best illustrated by Venn diagram). Nevertheless, one might describe the general attitude toward women in gay-male culture, without fear that this description could be fairly characterized as applicable to every gay man. Therefore . . .

Gay men have mother issues — and all that proceeded from there. And having written that and put it on the Internet, now I see that Andrew Sullivan finds fit to accuse me of advocating Palestinian “genoicide.” As Dana Carvey’s Church Lady might say, “How convenient.”

Being filled with all unrighteousness, fornication, wickedness, covetousness, maliciousness; full of envy, murder, debate, deceit, malignity; whisperers, Backbiters, haters of God, despiteful, proud, boasters, inventors of evil things, disobedient to parents, Without understanding, covenantbreakers, without natural affection, implacable, unmerciful . . .

This essay can be extended and, if you refresh this page in about an hour, I think it will be. Do you really think I’m merely an “attention whore”? Or do you suppose that there is some reason I wanted your attention? Let the wise consider, and please hit the tip jar.

UPDATE 6:42: Referencing my discussion of gay culture’s influence in the fashion industry, a conservative blogger left a link to this:

Ladies, a question. Why did you allow gay men to become the arbiters of feminine beauty? Seriously, I want to know. Letting Penis Hilton judge a beauty pageant is like me asking Rosie O’Doughnuts for advice on how to be a real hunk . . .
Ladies, before I hear any more whining about society’s horrendous standards of beauty, consider who sets them, and consider who lets the deciders decide. . . .

Indeed, the artificial standards of the fashion industry are . . . unmerciful, you might say. Look at the ads in Cosmo. How many hetero guys consider anorexic 6-foot-tall heroin addicts to be ideal? Show of hands. Anyone?

Perhaps no skill is more important to survival than the ability to distinguish between a friend and an enemy. An honest enemy is less to be feared than a false friend. Military aircraft carry a signal device known as IFF (“Identify Friend or Foe”) the purpose of which is to prevent friendly-fire incidents, and to enable pilots to know that the enemy in their sights is indeed an enemy.

Women who turn to Cosmo seeking friendly advice are fools, as I explained years ago. And one of the basic problems in politics is quite similar. Republicans are forever listening to “friendly” advice from people who aren’t really their friends.

Ask Sarah Palin about that. She joined Crazy Cousin John’s campaign last year and found herself surrounded by arrogant know-it-all “advisers” whose advice struck her as wrongheaded, and now those same advisers appear as anonymous “campaign insiders” in vicious hit-pieces aimed at destroying her future viability as a candidate.

If Andrew Sullivan wants to be my enemy, this is his choice. I pity him too much to hate him, and his animosity harms me not at all. I wish he wouldn’t accuse me of genocide, but this ludicrous accusation hurts his credibility, not mine.

There were other things I might have added here, and perhaps I’ll add more later. But I’ve got to read this Vanity Fair article and see if I can deduce the identity of the sources. Then a nap, maybe, before preparing for my trip to Alabama.

Please tip your waitress. (Look at those gazongas!)

UPDATE 7:05 p.m.: If you criticize Somali immigrants for harassing a gay man, is your hatred of homophobia perhaps a form of xenophobia? Or is it just regular racism?

Whatever happened to multiculturalism, for crying out loud?

How dare you try to impose your values on those Somalis?! This is eliminationist rhetoric!

June 20, 2009

Brutal neo-con regime in Tehran

These vicious enemies of freedom are brutally murdering unarmed civilians in the streets. They warned you if you voted for John McCain, innocent Iranians would be slaughtered by neocons . . . and they were right!

June 12, 2009

Andrew Sullivan is a ‘conservative’in what sense of the word?

Sully accuses Glenn Reynolds of “partisan shenanigans”:

[T]he huge deficits projected in the future have virtually nothing to do with Obama’s proposals on healthcare or energy. They are a function of inherited entitlement spending, the legacy of two open-ended wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, and the revenue lost from the current depression (and the last). All of this was inherited by Obama . . .

Except that it wasn’t. And Sully’s argument is so astonishingly counterfactual that one scarcely knows where to begin debunking it.

First, huge deficits are not merely “projected in the future,” they are already upon us. This year, the federal government will borrow 46 cents for every dollar it spends. Predictably — well, I predicted it, anyway — the bond market is getting jittery and inflation looms.

Second, the list of causes to which Sully attributes these deficits does not include either (a) the February 2008 stimulus, (b) the April 2008 stimulus, (c) the October 2008 TARP bailout, or (d) the $787 billion stimulus that Obama signed on Feb. 17 of this year.

Obama was not present for the February and April 2008 stimulus votes, but he certainly did not oppose those measures. He voted “yes” on the October 2008 TARP, and I clearly remember the Feb. 8 speech this year in which Obama demanded that the Senate pass the stimulus bill that had not gotten a single GOP vote in the House.

One can only estimate what these Obama-backed measures have added to the deficit. Whatever the total amount, it is not zero and therefore it is false to say that the deficit was entirely “inherited” by Obama.

Is Sullivan for or against massive deficits? If he opposes deficits, where are his criticisms of the neo-Keynesian schemes that have been successively implemented over the past 16 months? If blaming Obama for the deficits is “partisan shenanigans,” then what shall we call Sullivan’s attempt to exculpate Obama for the soaring deficits?

