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Quite apart from the performative contradiction involved in this paragraph, two things immediately come to mind—one tragic, one (appropriately) comic. The comic one is this: do you remember that incredibly pompous doofus in seventh grade who thought he was some kind of Serious Intellectual? The guy who was such an obstreperous asshole that even teachers would ask him to make a fool of himself for general class amusement? It’s a dull day in May in your English class, and everyone’s supposed to be discussing something like “Miniver Cheevy” but they’re really looking out the window or doodling “Yes” logos in their notebooks or thinking about sneaking into Billy Jack on the weekend because it’s rated R and their parents won’t let them see it, and suddenly Mrs. Eggleston at the front of the room says, “Mr. Cohen, say something funny for us, won’t you?” And the entire class snaps to, because everyone knows Mrs. Eggleston meant “say something ridiculous and goofy as hell,” and Richie really does say the most amazingly stupid-ass things you’ve ever heard come out of a human mouth, and sure enough, he does not disappoint: “I think Miniver Cheevy is the kind of hero who could help us turn the corner today in Vietnam,” says little Richie. Half the class bursts into laughter, and the other half thinks WTF? and actually looks at the poem to try to figure out where in the world Richie pulled that one from, and lo! Mrs. Eggleston’s English class is back on track, and nobody’s thinking about Billy Jack any more. It’s dirty pool, pedagogically speaking, but it works.
The tragic one is this: little Richie is still at it today! Right on cue, he opens his mouth and says that Saddam has WMD and that “only a fool—or possibly a Frenchman—could conclude otherwise.” Get it? possibly a Frenchman? That is teh funny, Richie! Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha! Every time the right calls on you—to stump for war in Iraq, to demand that Patrick Fitzgerald close his investigation into the Plame scandal, to defend Bill Bennett, or simply to insist (way back in 2000) that Bush was the man to heal our nation—you deliver. Karl Rove says, “say something funny, won’t you, Mr. Cohen,” and within seconds, they’re laughing uproariously at you. At you, Richie, not with you. They think you’re a buffoon, really they do. In fact, they think they can get you to say anything at all. Now, Richie, why do you think they think that? Go ahead—say something funny! We’re all waiting.
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You know, I can understand why the press went in the tank for Iraq. There’s no mystery why Tweety and Liddy had simultaneous wargasms about the flightsuit. I can see why the Plame story and the Downing Street Memo are so bo-ring to the CWmeisters. I don’t blink in disbelief when every bobblehead says in chorus, “Democrats, too, were involved in the Abramoff scandal.” I wasn’t surprised that the Washington Post, burned first by nasty mean blog commenters and then by their own Ben “even my prepositions are plagiarized” Domenech scandal, would order a takedown of Maryscott O’Connor, who, together with a couple of other liberal bloggers, has precipitated a National Civility Crisis. I could have predicted that poor Joe Klein would need to have his many wounds kissed and dressed by Hugh Hewitt. I know all too well why DC power couple Ana Marie Cox and Chris Lehmann have signed up for the nose-pinching “Colbert is not really our cup of tea, dahling” society. And I don’t even think very highly of Richard Cohen. In fact, these days I’m thinking he could beat Jeff Goldstein in a head-to-head matchup of supercilious, ignorant, self-satisfied wankers, and remember, my prognosticatin’ record has been pretty good lately.
But for some reason, I just wasn’t ready for the weekend media blackout on Hookergate. Of all things to trip my incredulity wire! On Friday I was readin’ around the usual blogs, and many of them were on full-alert Pony Watch. On Monday I find that the only people still talking about Hookergate are . . . bloggers. Really smart, reliable ones like Laura Rozen and Kevin Drum, mind you, not those foul-mouthed denizens of the fever swamp (i.e., everybody else, including you). Well, at least this reminds me why I started reading blogs in the first place, back in the summer of 2002—out of a growing sense that almost everything else had become worse than useless. (Yes, I know it took me way too long, another eighteen months, to start my own damn blog. Give me a break already—especially those of you who think I’ll look like Richard Cohen in a decade or two.) But that’s a long way to go to look for a good side.
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Digital lynch mobs of radical left-wing Symbionese Liberation Army sympathizers armed with a big bowl of Maryscott O’Connor® Brand Angry Flakes are bad for the Democrat Party. If not for digital lynch mobs of radical left-wing Symbionese Liberation Army sympathizers armed with a big bowl of Maryscott O’Connor® Brand Angry Flakes, political discourse in the United States would be characterized by good sound Habermasian communicative reason, and Max Cleland would still be a Senator today.
Polite, respectful, decorous, civil bloggers armed with sarcasm, dramatic irony, metaphor, bathos, puns, parody, litotes (especially the litotes) and satire are good for the Democrat Party. With the help of polite, respectful, decorous, civil bloggers armed with sarcasm, dramatic irony, metaphor, bathos, puns, parody, litotes (especially the litotes) and satire, the Democrat Party will take back the House and Senate this fall. And then, finally, we can make the bastards pay! We will launch an investigation into smug, supercilious, clueless wanking, and we will issue our first subpoena to Richard Cohen.