John McCain should go back to Arizona and disappear inside one of the many mansions he acquired through nuptials. Let him despair over Iraq’s disintegration there, inside a musty man-cave haunted by ESPN’s broadcast clowns. I can’t fathom the spell he’s cast upon the brilliant media but I know that when a person can’t add two and two together he’s no mathematician. It infuriates me that someone responsible for sending thousands of our friends and neighbors to die in a wrenching clusterfuck isn’t being basted in boiling tar and slapped with ostrich feathers.
“Do you believe that the people of Iraq, or at least a large number of them, will treat us as liberators?”
No one in recent memory has been more cavalier.
“There is not a history of clashes that are violent between Sunnis and Shias, so I think they can probably get along.”
And no one, given the seriousness of the matter – annihilation – has been more eager to bolt toward hot cameras and microphones and weigh in on the side of human sacrifice.
“We’re going to win this victory. Tragically, we will lose American lives, be it will be brief. We’re gonna find out massive evidence of weapons of mass destruction.”
McCain refuses to contemplate he’s ever been wrong. This thought is not allowed. He is a cocksure agent of death.