Can it be a good sign for the prospects of the ¡Nie wieder Frieden! crowd that they are reduced to the "sixth sense" of Pajama #2, a product which does not appear to from those immortal gut feelin’s with which First Lieutenant G. Walker Bush of the Texas Air National Guard formerly worked international wonders that resonate still?
Bein’ evidently uncommitted to the errors of specifically Christian Christojudæanity, #2 permits himself the luxury of a little soft darwinisin’ on these mysteries. And why not? When the neorhetors have nothin’ obviously better goin’ for ’em, perhaps ’instincts’ primitively accepted and primitively mythologized will do the trick? It is not as if the neocomrades will be any the worse off, should no fresh marks and dupes be attracted. [1]
Political grown-ups who instinctively or reflectively dislike this sort of thing remain free to regard the policy baby-bottle as half full: obviously thirty-seven pages of µSoft PowerPoint® justifyin’ the preëmptive retaliation here in question would be far more impressive at first glance, but anybody in the Duke of Pajama’s class, culturally and tertiary-educationally and otherwise, ought to be able to concoct any number of such pages that do not have much more cognitive content than "JUST SAY ’ICK’!’ AND THEN ’BOMBS AWAY!’"
If on the supply side of agitprop the caveman can always be dragged in freely along omne ignotum pro magnifico lines, so amongst the dhimmí tribe of agitprop customers, there is always at least a little something sincere that one can find to say for brevity.
His Grace also condescends to worry a little -- "invidious, in fact usually absurd" -- before deployin’ the argumentum ad Hitlerum diagnosed by his late neocomrade, Herr Prof. Dr. Leo von Strauss. The present keyboard believes that the original discoverer or inventor was quite right to imply that this particular crutch should never be resorted to. Yet obviously if it is to be deployed, a show of decent hesitation before actually droppin’ the verbal nuke is bound to make the agitpropper look slightly better than she otherwise would in pretty well everybody’s eyes.
The empty aspect of the baby bottle will no doubt be pointed out by others. To rehearse His Grace of Pajama’s sophistry in a way that would tend to make it look ridiculous is not difficult.
More interesting is the generic character or provenance of the sophistry, which I take to be either Madison Avenue or the so-called metaphysical poetry. Discordia concors, don’t you know? A manipulative synæsthesia whereby the dhimmí hopefully winds up buying and eating the steak ’because’ he liked (the salesperson’s allusion to) the sound of the sizzle. In the case at hand, though, it is a question rather of what the dhimmí dislikes.
Quite an interesting grammatical and philosophical conjunction, that ’because’: what it involves is not exactly a physical cause, causa efficiens, but neither is it exactly a logical or mathematical reason. Somewhere between the two stools falls His Grace of Pajama’s wannabe-manipulative ’because’.
If the Joseph Goebbels School of Agitation, Propaganda and Public Diplomacy does not find this specimen worthy to be stuffed and put on permanent exhibition, they will, in this amateur’s opinion, be making a mistake. Should they consider it and then reject it because of an undue concern with the ’wannabe-’ prefix factor, they will be making a more subtle mistake:
| "Well dost thou seem to check my lingering here On this important hour!-I’ll straight away, And while the fathers of the Senate meet In close debate to weigh the events of war, I’ll animate the soldiers’ drooping courage, With love of freedom, and contempt of life: I’ll thunder in their ears their country’s cause, And try to rouse up all that’s Roman in ’em. ’Tis not in mortals to command success, But we’ll do more, Sempronius; we’ll deserve it. " |
After the neocomradely community’s Black Tuesday, 4 November 2008, our holy-Homelandic™ Senate (not even to mention the Pelosi-infested House!) may prove a bit harder for the Duke to rouse than previously, yet what rational animal can blame his lordship for that? Should his lordship persevere and succeed at last despite liberals and democrats and Democrats, the glory of the neoëxploit would be far greater than if he had marked the same product to George XLIII, a laddie who, as noted above, was already predisposed in favour of appeal to sixth senses and gut feelin’s.
A stern critic might criticize that this agitprop product cannot be much good precisely because it could not be marketed to George XLIII.
The objection is thoroughly unreasonable: we do not, to begin with, know that His Grace of Pajama ever attempted to make the sale. It would not be mysterious at all if it should turn out that his lordship overestimated Master Dubya’s gut-basin’ proclivities and figured, until it was too late, that the Dynasty Brat would get there on His own without bein’ pushed. Or perhaps without bein’ pushed by anybody other than Neocomrade Viceroy R. B. Cheney.
After all, it still remains rather remarkable that Master Dubya did not in fact ever get there, does it not? "What went wrong?"
And God knows best.
Happy days.
_____
[1] A certain class of cultivated despisers, one that includes the present keyboard when it is not leaning over backwards to be balanced and fair with militant extremist neocomrades, must inevitably despise this shtyk. But we are obviously of no discernible political throw-weight.
"Nobody ever went broke underestimating the intelligence of the American public," said St. Henry of Mencken. That’s the ticket, Your Grace!
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