Saturday, January 2, 2010

Maureen Dowd Can't Find Obama's Pulse

Obama flees the White House tree adorned with Mao Tse-Tung bulbs, for Christmas in Hawaii, Maureen Dowd realizes her man-on-the-moon bravura and bugs bunny nation has not materialized.

I'll let Moe do all the talking:

I was walking through a deserted downtown on Christmas Eve with a friend, past the lonely, gray Treasury Building, past the snowy White House with no president inside.

“I hope the terrorists don’t think this is a good time to attack,” I said, looking protectively at the White House,

W., Dick Cheney and Rummy kept ceaselessly dragging us back into the past. America seemed to have lost her ingenuity, her quickness, her man-on-the-moon bravura, her Bugs Bunny panache.

I thought our guard might be down because of the holiday; now I realize our guard is down every day.

If we can’t catch a Nigerian with a powerful explosive powder in his oddly feminine-looking underpants and a syringe full of acid, a man whose own father had alerted the U.S. Embassy in Nigeria, a traveler whose ticket was paid for in cash and who didn’t check bags, whose visa renewal had been denied by the British, who had studied Arabic in Al Qaeda sanctuary Yemen, whose name was on a counterterrorism watch list, who can we catch?

Ok, I won't let her do all the talking.

Moe has a short memory. We catch terrorists all the time.

Doesn't she remember Barack Hussein Obama stumped on his campaign for emptying out Guantanamo faster than Castro emptied out prisons for the criminally insane with an adios and a one way ticket to the United States?

The people doing the interrogating and imprisoning are Barry Soroto's boogeymen - as are the police who show up to ask questions of somebody breaking into a house.

Handing the floor back to Moe:

Before he left for vacation, Obama tried to shed his Spock mien and juice up the empathy quotient on jobs. But in his usual inspiring/listless cycle, he once more appeared chilly in his response to the chilling episode on Flight 253, issuing bulletins through his press secretary and hitting the links. At least you have to seem concerned.

On Tuesday, Obama stepped up to the microphone to admit what Janet Napolitano (who learned nothing from an earlier Janet named Reno) had first tried to deny: that there had been “a systemic failure” and a “catastrophic breach of security.”

But in a mystifying moment that was not technically or emotionally reassuring, there was no live video and it looked as though the Obama operation was flying by the seat of its pants.

Citing the attempt of the Nigerian’s father to warn U.S. authorities six months ago, the president intoned: “It now appears that weeks ago this information was passed to a component of our intelligence community but was not effectively distributed so as to get the suspect’s name on a no-fly list.”

In his detached way, Spock was letting us know that our besieged starship was not speeding into a safer new future, and that we still have to be scared.

Heck of a job, Barry.

The dope we can believe in.

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