17 May 2007...3:13 pm

You don’t understand: I need this.

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Rejoice, world. Paul Wolfowitz is in Jim McGreevey’s bed. Just joking! Then he would have had to resign. It’s just that he, like Sir Jim, improperly obtained for his lover a promotion and pay raise. Why did McGreevey ( lover of Israeli men) resign immediately while Wolfowitz (lover of Libyan women) has stubbornly defended his position? I have no idea. That’s one for the ages. The slutty ages, which are somewhere in New Jersey’s Meadowlands, near the Medieval Times.

I do have a guess, though. The NYT article in which I first learned of Wolfowitz’s obstinacy included a photograph of him leaving his house in Chevy Chase, MD. The grass was unkempt, a shutter was missing some slats, and his démodé house number sign was hanging at a queasy angle. It’s not that Wolfowitz is utterly unconcerned with world opinion, it’s not that he’s shamelessly self-interested, it’s that he needs the work. I’m not sure he’s qualified to do anything else than mentor future Princes of Darkness as a W. Bush appointee. Look:


His screen door is broken! That’s a big problem! And I’d like to go on record as supporting the idea that the President of the World Bank should be someone who can’t even manage his own finances. That way he’ll understand the plight of all the ayahs in Mumbai and anarchists in Seattle who don’t even have screen doors.

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