Even Rummy Has His Defenders

…although they are a strange and alarming bunch…

Douglas Feith, widely derided as one of the key reasons that Iraq descended into the Pit of Hell … a neocon Defender of the Faith venal and small-minded enough that Gen. Tommy Franks called him “the fucking stupidest guy on the face of the earth.”

Yeah, Feith is banging the drum for dear departed Rummy, saying that if we only understood Rummy, the scales would fall from our eyes, and the full glory would just suffuse us like God’s love. Viz:

Those of us in his inner circle heard him say, over and over again: Our intelligence, in all senses of the term, is limited. We cannot predict the future. We must continually question our preconceptions and theories. If events contradict them, don’t suppress the bad news; rather, change your preconceptions and theories.

To quote Darkman: Oh, you gotta be shittin’ me.

If there is one constant of the Bush administration, it has been their commitment to denial.  No mistakes were made.  Things are going fine.  Free people do bad things.  The insurgency is in its last throes.  Move along. Nothing to see here.  Hey – the world changed on 9/11.  Code Orange.  Be afraid. 

When all four branches of the armed services combined to call for Rumsfeld’s ouster, however, the jig was up.  The Repub/neocon totem object of worship is anyone in the uniform of the armed services (well, as long as they don’t speak out against the war or anyone in authority, that is).  If the military were to turn outright and openly against the Bushies (as is apparently happening, as many soldiers are starting to wake up to the conclusion that they and their friends are all dying for a hatful of hollow), then the Repubs and neocons would experience a total psychological breakdown.  Up would be down, right would be wrong, and the whole political philosophy would …

would …

Would actually begin to resemble the surrealistic neo-zen exchanges of a Rumsfeld press conference.

And I just had to grab this last comment on the story from Sadly, No – this is hilarious. And disturbing. Disturbingly hilarious? Hilariously disturbing? Someone has been dwelling too long on the utterances of Rumsfeld, and I believe it hath made them mad…

Rumsfeld is a bundle of paradoxes, like a fascinating character in a work of epic literature.

Rumsfeld is a pile of dirty clothes, the ones that you think might
be clean enough to wear around the house, but not out on a date. And
then you have to go to the store. Should you wear the
suspiciously-smelling Rumsfeld? It is a fascinating mystery.

Rumsfeld is an apple strudel that someone has bitten into, and you
don’t know whether they decided to leave the rest because it was
unpleasant to taste, or they realized it wasn’t their apple strudel in
the first place.

Rumsfeld is an erect penis, existing percariously between relaxation
and ejaculation, easily coaxed into orgasm but ready to subside if
neglected. Do not use your mouth to further inflame Rumsfeld. He hates
that.

Rumsfeld is a stray booger that has landed on a work of great art.
One cannot wipe him away without risking a streak on the canvas, so one
must consider him to be part of the painting itself. He is multi-hued
green and will dry, in time. Be patient.

Rumsfeld is the midnight sun and the moon of the afternoon, a cancer
cell that may be a viable mutation, the breath of a newborn infant with
colic. He is life itself, with the sting of death ever-resting in his
tail. He does not actually have a tail, however. He enjoys cheese, not
for the purpose of consumption, but simply because it exists. It is
cheese, he is Donald Rumsfeld, all things have their proper place in
the world. He is content. Do not call him “Rummy”. He will become
cranky.

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