Mother Cindy & the Murtha Moment

The Mother Murtha Moment, that is.

When I was down at my folks last weekend I did manage to watch a few minutes of the floor debate masterminded by Hastert and saw Murtha weeping as he read sad emails and expostulated on American foreign policy. How appropriate, I thought, that when two such splendid female patriots share the same views that they should share the same moniker.

A few days ago a big mother sat down across from me at Burger King. He was old and fat; his face was fat. He said, cheerily, "Hi. I'm a Marine. I have two purple hearts and a bronze star. I'm a patriot. Let's quit." He sat with a big lolling grin.

I said he had just spit in my face.

He repeated: "I'm a Marine. I have served with courage and honor and distinction. I have a past."

I said: "You just spit in my face."

Let us parse the spit:

Section 1. The deployment of United States forces in Iraq, by direction of Congress, is hereby terminated and the forces involved are to be redeployed at the earliest practicable date.

Declaration of termination is declaration of defeat. The business of "practical" --and all else-- is base cover.

"The enemy of my enemy is my friend." Cindy and Murtha and Zarqawi... These people don't like...ME!

The big fat fellow sat there, amused, his eyes steadily on me, his grin large, lolling, foolish. "You know," I said to myself, "you have to be careful not to rub up against these people. You might get something of it on you."