How many mirrors can a man buy on a National Review salary? Ninety-nine? A hundred? What a lucky dog. No I’m only asking. By the way, if there’s anyone who knows a wimp when he sees one it’s got to be Jonah Goldberg:
…Obama’s consequences haven’t even been inconsequential; they’ve had the opposite of their intended effect. Rather than send the Ukrainians weapons or useful intelligence, we sent them a bunch of MREs (“Meals Ready to Eat”). And even that we were unwilling to do in too provocative a way. We didn’t use Air Force cargo-planes, but rather sent the snacks in by civilian trucks.
A real man – he would parachute right into the Kremlin. He’d shotgun his way into the president’s office and shove a few tins of meatloaf up Pootie’s backside, sideways. Right? Can’t you see it? Our hero, manatee scion of Lucianne, arriving in Vlade’s office wheezing like an unknotted balloon and trumpeting his arrival through his trousers, braap. Easing himself onto the floor, he lifts his head toward the cameras with a grunt: “Sorry, pal, all we had was leftovers.”
Another thing about Jonah’s world: when MREs are not being eaten by the likes of our Navy SEALs, they’re called “snacks.” Okay, noted. Back when Ronnie Reagan carried them around in his rucksack (see: Hellcats of the Navy [lord no, unless you're a fan of granite obelisk theater, don't see Hellcats of the Navy]), they were commonly known as “Rabid Fucking Hyenas.”
On April 12, the Wall Street Journal reported that the White House was still weighing requests from the Ukrainian government for other supplies such as “medical kits, uniforms, boots and military socks.”
Oh great. Poodle Boy has got the sock in his mouth.
“You want to calibrate your chest-thumps,” a senior military official told the Journal, explaining this step-by-step approach. “He does something else in Ukraine, we release the socks.”
Now, imagine you are Vladimir Putin…
…your aide brings in the news that a “senior military official” of the United States has announced that if you take another step toward carving up Ukraine, the U.S. will be forced to give the Ukrainians the socks they’ve been asking for.
I take it if the Ukrainians had asked for hugs, we’d be Richard Simmons. If they’d asked for prayers, we’d be Pope Francis. And if they’d asked for atomic bombs, dammit, we’d be Jonah Goldberg. Hell, yes, we’ll send them a trump card, in a red white and blue zeppelin. I can imagine the riotous reception for the equalizer landing in Kiev, at 5 miles an hour, replete with bunting, Greek wrestling, and color commentary from whoever passes for Sean Hannity on the Syeven-Elyeven closed circuit TV. The cargo hold swings open, the cheers ring out, and the guest of honor is wheeled onto the tarmac…to the flinching of Ukraine’s generals, who see the bomb’s crackling circuits shorted with Cheetos dust. Stupid Russkies, they’ll never know it’s a dud.
Consequences that are not sufficiently painful or sufficiently scary aren’t consequences in the sense Obama means at all. They’re invitations. It’s like trying to get a bear to leave you alone by throwing salmon at it.
The Ukrainians ask for socks, and Obama is giving Putin a fish. Foreign policy, everybody.
I entirely understand that Americans are war-weary, and for good reason. But has it really gotten to the point where the U.S. military now defines “chest-thumping” as unleashing the socks of war?
The so…what! Of WAR? Did you see that? Did you just see what Jonah did there?