BREITBART.COM - McCain: Iraq War Mismanaged for Years
McCain, the ranking Republican on the Senate Armed Services Committee, complained that Rumsfeld never put enough troops on the ground to succeed in Iraq.
“I think that Donald Rumsfeld will go down in history as one of the worst secretaries of defense in history,” McCain said to applause.
The comments were in sharp contrast to McCain’s statement when Rumsfeld resigned in November, and failed to address the reality that President Bush is the commander in chief.
Of course they are. To blame Bush would be to violate the deal between Bush and McCain for Bush to back Mister First Amendment’s nomination drive. McCain is already portraying himself as the natural inheritor of Bush’s religious right constituency. Now he agrees that the botched job in the war on terror (not just Iraq) was All Rumsfeld’s Fault. (Where was Bush, in that event? Reading his Christmas cards from the Saudi royal family?)
UPDATE: This is just a hunch on my part, but I suspect that Bush tilted McCain’s way not just for practical political help in the Senate, and because Bush dislikes Rudy Giuliani’s lack of social conservatism, but also because Rudy made Bush look awfully dweebish in the aftermath of 9/11.
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After a blissfully network news free weekend, I am experiencing acutely perplexing distress, high tech find-em feel-em fuck-em and forget-em, I’ll call you later abandonment, and emotional button-pushing by pseudo-political entities promoting nothing more mundane than low class tactics of personal dissatisfaction and constant desire-mongering to an apex bordering on abject vomitus. Got that? After this much constant news-pooting, it is simply inconceivable that this daily compost tirade has no effect on my spirits, my health, and my creative motivation. But I guess this is the ocean I swim in. I yearn to rise above it all in one last desperate despicable act, as a sullied pen or tainted paint brush falls from hand, in the midst of the concentrated flood of various poot-butts and wankers, diverse insidious shams which intend to redundantly drill, auger-like, scraps of misinformed retarded self-serving retrograde crap into my unconscious, via cathode saturation.
I used to utter to Faux hopeful Ms. Coulter, keeping in mind her mild to severe learning disability, “Honey, let’s go out naked tonight, and don’t forget the socks, light bulbs, and honey”. And for all the intellectual posturing she pretends, she never appreciated my intermingling of milieu: Lewis Carroll, Lucretius, Spinoza, Proust, Bacon (Farmer John), Kant, the Stoics, Kafka, Nietzsche, Melville (Don’t ask how he knows so much about sailors), Artaud, Foucault, and Liberace. But I never lost sight of her completely reactionary, prefabricated, and overwhelming/crushing mission to express talking head methane emission. Death from blue balls is unique, of course, and therefore unusual, but what can one say about the unusual when, from Derrida to Disney, from Marx to Goofy, it multiplies in the same generation all these uncommon endings, not to mention her landing strip!
Do you really think GWB makes decisions based on factors such as this?
Mr. Gordon, you’re at the wrong site. The fiction contest is at www.bulwer-lytton.com.
What’s really funny, Lorenzo, is the perfect picture of this boob I have in my mind: Gordon is sitting somewhere in a darkened room before a monitor, absently wiping drool from his chin as he types away, muttering to himself, “Hah! That will show them!”, and pausing occasionally to laugh aloud in maniacal glee at his own brilliance.
He should pause occasionally to end one sentence and start another. That’s rough reading.