Seen through the bottom of a bottle, it all makes sense….
I read this by Lileks today:
Which brings us to the mistreatment of Iraqi prisoners. Some insist you have to serve before you can have an opinion on military matters. Otherwise you’re a Chickenhawk. Does this mean you’re a Chickenjudge if you criticize the miscreants who abused the prisoners? Probably. Who cares? We can all agree that the idiots who abused these prisoners should stand trial, and if they’re guilty, make them swap the uniform they disgraced for one with black and white stripes. Here’s your hammer; there’s the rock pile. Five years or five tons of pebbles, whichever comes first.
But there we go again, questioning their patriotism.
Doesn’t that seem like an utterly irrelevant accusation now? Sure. And it’s as meaningless as another hoary trope of the left: “We Support the Troops.”
…and my first thought was that maybe the editor at Newhouse had the day off. But then I read this:
The sky, the trees, the flowers all say vokda . . . the wind, she mutters â€œbourbon.â€ Still not clear-likker season yet. I bought a bottle of Level, the new premium vodka from Absolut. No â€“ wait â€“ Absolut is premium, right? At least compared to your basic paint-stripping brands like Karkov. (Incidentally, I have the perfect name for those pretentiously-named liquor & juice combos: Cirotique.) So Level must be super-uber-premium. Itâ€™s the vodka of Trumps! Again, I remember a New Yorker article I read years ago about Smirnoffâ€™s attempt to market a superpremium wudka, as Ensign Chekov might call it. Their main issue concerned the definition of vodka itself, which was â€œwithout taste.â€ And thatâ€™s true, in the sense that the definition of â€œbreezeâ€ doesnâ€™t say anything about the faint hint of new flowers that breeze might carry. But vodka isnâ€™t like scotch; itâ€™s about texture more than taste. The difference between velvet and burlap.
Not that Iâ€™ll know tonight. Ah well.
…and it all made sense.
They ought to have breathalysers on keyboards….