I'm Sorry You're So Ungrateful

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My fellow Americans,

History is filled with instances of great men - leaders and icons - being embarrassed and torn down by the masses in some fit of petty anger and jealousy. Men like Jesus Christ and Mussolini have all had their moment of truth when they have been forced, usually on pain of harm, to face their people and issue some sort of apology.

Yesterday, General Stanley McChrystal, was publicly humiliated by the act of appearing on Afghani television to offer an apology. His trespass?  Having a few dirt-farmers as unintended casualties as a result of the battle to protect those ungrateful people from the horrors of the Taliban.

Now, I've had occasions on which I've had to swallow my bile and suffer the supreme indignity of this spectacle. In 1952 as candidate for Vice President, I had to answer the lies and slander spread about me by the subversive press. Thankfully, I was deft in my ability to deflect atttention by pointing out that Pat wore ugly coats, and that my children had grown fond of a flea-infested mongrel. Then, in 1973 I again had to stand in front of the camera to respond to yet more left-wing attacks on my character and assure the people that I was not a crook.

 Two martyrs

So believe me when I say that I have first-hand knowledge of the pain and embarrassment of this sort of ordeal. The sort of understanding only a kindred spirit in a trial by fire can have. And my heart goes out to Gen. McChrystal in his time of need.

Personally, I blame the current president. This would never have happened in my day. I would never have asked Gen. Westmoreland to apologize to the Vietnamese for soemthing like My Lai, or to have Henry stand in front of the cameras to pull on his greasy forelock because of Cambodia (though his ego could have used that kind of check). I understand and respect the uniform and the men who wear it. Besides, the president and the Generals who serve him have a hard job, and it often gets messy. Sure, there can be unhappy mistakes and our hair might get a bit mussed. But it is for the greater good.

The sooner the bleeding-heart press and un-American hippies understand that, the better it will be for the rest of us, the Great Silent Majority.

Nixon is: Angry

Presidents' Day

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My fellow Americans,

Monday is "Presidents' Day."  I'm not sure I like the idea of having only one day stand for every president.  It seems it gives too much credit to those that are unworthy.  After all, one could argue that while some presidents deserve special recognition (like Teddy Roosevelt, or Rutherford B Hayes), others ought to have their graves exhumed and their bones ground into paste for use as a salve for shingles (I'm looking at you, Grover Cleveland!).

Why should I, the president who opened the door to China and faced down Leonid Brezhnev, share a day with some spoiled pretty boy whose greatest accomplishment was spouting off some grade-school German?  You didn't see me in South Vietnam saying something silly like "I am a Saigoner" in whatever bloop-bloop way those people have of speaking. I never could get the hand of that language like Henry did.  It was too hard on my Quaker tongue.  Now French, that's a Language for me.  Sure, it makes you feel a little fruity when speaking it, but it's a good language.  A clean language.  A republican language.

But no, the country loved that Rum-Running sonofabitch's kid. Even though I was the one who nailed that pinko Alger Hiss.  I was the one who went toe-to-toe with the Soviets.  I had to clean up the mess in Indochina.  I had to deal with that insane demagogue in Havana.  I had to put my foot down and keep those smelly hippies in line.  I did all the hard work, while that playboy got by on looks and that goddamn Harvard accent.  I didn't have daddy to clear my path through life.  I had to do it on my own - working in my father's grocery store in Yorba Linda.  You know ... an Orthogonian, like the rest of you ...

All I ask is while you're drinking your Gin & Tonics, to give a little thought to how much you're all missing.  After all, you don't have Nixon to kick around anymore.

 

Nixon is: Angry