So Tenet leaves the CIA. I want more.

I want Humpty (Wolfowitz) and Dumpty (Rove) both, twisting in the wind.

What is it about the loyalists who are willfully blind to the grubbiest, greediest faults of this truly shabby administration?

We could talk about the unconscious need to idealize the father. And we will—but not today. I have to be in a really good mood to face the Freudian wallow in which most people piss away their lives. But you know it’s something dark and creepy, something the psyche believes beyond question.

Either that, or an unmet need so strong, so basic to the human heart, that the search for redress shapes the all rest of life. Effectively robbing one of choice, of the opportunity to really be someone, an inspiration—instead of going down in history as the woman who spends every weekend watching TV with George Bush.

My take is that Condi Rice is about fourteen years old, inside.

And that Ann Coulter is, or was, not long ago, a man. (c.f. pomme d’Adam)

But I digress. I do digress. . .

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