It's Thanksgiving eve, which means we're on the eve of the season of peace and goodwill towards men, and after reading all the hate mail ginned up by those hate e-mail Democratic blogs, I'm feeling like Madeline Khan in "Blazing Saddles." I'm tired. Pooped.
I could fight. I like to fight. But tonight I just don't have the willpower to get in another battle with another ideologue in the war on the war or the war on Christmas or the battle over Murtha or the siege of Tom DeLay or the embattled George Bush, not to mention the hot war our folks are facing in Iraq.
But I'm amazed at some of the e-mails I get. I get incredibly vicious stuff. Not just name calling. I'm used to the "You're an idiot stuff" but the "You should die" stuff does kind of depress you after a while. Not so much that someone is wishing I would die, because nobody gets their wishes really, but because these people think this stuff passes for an intelligent thought.
I can't tell you how many times I get a note from somebody who thinks I have done something stupid — taking a shortcut in a story, for instance, to get to the real point — and they go after me like they never made it out of third grade.
This is especially true of our so-called friends overseas. They feel perfectly entitled to vent about my hair, what I look like, what my racial ancestry is, where I went to school, how I got lucky enough to have this job all larded up with moronic insults.
You wouldn't believe how many e-mails I got from people complaining that the loud and contentious Iraq vote a week ago in the House of Representatives was not on Murtha's proposal but Rep. Duncan Hunter's.
Look, it doesn't matter which House resolution was voted on. The fact is they were debating Murtha's call to pull out of Iraq.
The Democrats and the far left have only one agenda — to hurt Bush. To do that they have to make sure every bomb that explodes in Iraq somehow winds up in Bush's lap so for that reason. And it's only going to get uglier. This war debate is going to go on and on and on.
That's My Word.
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