The substance of the B.S. column Wes Pruden smeared on his newspaper today
has already been dismantled here
, but I wanted to point out another, smaller idiocy. The man even lies about his likes and dislikes.
Mr. Fitzgerald, the Chicago D.A. who got the Plame assignment two years ago and has spent upwards of $2 million in pursuit of the ham sandwich, wants to indict Karl Rove, the president's campaign guru, or I. (for Irving) Lewis "Scooter" Libby, Dick Cheney's chief of staff. But to get an indictment you have to have a crime.
Ay, as we Robert Burns fans are wont to say, there's the rub. There may not be one. So Mr. Fitzgerald has to invent one. Perhaps a violation of an obscure clause in the Espionage Act of 1917, enacted in the frenzy of the war to end all wars. (Emphasis Nitpicker's)
If Pruden were a real fan of Burns, he would know that "Ay, there's the rub" comes not from Burns but from Hamlet's famous soliloquy
To die, to sleep --
To sleep, perchance to dream, ay there's the rub,
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause; there's the respect
That makes calamity of so long life.
Also, he probably would have recalled these much more appropriate lines
Here is a toast to them that are away,
Here is a toast to them that are away!
Here is a health to Tammie, the Northland lad,
That lives at the ear of the Law!
Here is freedom to them that would read,
Here is freedom to them that would write!
There is none ever feared that the truth should be heard
But they whom the truth would indict!