Moreover, is there any criticism of Obama that Sullivan considers legitimate? Or rather, is he now as worshipfully awestruck of Obama as he was of Bush 2001-03?

Eventually, Sully will be even more disappointed in his new hero than he was in his old hero. A year from now, after the sucker’s rally ends, after the bottom falls out, interest rates and inflation skyrocket, and unemployment is somewhere north of 12 percent, Sully will be tut-tutting and will have forgotten his slams on “Insta-hack,” Some of us, however, will be ready to remind him.

April 13, 2009

Sully and the Tea Party Truthers

My buddy Stephen Gordon just called to say he’d been linked by Sully, who has put aside Trig Trutherism in an effort to get the Real Story behind national Tax Day Tea Party.

Apparently, we’re Right Wing Corporate Neocon Pirates who’ve hijacked a grassroots movement.

I might update if I can stop laughing. Arrrgh!

UPDATE: “Bluebeard” Gordon tries to help Sully get his facts straight. And where’s my wenches? They told me if I showed up wearing an eyepatch with a parrot on my shoulder, there’d be free wenches and grog.

UPDATE II: “Still haven’t seen any of that sweet, sweet Right-wing shill money since this morning, ya, you betcha. Maybe they sent it to my old address?”

Which reminds me: Hit the tip jar!

April 10, 2009

Yeah, we’re crazy!

E.D. Kain asserts that “many neocons and movement conservative types are suffering from a total break with reality.” This gets him linked by Andrew Sullivan, naturally, since the Trig Truther loves nothing better than this armchair Adorno trick of treating conservative dissent as a symptom of psychopathology. Kain’s implicit syllogism is this:

  • All reasonable men of good will are liberal;
  • This person criticizes liberalism;
  • Ergo, this person is either unreasonable or has malevolent motives.

The syllogism is valid, but the primary premise is flawed. It is a species of ad hominem, with a bit of bandwagon psychology and argumentum ad verecundiam thrown in for good measure. Please notice how cleverly Kain, a liberal Democrat, plays the game of pretending that there is some other conservatism he might be willing to respect:

I can only hope that the conservative movement stays the course, and continues to run this thing into the ground. Total self-destruction is necessary for it to be replaced by any viable, honorable, or intellectual conservatism.

Right. Kain hereby asserts that conservatism, as developed as an American political movement since the 1940s, is neither viable, nor honorable, nor intellectual. Having wielded the stick of abuse (You’re nuts!), Kain next dangles the carrot: If you will adopt a “conservatism” that does not fundamentally contradict the liberal agenda, you will be credited with being bien pensants — just like them!

And such is Kain’s arrogance as to imagine that conservatives are too stupid to see the game he’s playing.

UPDATE: Notice that Sullivan makes a grand gesture of “researching” the Tea Party movement, proclaiming himself mystified, and denouncing the whole thing as a “tantrum.” And this is the man who habitually accuses conservatives of mala fides.

UPDATE II: Linked at Memeorandum along with William Jacobson of Legal Insurrection and Pat of So It Goes In Shreveport., while Donald Douglas of American Power has further thoughts on the April 15 nationwide Tax Day Tea Party.

UPDATE III: Dan Riehl weighs in with a more in-depth fisking. Please note that Dan is sympathetic to Sully’s gay-marriage obsession, but still doesn’t let Sully off the hook for his sloppiness. And, in point of fact, Dan doesn’t ever let me off the hook for sloppiness, either. He’s very consistent that way.

March 18, 2009

The Lucky Pot O’ Blarney

By Patrick O’Leary Gallagher McCain
Guest Blogger

Now, it happens that sometimes the fellow what runs this blog is mistaken for Irish, but he’s actually Scots-Irish — a damned Orangeman kind of like the scum my IRA buddies in Ulster used to blast into Protestant smithereens back in the day.

McCain’s Scottish bog trash ancestors, what the British imperialists fastened like a yoke on the neck of my ancestors, at least had the sense to clear out for America, hirin’ out as indentured servants after stealin’ a pig or gettin’ some scullery wench preggers. Since all we ever asked was for the likes of them to get the hell out of Ireland, we’ve had the characteristic Irish generosity of spirit to forgive the American Scots-Irish, even if their apostasy from the One True Church means they’ll suffer eternal torment in the flames of Perdition.

It’s a different thing with the damned Orange in Belfast, like the lecherous imperialist dog who seduced innocent Mary Margaret Gallagher in 1971 and thus became my “father,” damn his soul to Hell. So if I’m a semi-literate alcoholic soccer hooligan who’s been on the dole since I turned 18, don’t blame me, blame Cpl. Edward Angus McCain of the British occupation forces. Fortunately, he was blasted off the face of the planet, along with three of his mates and a half-dozen so-called “innocent bystanders,” in a 1973 IRA bombing, so you should feel sorry for me: I’m an orphan.

My late sainted mother, who finally succumbed to cirrhosis in 1998 (for which I blame the British imperialists) raised me to be a proud Irishman, and of nothing is an Irishman so proud as of his ability to sling the blarney. So the fellow what runs this blog, who I suspect of being a very distant kinsman of that damned dog, my father, has asked me to come guest-blog hereabouts tonight in honor of St. Patrick’s Day.

