Ain't Our Fault

[IDemo]

Batters up in the blame game
Bill Cope, Boise Weekly

MARCH 22, 2006

As everything the opposition predicted about Iraq comes true--the endless insurgency, the rise of theocratic rule, the rise in Iranian influence, the squandering of American resources, the squandering of American prestige, the squandering of American soldiers, the civil war no one dares to call a civil war, the civilian slaughter, the chaos that spreads across the Middle East like a plague from an ancient time--I'm throwing myself into the briar patch here by making yet another prediction. It's a habit I generally prefer to steer clear of--predicting. On paper, at least. As those in the Bush administration should know by now--but probably don't since they seem incapable of learning anything new--there's nothing that can haunt your future quite like a past prediction.

But it's not such a huge risk I'm taking, since it concerns what to expect from the Right as it becomes increasingly clear that Iraq is lost. Face it, the Right is as predictable as poop from a goose. Sure, some of them, particularly the younger ones, try their damnedest to be unpredictable--and by "unpredictable," I mean fun. Zany. Puckish. Brash. Wascally wight-wingers.

By the time it all gets through the reality strainer, though, it's the same old poop, isn't it? No matter how the Right says it, no matter how brash they are in the presentation, no matter how zany and puckish they may appear to be--especially to those mushy-minded souls who keep the Limbaugh/O'Reilly/Hannity freak show in business--it really all boils down to the simplest of messages: "It's the liberals' fault!"

Take Ann Coulter ... I truly believe she truly believes being an abrasive bitch is somehow cute. I think she sees herself as the Cyndi Lauper of the quasi-fascist circuit. Or like feisty Mary Richards doing that perky thing with her hat, I think when Coulter throws zingers like "Liberals are either traitors or idiots" into the air, she considers herself not just smart, not just pithy, not just feisty, but that she thinks she's being sexy. Sexy ... you know ... in a perky way. I think she is such a sad little doll, endlessly performing her sad little act for the tired queens of the conservative burlesque, that she will go to her final rest, quite convinced she was loved for herself.

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