Now I may not be as "emotionally or morally sophisticated" as Roger L Simon, but then I didn’t spend the afternoon of 9/11 flushing away my beliefs and convictions in a piddle-stained panic. So please spare me the "cojones" and "cowardice" locker room speech from the man who is one car backfire away from turning into a fedora floating in a puddle of pee.
You wanna run into the arms of the big strong steely-eyed rocket man? Be my guest. But when he picks your pocket, steals you car and leaves you high and dry in some cheap motel near Waco, don’t come crying to me.
I believe the rest of the year will be spent finding endless ways to say just this, only not nearly so well.
Very moving, no? All those fine words about the rule of law safeguarding our liberties, the arbitrary exercise of power and Bunker Hill, Lexington and Normandy went right out the window on 9/11. That was when Henry [Hyde] and the rest of his stalwart defenders of the rule of law promptly wet their pants and then let their president use the constitution to clean up the puddle.
I say two is a trend.
Update: Wolcott takes the pledge:
In fact, my policy is to refer to the warbloggers in 2006 as "bedwetters." There need be no shame in being a bedwetter. It’s a condition that can be treated. But for the neocon-converted, treatment first requires taking honest self-inventory. Having the courage to look in the mirror admit, "I’m a pompous warmongering bedwetting crybaby who loves to hear myself maunder."
And that’s a hat trick.