Now, you may be thinkin’, “Paddy, you’re Irish. Shouldn’t you be drinking yourself into a coma tonight?” Well, a true drunkard never drinks with amateurs, and every March 17 the pubs of Dublin are overcrowded with silly drunken college girls and fat Yank tourists tryin’ to get into the college girls’ pants. Back in the day, the IRA would have blown up the likes of them, but what with the EU and all that, the IRA ain’t a shadow of itself anymore.

So I’m stayin’ home tonight, and the fellow what runs this blog asked me to sling some blarney and tell you to hit his “Luck O’ Th’ Irish Tip Jar,” you bloody Yank bastards. So just keep refreshin’ your computer screen, and I’ll tell you the three funniest Irish jokes you ever heard. But first, the blogger what runs the place wanted me to tell you to go over to Dan Collins St. Patrick’s Day Blog Roundup. Something about a “Rule 2,” he says . . .

UPDATE, JOKE 1: Now, this first joke was actually sent to me by Mrs. Other McCain, so if you don’t like it, blame her, not me:

An attractive blonde from Cork, Ireland arrived at the casino. She seemed a little intoxicated and bet 20,000 Euros on a single roll of the dice. She said, “I hope you don’t mind, but I feel much luckier when I’m completely nude.”
With that, she stripped naked, rolled the dice and with an Irish brogue yelled, “Come on, baby, Mama needs new clothes!”
As the dice came to a stop, she jumped up and down and squealed, “YES! YES! I WON, I WON!”
She hugged each of the dealers and then picked up her winnings and her clothes and quickly departed.
The dealers stared at each other dumbfounded. Finally, one of them asked, “What did she roll?”
The other answered, “I don’t know. I thought you were watching.”

And the moral of the story: Not all Irish are drunks, not all blondes are dumb, but all men . . . are men.

UPDATE, JOKE 2: Well, it’s gettin’ on into the evenin’ now, and I suppose the wee kiddies are either in bed or lookin’ at porn with Ross Douthat, which means we can tell a joke that’s what one of those French faggots would call “risque.”

There was a talent agency in New York City and one day a fellow walks in with two large suitcases and tells the receptionist, “I’ve got the greatest act you’ve ever seen, I’ve got to see the man in charge.”

Well, the receptionist starts telling him that the boss is busy and so forth, but the fellow is insistent: “No, lady, you don’t understand. I’m telling you, this is going to be the biggest thing you’ve ever seen, it’s going to make me rich and make your boss rich, too. So you better get me in there to see him right away.”

His confidence impressed the receptionist, so she showed him to the office of her boss, a man of many years experience. “Whaddya want?” the boss demanded of the fellow with the two big suitcases.

“I’ve got the greatest act you’ve ever seen,” the fellow said.

“Get outta here! I’ve seen the greats of show business, kid: Sinatra, Martin and Lewis, Sammy Davis, Elvis, Tom Jones — seen ’em all! You’re not going to impress me!”

The fellow said nothing, but opened up one of his large suitcases and removed a miniature replica of a Steinway grand piano, then took out a matching miniature piano bench. The agent was unimpressed.

“Whaddya think, you idiot, you’re gonna impress me with your toy piano?” said the agent, chomping angrily on his cigar. “Get outta here!”

Again the fellow said nothing, merely raised one finger in a gesture as if to signify, “Wait a minute.” And then he opened the other suitcase and . . . Out leaped a man! A tiny man, barely one foot tall, dressed in a tiny tuxedo suit!

“Get outta here, kid! A midget act? I seen a million midget acts back when I was a kid on vaudeville! I seen ’em all, I tell ya — you’re not going to impress me with this little midget in his monkey suit!”

But again the fellow said nothing. He merely bowed slightly and, with a sweeping gesture of his hand, signaled the foot-tall man to take his seat at the miniature Steinway. Whereupon, with masterful brilliance, the foot-tall man played Mozart. And then he played Chopin, and Haydn and Liszt, and Beethoven and Tchaikovsky.

For an hour the foot-tall man played that Steinway, and the excellence of his performance was such that the enchanting sound brought agents from nearby offices to come listen, and all the secretaries and receptionist crowded in, as well. By the time the little man stopped playing, there were 30 people packed in by the door of the agent’s office, and as the diminuitive virtuoso finished the last perfect note of his final tune, this impromptu audience burst into a sustained ovation, with many cries of “Bravo!”

No one was more impressed than the old boss of the agency, who was still wiping tears from his eyes as the applause ended. He shooed away the crowd and closed the door.

“Kid, I’ve waited all my life for an act like this! I’ve seen Jolson! I’ve seen Bing! I’ve seen Fred Astaire and the Mills Brothers and Tommy Dorsey! I’ve seen the best in the biz, but I have never seen anything like this! We’re going to be rich, rich, rich! Vegas! Hollywood! TV! Movies! Leno! Oprah! A world tour the likes of which has never been seen in the entire history of show business!

“But you got to tell me something, kiddo. Where the hell did you find this little guy?”

