Not that I can't understand a government's desire to fib a little. The Shrub administration, lacking a Gulf of Tonkin incident in the lead up to the war, may be forgiven for wanting to put a little baloney in the hokey sandwhich it fed the American people. Even so. You'd think they'd at least add a little sauce and salt and cut it into bite-sized chunks.
Instead, we're asked to believe that the gazillion-dollar operation that goes by the name of U.S. "intelligence" relied on bogus intelligence from a mysterious Iraqi chemical engineer code-named "Curveball." And that the intelligence agencies produced major analysis with conclusions that ultimately led to a pre-emptive attack based on this person, who happened to have links to the administration's favorite convicted felon, Chalabi. Atop that large stack of baloney, we're asked to believe that hundreds of intel personnel, all with college degrees and high-speed internet connections sitting around in air-conditioned, sound-proof rooms, somehow relied solely on second-hand intel coming from someone who was reported to be a looney and a drunk. And atop this triple-decker baloney sub, we're supposed to believe that this wild drunk third-cousin-twice-removed-of-a felon's story convinced all our Jame's Bond wannabes that a broken-down, bombed-out, sanctioned country was somehow constructing mobile germ labs--something the Soviet Union once considered but dropped because it was too costly and impractical.
Of course, the one piece of baloney with real meat in it is the statement that we're in this war because of the idiotic statements of a drunk. Unfortunately, the drunk in question isn't a tipsy, illusional Iraqi exile in Germany but is the drunk who sits at Pennsylvania Avenue making the world safe for chicanery.
Of course, the right wing can't and won't share in our ire over such deceptions. They know that the James Bonds, Dicks, and Bush's in charge are all good-ol' boys doing good-ol' things for good-ol' America. If the liberal know-it-alls need a bit of baloney to give them gumption enuf to head off to war (or at least stay the F out of the way) than so be it. As they say, there's nothing like the smell of napalm in the morning.
But some of us more old fashioned types would like to have our baloney served up in a plate with at least proper utensils. A faked naval incident and a mysterious sunken ship, for example, would at least keep us from getting indigestion. If we're really to the point where national policy of "the world's only superpower" is being decided by a delusional drunk on a crackling long-distance phone, I'm headed for the exit. And hold the baloney, I'm a vegetarian.
For other blogments on the Curveball story, check out: Cannonball, PBA HQ, War and Piece, FUGOP, and Scrapple Face.
Maureen Dowd has an excellent article titled Curveball the Goofball in the NY Times.
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