Christopher Hitchens once possessed the gift of brilliant cutting irony. Then that gradually degenerated into heavy sarcasm. Now he is just a dumb fucking ranter, an embarrassment, a David Horowitz clone.
Sarcasm here? Not a chance. Examine the context.
LeaNder <[EMAIL PROTECTED]> wrote:
LeaNder <[EMAIL PROTECTED]> wrote:
This is a very witty style, so let's give credit to the author. ;-)
But somehow I could imagine that the central statement about "me and
Wolfowitz" could well be a fit drunken sarcasm.
-b
>
>
<http://www.planetarymovement. >org/blog/ 2006/06/czar- of-ethnic- cleansing. html
>
The Czar of ethnic cleansing
Michael Carmichael
Christopher Hitchens would like to be recognized as the leading
left-liberal proponent of neoconservativism and its wars against
Islamists, Jihadists and Islamofascists. Since his expatriation from
Britain to the United States, Hitchens' career has become ever more
controversial and ever more extremist.
In the late 1990s, he became the leading literary critic of Clinton
and the Clinton Era. His critics accuse him of being the most voluble
proponent of the neoconservative doctrines of George Bush, Dick Cheney
and Donald Rumsfeld.
Hitchens' erstwhile friends in Britain frequently express dismay at
the stridently neoconservative tenor of his writings, and several are
equally concerned about his now well-established problem with alcohol.
His oldest friends often lament the fact that Hitchens has become a
literary misfit modelled on the right-wing extremist and public
vulgarian who haunts American radio, Rush Limbaugh. Hitchens' verbal
effluvia courses forth staining the pages of Vanity Fair and other
publications generous enough to tolerate his non-stop hatred
predicated on an acute case of Islamophobia.
At the dignified memorial recently held for Barbara Epstein, the
distinguished editor of the New York Review of Books, Hitchens made
what many are now describing as a ghastly appearance. Described as,
"drunk," on arrival by eyewitnesses, Hitchens offended virtually
everyone present with a explosive display of extremely bad manners.
Rather lIke a pathetic Burtonesque alcoholic out of an updated version
of Look Back in Anger, Who's afraid of Virginia Woolf or Candy, a
reeking Hitchens careened into the memorial and immediately reeled
around the mourners like a rapacious ferret seeking out powerful
editors who might take pity on him and offer him a morsel in the form
of a commission.
Many onlookers noticed when the editor of Grand Street, Jean Stein,
refused Hitchen's proffered claw. At that deadly point, he was
confronted by a kibitzer with a pregnant query, "So your glorious war
has turned out to be a total disaster, hasn't it?"
In a boisterous voice, Hitchens shot back a rather witless volley, "It
IS glorious, and it IS my war because it needed Paul Wolfowitz and
myself to go and convince the President to go to war."
The surprise of that anomalous revelation spread through the mourners
like an anaesthetic shocking a larger circle of attendees with the
macabre image of a drunken Hitchens and a sober Wolfowitz descending
on the West Wing under the cover of night for a twilight chat with the
infantile and vacillating George Bush to convince him to launch the
Iraq War. Hitchens would have played the scene to the hilt in full
Burtonesque splendor, shouting, waving his arms and uttering a
poisonous genocidal harangue the content of which became clear from
his next outburst at the memorial.
While more of the mourners tuned in to Hitchens' obstreporous
impropriety, he sensed the opportunity to make an even deeper
impression on what had become his captive audience.
In a stentorian tone, Hitchens inflated his already gargantuan ego to
utter an alcohol-fueled outburst of bellicose oratory,
"WE ARE GOING TO KILL EVERY AL QAIDA TERRORIST AND BAATHIST IN THE
COUNTRY AND THAT'S A GOOD THING. THEY NEED TO BE KILLED, AND WE WILL
KILL THEM."
There you have it. It was a display worthy of Ann Coulter at her
worst. With his drink-sodden Islamophobic outburst, Christopher
Hitchens transformed a memorial for an acclaimed light of the literary
world into a podium for a pogrom.
After staggering around the memorial and lurching into the cloakroom,
perhaps, in search of a much-needed refreshment, Hitchens reigned
supreme in his own mind as the czar of ethnic cleansing.
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