“Well,” said the fellow, “you see I was on vacation in Ireland, and one day I was strolling down a path in County Limerick when I thought I heard a voice crying, ‘Help! Help!’ And when I looked around, I saw this little guy dressed in a green suit, trapped under a tree that had fallen over. The litte guy in the green suit said, ‘Help me! I’m trapped! And I’m a leprechaun! If you can get this tree off of me, I’ll grant ye any wish ye ask me.” So I got the tree off of him, and . . .”

The agent took the cigar out of his mouth and said, “And you asked him for . . . this guy?”

“No, actually the leprechaun was kind of old and a bit deaf,” the fellow replied. “And he thought I said I wanted to have a 12-inch pianist . . .”

UPDATE, JOKE 3: Now, it’s really late. Surely all the innocent eyes are elsewhere, and I’ve had a drink or thirteen this evenin’, so I’ll be tellin’ you a truly raunchy one, folks. Fainthearted prudes, read no further. You have been warned!

Many years ago, when David Brooks was just a young lad in his first job at National Review, the sycophantic little twerp talked Bill Buckley into paying him to take a two-week tour of Ireland that was eventually the subject of a column called, “Bobos in Blarneyland: The Path to Irish National Greatness.” However, during his tour of the Emerald Isle, there was one amusing incident that never got written up, but I heard about it years later through someone who was there and who later told me the whole thing.

About 2 o’clock one afternoon, Brooks had just finished an interview with an official in Dublin. The interview had run long, and the official hadn’t provided anything to eat, so Brooks was quite hungry and went in search of a meal. Entranced by the picturesque architecture of the city, he wandered this way and that down the narrow streets and cobbled alleys, nearly forgetting what he was looking for.

Then he sniffed a whiff of savory Irish stew and looked up to see the sign on a quaint little tavern. The sign had a picture of a rooster and a donkey, and the name of the place was “Ye Cocke and Ye Asse.” Chuckling at this display of clever Irish humor, and hungry for that stew, Brooks pushed through the oaken door and into the dimly lit interior of what he took to be a typical local pub.

The place was nearly empty, so Brooks walked up to have a seat at the bar. He was pleased to be cheerfully greeted by the barkeep, a merry fellow with a twinkle of mischief in his green Irish eyes. The bartender offered him a menu, but Brooks waved him off: “I want some of that Irish stew — I could smell it cooking from out in the street, and decided I simply must have some of it. And please bring me a pint of your excellent stout ale, which I’ve read so much about in the most recent issue of . . .”

Brooks chattered on happily as the barkeep poured a pint of ale and ladled up a bowl of stew. Having served his talkative American customer, the barkeeper smiled with a twinkle in his merry green eyes and excused himself, saying he had to attend to matters in the kitchen. Brooks lapped up his stew eagerly, in between long sips of the stout ale, thinking to himself what fantastic luck it was that he had found this authentic local pub, far from the main thoroughfares haunted by all those tacky lowbrow middle-class tourist swine from Cleveland and such places.

In this happy state of contentment, he had just finished the last tasty morsel of his stew and was about to finish his ale when one of the locals walked up and sat down beside him. “Hey, mate, what’s your name?” said the young fellow in what Brooks instantly recognized as an authentic Irish brogue.

“Brooks! David Brooks,” he answered, shaking hands with the friendly young Irish lad. “I’m a journalist for National Review, and William F. Buckley Jr. commissioned me to come investigate conditions here in your quaint little country, and I just finished an interview at the ministry downtown with . . .”

Brooks prattled on, pleased to see that he was making quite an impression on the young fellow, who smiled with a twinkle in his eyes that Brooks was now learning to appreciate as authentic Irish merriment. Finally, however, Brooks was forced to pause to take a breath, and reached for his glass to drink down the last hearty sip of his stout ale.

“Paddy!” the young local called out, and the barkeep emerged from the kitchen. “Paddy, give this man another stout, and bring me one, too. Put it on my tab and, while you’re at it, bring us two shots of the best whiskey in the house. This man is none other than the famous journalist, David Brooks of National Review, and we need to welcome him with the proper Dublin hospitality!”

So the barkeep brought the drinks, and conversation ensued. By the time Brooks had finished telling the merry young local fellow everything about himself, and his trip, and all that he had learned about Ireland during his visit, they’d gone through three rounds. At last, Brooks asked his generous young friend, “And what about you? What do you do?”

“Do?” said the local lad, signaling Paddy the barkeep to bring another ’round. “I don’t really do anything. Y’see, Yank, I’m a leprechaun.”

Brooks laughed merrily. “Oh, hahaha, I guess I should have been prepared for your notorious Irish humor . . .”

“Humor?” said the young Dubliner. “But I’m not joking at all, mate. That’s just like a Yank, I guess. You watch your cartoons and read your storybooks, and I suppose you think all leprechauns are old midgets in green suits with white beards, running around amongst the clovers and such.”

More conversation ensued and more stout and fine Irish whiskey were consumed, as Brooks applied his journalistic prowess to interviewing this young fellow. By the time the local lad excused himself to use the men’s room, he’d quite nearly convinced the man from National Review that he was, indeed, a leprechaun.

Or maybe it was the whiskey, Brooks thought to himself. It was almost 5 o’clock now, and he’d lost track. Had he had five rounds? Six? Seven?

“Paddy,” said Brooks, motioning for the barkeep. “Can you believe this guy? He’s trying to tell me he’s a leprechaun!”

