Watching the B-movie thriller 28 Days Later. Lonely survivor of a worldwide, blood-born rage virus wanders empty London streets. In a church, he comes across this, hand-scrawled on the wall in huge, hand-written letters, an ironic comment on societal failure:
The end is fucking well nigh.
Ah, the British wit. Of course, I thought of Iraq - 14 months later, the end is indeed pretty fucking well nigh. The pitiful episode of Ahmad Chalabi signals the beginning of the endgame, the countdown till the "roof in Saigon." We cannot win; "winning" was never a possibility - the broad, flat, golden policy upland of a "democratic Iraq anchoring a reformed Middle East." What a joke. What a disgrace. All that is left is some kind of withdrawal, some kind of reformulating of our policy, and the recriminations - the 2000's versions of the Church hearings are coming, folks.
When you find youself agreeing with Pat Buchanan, with George Will, with William Novak, with the Hudson Institute - get ready. The end is nigh.
