This oldie goes out to Al and all the little Frankensteins busily at work at Air America Radio. “There’s a kind of HUSH, all over the world tonight…” Once again we see the happy result of a major liberal spending program. Millions “invested” into an abyss, and not a listener within earshot. But for once all society benefits. Al, a former television personality, is learning a useful new skill, as are some of his associates such as Janeane Garofalo. It’s a kind of Zen experience, as they disappear from view, talk to walls, and find their niche in empty universe. Al said that “Bush is going down.” According to our resident Einsteins, it’ll be a few million light years before he plummets to Al’s current location.
The sad thing is that with Al so far away, it’s not clear if his and his confreres’ new jobs can be included in the fresh numbers released today. The very thought that they might is what keeps Franken incensed, no matter his location, or now, locution.
These aren’t happy times for nonliberal radio either. At NPR, a government-funded network with close ties to the intelligence community and Ms. Virginia Plame, Mr. Bob Edwards has been given the classic boot, this just months before he could mark his 25th anniversary as public radio’s morning mainstay. By all accounts he was a nicer man than even John Edwards, but the thinking is that he was confused with the North Carolinian and ousted before Sen. John Kerry compromised NPR’s nonpartisanship by tapping an Edwards as his running mate. Which Edwards you ask? At this stage, does it matter?
Finally, so threatened was Dr. Rush Limbaugh by the Franken onslaught that he turned his show over to subs the rest of the week, freeing him up for his major work, which is to see that God has enough talent on loan from him.
In response to the Bush administration’s release today of new job figures — which actuaries and statisticians suspect are seriously understated, given the administration’s well-documented modesty in calculating actual amounts its sundry policies entail — Sen. Kerry wasted no time in predicting he could create a dozen times as many new jobs. We, for once, believe him. In his case, most of the growth will occur in the medical sector. In answer to the big question he posed some time ago, we know very well who he is and thus what’s required to keep him as such. That means repeated shoulder operations and recovery, same with his knees, toes, fingers, toenails, fingernails, facial wrinkles, vocal chords, tongue, tonsils, tendons and any resulting addiction from over-dependence on anesthesia injections. Say what you about Sen. Fancy Pants, his is the only rotator cuff with its own engraved cuff links.
Still, it’s too bad about America’s leading patient. His recent surgery came at a politically inopportune time, according to the New York Times, which had him “riding on a wave of excitement after his capture of the Democratic nomination.” This calls for another trip down rock and roll lane. Here’s the get-well-soon oldie we’ve dedicated to the Kerryster — “Wipeout!”
Move over David Brock and Richard Clarke — you’ve got company, a Michael Bergin who is every bit the gentleman people say you’ve been. Bergin has now published his own book, full of declassified insights into Kennedy politics and undercover underwear. It too is devastating regarding the Bushes, providing not one bit of mitigating data on the level of administration preparedness for September 11. Nor does it single out Condoleezza Rice as a competent national security adviser. Worst, it does nothing to undermine the credibility of Richard Clarke himself.
So that’s where we come in, renewing Clarke’s Enemy of the Week registration, but only this one time. His 15 days of shame are about to expire. But an EOW Black Heart will come in handy on April 8, when after Rice’s appearance before the 9/11 Commission he’ll be able to return attention to himself by throwing his medal away in front of the Capitol. At least that will give him something real to talk about when Al Franken calls. And speaking of oldies, this is dedicated to the one we loathe: “You ain’t nothing but hound dog.” Yes, Dick, you.