“Oh, it’s true, mate!” the barkeep answered. “Everybody knows it around here. This place is quite popular with the leprechauns. Did you ask him about his pot of gold and his magical powers? He’s quite impressive. He’s granted people wishes before, and he seemed to take quite a liking to you.”

Instantly, Brooks knew that he must act on this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. He walked toward the lavatory with a stride that was, if not altogether steady, certainly determined and purposeful. He pushed through the door into the men’s room to find the young Dublin lad washing his hands.

“All right, if you’re a leprechaun, I’d like you to grant me a wish: I want to be the most famous and successful journalist in history, with my own column in the New York Times!”

Drying his hands now, the leprechaun smiled with a merry twinkle in his eye. “Oh, I’d simply love to, David. But that’s not how it works. You see, I’ve been buying all the drinks, haven’t I?”

Brooks nodded, somewhat puzzled.

“Well,” the young leprechaun answered, “the way our magic operates, we can only grant wishes for those people who have done us some special favor.”

“Oh, anything! Anything you ask, just name it and I’ll do it, because I want to be the most famous and successful journalist in history!” Brooks said eagerly.

“Oh, you will indeed,” answered the leprechaun, with authentic mischief twinkling in his merry Irish eyes as he unzipped his trousers and displayed something that, while not particularly large, was certainly most splendidly aroused. Brooks gazed at it with spellbound amazement.

“What . . .? Why . . .?” the American journalist for once found himself at a loss for words, until he forced his gaze upward from the object of his fascination to stare incomprehensibly into the leprechaun’s twinkling eyes. “Do you mean . . .? You want me to . . .?”

“It’s me magic shillaleigh, man!” answered the leprechaun, with an authentic Irish laugh. “And if you kiss it just the way I like it, the next thing you know, you’ll be a world-famous journalist with your own column in the New York Times!”

No further encouragement was necessary. Brooks then performed feats of such passionate devotion as no other journalist in the world could rival, until the Irish magic was drained entirely from the shillaleigh, whereupon the leprechaun zipped up his trousers and walked toward the door of the men’s room.

“Wait a minute!” said Brooks, rising from his knees. “What about my wish? Aren’t you going to grant me my wish?”

“Wish?” said the leprechaun, the twinkle in his eye now almost blinding in its authentic Irish charm. He turned and extended his hand, which Brooks grasped in a firm handshake.

“Sullivan — Andrew Sullivan’s the name. And don’t tell me you Yanks still believe all that silly stuff about leprechauns!”

* * * * *
Well, that’s enough for one night’s work, eh? I’d like to thank me mate Smitty for recommending me for this job. What with the recession and all, a fellow’s got to make a few extra wherever he can get it nowadays, so long as nobody don’t tell the blighters down at the relief office about it.

There was something else I was supposed to do, but I wrote me notes down on a cocktail napkin. Then when I got a bit ill and parkered all over me shoes, I went to wipe the frum off and must’ve grabbed the wrong napkin . . . Must not have been that important, I suppose. But y’ought to hit a bloke’s tip jar, and . . .

Heh. Now I remember what it was!



March 3, 2009

Yet another Malkin Award nomination

Dadgum, when you’re hot, you’re hot. Sully knows top-drawer Alpha Male wingnuttery when he sees it. And if ever there was a man who could appreciate a little Rule 2 action . . . OK, where’s the brain bleach?


February 20, 2009

Glenn Greenwald: ‘No anti-Semite could possibly hate me worse than I hate myself’

Well, that’s the subconscious meaning of his latest column in his ongoing effort to win the Nobel Prize in literature with his wicked satire of a stereotypical self-hating Jew.

Now, I am friends with some of the writers Greenwald names as contributors to The American Conservative, a publication to which I have twice contributed myself. I understand well what a world of evil is involved in the business of denouncing as anti-Semites all critics of Israel, all critics of U.S.-Israeli relations and all critics of U.S. Middle East policy. The world is more complex than that.

David Frum has recently expressed regret that he and others paid insufficient heed to Iraq war skeptics, but he’s never apologized for his “Unpatriotic Conservatives” smear that impugned Bob Novak among others. Oh, that the Bush administration had included some of those “unpatriotic” voices, to counterbalance the “Cakewalk Ken” Adelmans!

Some would accuse Frum of having been biased on the issue of the Iraq war because he is Jewish and Saddam Hussein was hostile to Israel. Frum would naturally be expected to defend himself as having been concerned only with U.S. interests, and to argue that our alliance with Israel furthers U.S. interests. Many other Americans, Jew and Gentile alike, believe the same thing. The arguments for and against that position have been expounded at great length. That is not a debate I wish to revisit here and now.

What I do want to say is this: If Frum were pro-Israel purely because he himself is Jewish, such a sentiment would be entirely healthy, normal and defensible. I expect Sean Hannity to care more for Ireland than for Iceland, and I expect Barack Obama to care more for Kenya than for Cambodia. The Jew who is proudly Jewish, the Arab who is proudly Arab — these are men I admire and understand, even if I wish their ancient quarrels didn’t continually result in hatred, murder and wars that cause me to pay more for a gallon of gasoline.

