jane dark's sugarhigh!

Poodle

If we are not to blame his habit of playing Superblotto every night, perhaps we can take Chris Hitchens' recent banalities and solecisms as lending credence to the supposition that becoming a Republican is something like getting a lobotomy wrapped in a tax break.

My favorite has been his decision, when confronted with the supreme absence of WMDs, not to mutter about how the Iraqi regime was so heinous they had to go no matter what (even sober, Hitch knows that argument sounds real funny as soon as someone down at the Blarney Stone says "Um, uh, so what's up with North Korea, sir?")

Instead, the man who inspired the word "Rotgutterdammerung" simply suggested that there was no need for any justification of the war on Iraq. At all. Never mind the shock'n'awe, pay no attention to the man behind the curtain, et cetera. The recent conflict, despite the billions of brain cells expended on justficatory rhetoric by a massive administration and Chris, was merely doncha know part of an ongoing "long war of maneuver with Saddam Hussein that took more than a decade to conclude." Well, cheers. Looking at my 216-year calendar, I'm pretty sure we're still at war with France, and I feel certain Mr. Hitchens is itching to conclude that one as well.

I also like it when the good gentleman explains that Alliance soldiers are busy with "the reconstruction of Iraq," drifting over how they have made precious little progress, particularly in comparison to the Iraqi-led reconstruction conducted during the 1991 lull in Mr. Hitchens' permanent war. This is perhaps because the current heavily-armed day-laborers are busy killing and being killed, which surely puts a crimp in the schedule.

The saddest thing about all this is that Hitchens' pathetic what-I-did-with-my-high-IQ story comes in large part out of a sense of dissatisfaction with and betrayal by the party of Lincoln and Clinton. Which is neither inhuman nor unreasonable. The tragedy comes next: he could have left the plutocratic sphere and become an actual political critic, rather than soggily signing on with The Other Party. His story is merely a retelling of the national narrative, this choice or none, copied out in blood-stained bourbon.