Mmm, That's Delicious Snark!

Two things I wish I wrote this week, and two hilarious posts from sources not always focused on hilarity.

First, Mark Kleiman brings us If Ann Coulter had liveblogged the Gettysburg Address.

Okay, here we go. More "eloquence," no doubt.

Four score and seven years ago

"Fourscore and seven"? Puh-leeze! Couldn't you make it just a little more pompous? Only a moonbat could regard this guy as an orator.

our fathers brought forth on this continent,

Ummm ... didn't we have mothers, too? Well, maybe Lincoln didn't; he looks like he came out of a test tube marked "Failure." But somehow I doubt that the suffragette harpies who swoon over Father Abraham are going to be pleased by the omission.

Anyway, shouldn't someone as smart as Lincoln is supposed to be know that it's mothers who "bring forth"? That thing that fathers do is called "begetting." (I'd always wondered whether Mrs. Lincoln's brats were any kin to Old Ape.)

Then, libertarian Jim Henley brings us How I Got It Right: Looking Back at a Time of Justified Opposition to a Mad, Violent Enterprise.

So many publications have expressed such overwhelming interest in the perspectives of those of us who opposed the Iraq War when it had a chance of doing good that I have had to permit mutliple publication of this article in most of the nation’s elite media venues - collecting, I am almost embarrassed to admit, a separate fee from each. Everyone recognizes that the opinions of those of us who were right about Iraq then are crucial to formulating sane, just policy now. It’s a lot of pressure, so please forgive anything glib or short you read herein: between articles, interviews, think-tank panels and presentations before government agencies and policy organs I’m not permitted to mention, I’m a little frazzled.

On the bright side, and I can confirm that my experience has been similar to those of my fellow prophets, being the object of so much attention, being repeatedly quizzed by eager interlocutors on the same basic points, encourages one to distill one’s thinking to its essence. As Kenneth Pollack asked me the other day, “What the fuck was so special about you, anyway?”

“For one thing,” I said, “I am not sprawled on a sidewalk next the McPherson Square Metro Station, hoping to cadge enough quarters to enjoy the rare treat of laundering the vomit out of the only shirt I own, praying all the while that decent people do not recognize me beneath the matted beard and tangled hair.”

The excerpts are only the tip of the iceberg. Excellent Sunday morning reading.