By God, I remember when gas was 39 cents a gallon and I believe in my heart that if the descendants of Ishmael and the descendants of Isaac could live in peace, we would get back to 39 cents a gallon again. (Providing, of course, President Palin’s first executive order in 2013 is to round up the environmentalist nitwits and ship them to Gitmo, where they belong.)

On the other hand, if some of the more atavistic descendants of Ishmael continue vowing to kill every Jew they can get their hands on, then it behooves every Jew with any sense of honor to respond: War to the knife, and knife to the hilt.

When you’re a Jet, you’re Jet all the way. Certainly American Jews can disagree over the wisdom of Israeli policy, considering that the Israelis disagree amongst themselves. But to denounce Israel as guilty of “terrorism” for responding forcefully to repeated rocket and mortar attacks by those Hamas thugs in Gaza, to denounce Marty Peretz’s defense of Israel as “uniquely despicable” — this is what Greenwald has done, and in so doing has covered himself with dishonor.

The effect of Greenwald’s discourse is that Israel can undertake no meaningful action against her enemies without being condemned in similar terms. If it were within Greenwald’s power to enforce his policy preferences, Hamas, Hezbollah, al-Qaeda and every other half-baked cabal of terrorist crackpots would be able to kill Jews with impunity.

The terrorists have no intent or purpose — no political philosophy or policy aim — that cannot be summed up in two words: Kill Jews.

If Glenn Greenwald can’t see that, he’s blind. And if he sees it, but would deny Israel the right to fight back against genocidal hatred, he’s perverse.

But perhaps I’ve told you something you already knew.

UPDATE: Greenwald (who’s obviously got Google alerts for all his sockpuppet pseudonyms) accuses me of “trite little condemnations so predictable and over-used that one almost falls asleep reading them,” while mocking as “adolescent” Jeffrey Goldberg’s response:

[H]e knows that I’m not a revanchist Zionist, but falsely accuses me of being one anyway. What a putz.

Does that make me a “revanchist Zionist” or what? Swear to God, if they ever want a Gentile prime minister, my first order would be to deploy the IDF in a north-south line, facing east. My second order would be “forward march” and the order to halt would not be given until it was time for the troops to rinse their bayonets in the Jordan. After a brief rest halt, the order “about face” would be given, and the next halt would be at the Mediterranean coast.

That’s my “Middle East peace plan,” and until it’s carried out, there will be no peace.

UPDATE II: Excuse my extremism, but if you’re going to conquer the land, by God, conquer the land. This was kind of the point of my citing Sherman in response to Greenwald during the Gaza war. The South, really, should be grateful that men like Grant and Sherman finally determined to win the war. Otherwise, the headlines would still be all about the latest “incident” in Nashville or the “uprising” in Charleston, with the United Nations dithering about whether to impose sanctions and crap like that.

While I’m opposed to federal tyranny — and boreal supremacy — you cannot end hostilities fighting by half-measures. A hard war brings a more durable peace. Notice that the Comanches haven’t scalped any settlers lately?

UPDATE III: “Words fail.” — Andrew Sullivan.
UPDATE IV: Under Rule 2, I’m required to link Donald Douglas at American Power., who is the actual neocon chickenhawk Sully’s readers think I am. In fact, I’m just nucking futz, but if you ever hear the Knesset debating whether a Gentile could be prime minister . . . Dude, it’s only a hypothetical. Even Likud would never be that crazy.
UPDATE V: Noted Middle East policy scholar E.D. Kain finds me suffering from “both an inherent lack of understanding regarding the Israel/Palestine conflict, and an unhealthy degree of bloody, American-made machismo.” Look, E.D., no need to be so coy. If you want to see the notorious Speedo pic, just say so.

UPDATE VI: As someone pointed out in the comments, I did not win the Malkin Award, but was merely nominated. True. You’ve got to admit, though, The Peace Through Total Annihilation Plan sets the bar pretty high. So I’ve ordered my gown from Bob Mackie and am practicing my acceptance speech (“I’d like to thank the Academy . . .”) in anticipation of the star-studded gala.

Earned my own Memeorandum thread, “Links of the Day” honors at Kingdom of Idiots, “Quote du Jour” at Alas a Blog, and Moe Lane weighs in:

Remind them about their new pro-torture stance! That’s always good for extra spittle.

Moe’s blog-fu is impressive.

UPDATE VII: Welcome Instapundit readers! What Professor Reynolds may not realize is that if they let me be prime minister, he’ll be my defense minister. But first he’s got to get himself one of those cool Moshe Dayan eye patches. Because chicks dig that. (And if anybody wants to hit the tip jar, be my guest!)

February 8, 2009

‘At least Henry Ford knew how to make a car’

Thus did John Podhoretz respond last week to what he saw as anti-Semitic neocon-baiting from Andrew Sullivan. The real weirdness, as Donald Douglas points out, is that Sullivan appears to have made alliance with some of the Culture11 refugees.

One can be pro-Israel and anti-neocon. Not every neocon is Jewish, nor is every opponent of America’s pro-Israel policy an anti-Semite. One of the worst fruits of the poisoned tree of “compassionate conservatism” is that it has popularized a superficial conception of “neocon” as an anti-Semitic slur meaning “Jewish Republican hawk.” The implied “dual loyalty” smear and the notion that the only reason the U.S. invaded Iraq was to serve the interests of Israel — well, these ideas didn’t just materialize out of thin air, but are socially constructed, as the postmodernists would say.

