Under the Black Flag

A Fine Kettle of Fish

If you thought comedy was dead, think again.  There’s always John Podhoretz, the ferociously bellicose neocon who makes Patton and Rommel sound like popinjays when he thunders away, urging Uncle Sam to attack and crush his enemies wherever they might be hiding.  Beating the war drums is very old hat here in the good old U.S. of A.  Noncombatants have been doing it since the inception of the Republic, and the call to arms reached its zenith ten years ago, when the intrepid George W. Bush, ably assisted by those other three great warriors Cheney, Rumsfeld, and Wolfowitz, invaded, conquered, and captured the greatest warrior since Genghis Khan, Saddam Hussein, along with his myriad of WMD.  No one cheered louder than John “Four Pizzas” Podhoretz, not even his close buddy among sofa samurai, William “I shall parachute into Baghdad and kill Saddam with my bare hands” Kristol.  Now the twin armchair warriors are at it again, beginning two years ago when they celebrated the start of the Syrian civil war by pigging out on a week’s supply of gefilte fish sent to them with gratitude by the Israeli Lobby.

Never mind.  Warriors are prone to itch for a fight.  Their aggressive posture brings to mind Evelyn Waugh’s famous description “of children as of procreation—the pleasure momentary, the posture ridiculous, the expense...

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