In its original sense, “neo-conservative” meant liberals or leftists who had been “mugged by reality” and reoriented themselves to a conservative position. Irving Kristol wrote a book about it.

The fact that many of Kristol’s ideological soulmates were likewise Jewish, and that among the “realities” by which they were “mugged” was leftist support for the Arab powers in the 1967 and ’73 wars — no one denies this. But the cause, character and conduct of neoconservatism as a school of political thought is varied and complex, and it was not until Bush’s engagement with radical Islamic terrorism after 9/11 that the term “neocon” was dumbed-down to its current status as the equivalent in political discourse of “kike.” (One wonders if Jewish boys today engage in schoolyard brawls after being called “neocon.”)

Elitism and neoconservatism
My pet peeve with neoconservatives has nothing to do with foreign policy, as such, and everything to do with the characteristic style and content of their arguments. The contant factor of neoconservatism — the thread connecting Irving Kristol with, inter alia, Bill Bennett and Peggy Noonan — has been their preference for a conservatism that speaks to sensibilities considered “respectable” by a certain academically-oriented urban audience.

This is not quite the same as saying that neoconservatism is the conservatism of the elite, for most of the elite are not conservative and, in the person of Sean Hannity, we can see what populist neoconservatism looks like. And one might note, for example, that Bill Kristol — who can claim the “neoconservative” label as a birthright — did not jump into the elitist anti-Palin camp with the likes of David Brooks.

In general, however, neoconservatives insist on a Right that they are not ashamed to defend in Manhattan and Hollywood (or at Harvard), and this results in a certain habit of argument: Concede the desirability of liberal goals, but object to the specific policies by which liberals seek to obtain those goals.

Hard-core liberals aren’t deceived by this half-a-loaf argument, but it does gain neoconservatism a hearing with bien-pensants who can’t understand why such phrases as “social justice” and “world peace” are an invitation to folly. Because neoconservatism so often succeeds at this game, entire organizations (e.g., the Claremont Institute) are devoted to supporting those whose job is to craft arguments convincing the bien-pensant simpletons that they can have their “social justice” and low taxes, too.

Exoteric and esoteric
This is why the term “Straussian” has been applied to neoconservatism. Leo Strauss famously identified the difference between the exoteric meaning of an argument — that is to say, its direct and superficial meaning, apparent to any reader — and its esoteric meaning, which is perceived only by the enlightened, the insiders, the elite. Neoconservatives apparently think of political leadership in terms of the Platonic archons, who understand the need for the “noble lie” of popular mythology. This Straussian tendency leads directly to a species of Republican mythmaking that is ultimately self-defeating, especially when the Straussians lose sight of the distance between myth and reality.

American government was founded with the idea, expressed by James Madison in Federalist No. 10, that there is no shame in the political pursuit of self-interest — i.e., “faction” — and that the object of government is to reconcile such factions so as to prevent harm to “the permanent and aggregate interests of the community.” Modern liberalism undermines this Madisonian conception by asserting that certain interests — e.g., “children’s health” — are so unquestionably urgent and valuable that no decent person can oppose them.

The error of neoconservatism is that it refuses to engage directly the underlying anti-Madisonian impulse of modern liberalism, opting instead to counter with a “conservative” proposal to achieve whatever it is that liberals aim to achieve. Neoconservatives grant the premise of the liberal argument, but deny the conclusion. This produces arguments that are sometimes successful, without being fully persuasive, because they lack the kind of sturdy, honest truth perceived by “men of untaught feelings,” to borrow a phrase.

You see, that in this enlightened age I am bold enough to confess, that [the English] are generally men of untaught feelings; that instead of casting away all our old prejudices, we cherish them to a very considerable degree, and to take more shame to ourselves, we cherish them because they are prejudices; and the longer they have lasted, and the more generally they have prevailed, the more we cherish them. . . . Prejudice is of ready application in the emergency; it previously engages the mind in a steady course of wisdom and virtue, and does not leave the man hesitating in the moment of decision, skeptical, puzzled and unresolved. Prejudice renders a man’s virtue his habit; and not a series of unconnected acts. Through just prejudice, his duty becomes a part of his nature.
— Edmund Burke, Reflections on the Revolution in France

Now, you may say that I am prejudiced in Israel’s favor, much as I am prejudiced against France. So be it. But I am far more prejudiced against liberalism and the Democratic Party, and it is these cherished prejudices — widespread as they are — that broadly unite the American Right. Our immediate challenge is to seek out and persuade those I have called “Future Ex-Democrats.” Exactly how they will be persuaded, and what sort of agenda they will support in the future, is yet to be discovered. But we know that the Democratic agenda is doomed to failure (“It Won’t Work”) and we know that many who voted for Obama will be disillusioned by that failure.

Populism and the Palinites
My preference is for a conservatism that is more forthright and “mean-spirited” than John Podhoretz might accept as respectable, and this “libertarian populist” conservatism might appeal to many who don’t share my favorable prejudice toward Israel. But foreign-policy arguments among conservatives are moot when conservatives have no influence over foreign policy, which is very nearly the case now.

Podhoretz recently published an article by Yuval Levin about Sarah Palin that expressed truth both exoteric and esoteric:

Many of those (including especially those on the Right) who reacted badly to Palin on intellectual grounds understand themselves to be advancing the interests of lower-middle-class families similar to Palin’s own family and to many of those in attendance at her rallies who greeted her arrival on the scene as a kind of deliverance. But it is hard to escape the conclusion that while these members of the intellectual elite want the government to serve the interests of such people first and foremost, they do not want those people to hold the levers of power. They see lower-middle-class populists like Palin and their supporters as profoundly ill-suited for governance, because they lack the accoutrements required for its employment — especially in foreign policy, which, even more than domestic affairs, is thought to be an intellectual exercise.

The esoteric significance of this class prejudice — for it is nothing else — can be observed in the way David Brooks inveighs against the anti-government rhetoric of populists. The meaning of Brooksian wrath can be summed up in two words: Pat Buchanan.

Because Buchanan is perceived as an anti-Semite, and because Buchanan has among his supporters some few who don’t even flinch at the accusation of anti-Semitism, there is the suspicion that everyone who grumbles about big government is a Jew-hating troglodyte. This is “conservatism” as viewed through the paranoid lenses of Theodor Adorno and Richard Hofstadter, the crypto-Freudian belief that we’re never more than one election away from that moment when the Republican Party unfurls the swaztika and the GOP brownshirts come goosestepping down Main Street.

Clever fellows that they are, the Brooksians conceal their silly fear with a superficially plausible argument that a more populist conservative rhetoric can’t win, an argument that is made to appear all the more plausible because it serves to undermine support — especially financial support — for populist candidates in Republican primaries. (Giuliani spent $59 million to get 597,518 primary votes. We are left to wonder where that $59 million might have gone, and what it might have accomplished, had not the Brooksians promoted the absurd notion that a short, bald, pro-choice New Yorker was a serious candidate for the GOP presidential nomination.)

Is Sarah Palin a rabble rouser? Oh, hell, yes. I’ve seen the rabble, and I’ve seen her rouse them. Feel free to argue that she wasn’t ready for presidential primetime on Aug. 29, 2008, but don’t tell me that she can’t possibly be ready by Jan. 20, 2013. And don’t tell me she can’t win. Whatever her deficiencies, she’s got more natural political talent in her little finger than Rudy Giuliani’s got in his entire body (and she’s got a much better body, too).

It may be that a Palin candidacy attracts some Buchananites and Paulistas whose foreign-policy views are not shared by me or John Podhoretz or David Brooks. As it is now, however, the really dangerous Jew-haters (including some self-hating Jews) are in the Obama camp, and they are all the more dangerous because Democrats control both houses of Congress. To take back Congress and the White House from Democrats will require Republicans to assemble a coalition inclusive enough not to demand foreign-policy litmus tests as a condition of admission. We can be grateful that economic issues will be front and center for the foreseeable future, since this unites the Paulistas in common cause with the broad limited-government conservative coalition.

Slagging Sarah Palin and her supporters — the Ordinary Americans, or “ordinary barbarians,” as some of them have dubbed themselves — because they appear to represent a Buchanan-style populism that inspires fear and loathing among the elite, is to push away the Reagan Democrats without whom Republicans can’t win.

It is worth noting that Buchanan was an adviser to both Richard Nixon and Ronald Reagan, which is to say, “At least Pat Buchanan knew how to win an election.”

December 6, 2008

Thirty-one days after the election . . .

. . . and Andrew Sullivan is still obsessed by Trig trutherism. To a conspiracy theorist, no fact is an obstacle. The most obvious obstacle to Sully’s theory — i.e., that Trig was actually Bristol’s first child and Sarah faked a pregnancy to hide that scandal — is that Down’s syndrome is (a) rare among births to women under 25, and (b) relatively common among women over 40. At age 39, a woman has 10 times the risk of having a Down’s pregnancy, compared to a woman under 25 (where the risk is 1 in 1,400 births). The very fact that Trig is a Down’s baby means that Sarah being the mother is at least 10 times as likely as Bristol being the mother.

Beyond that, it is utterly irrelevant, its news value at zero and still falling. Obama’s already won the election and, while there is maybe a 50-50 chance Palin will be the 2012 GOP nominee, nobody except Sully has ever put any stock in this bizarro theory, so why the hell would they care about it four years from now?

Will the Republican Party be playing the Bill Ayers/Jeremiah Wright card in four years? No, of course not. An issue that doesn’t gain traction in one election cycle is not going to suddenly metamorphose into Kryptonite before the next cycle. This was what was so stupid about Dan Rather trying to chase down the Texas Air National Guard “scandal” in 2004 — who gave a crap about that old stuff from 30 years ago, when Bush had already been president for four years?

Because Sully has cornered the market on Trig trutherism — a toxic commodity that no serious journalist is interested in — he keeps pushing it, ’cause it’s the only thing he’s got. Pathetic. Just pathetic.

UPDATE: Ann Althouse gives Sully a brisk fisking, and commenter Kirk Parker adds:

“Maybe I am crazy…”
Wow, I see a glimmer of self-awareness beginning to assert itself.

Cruel, horribly cruel. True. But cruel.