Liars & Quislings

Written by Taki on . Posted in Miscellaneous, Posts.





Switzerland
is a nice country to die in–the state only steals two percent of one’s
hard-earned dough (and the same applies if it hasn’t been hard-earned,
thank God)–although at times it feels like most people who live there are
dead. It all has to do with law and order, cleanliness and pastoral peace. Not
to be compared with the Big Bagel, of course, where the blaring of taxi horns
is enough to wake up even a dead Swiss, and where Fred Astaire-like shifty footwork
is needed to dodge the spittle, a misdemeanor that will get you 10-to-life in
the land of the cuckoo clock. Actually it’s really nice to be back in Noo
Yawk, the stench in Gstaad from nearby Zug–where the traitor and crook
Marc Rich resides–having become intolerable. Mind you, over here the stench
is equally bad, with yet another Rich, Frank, doing the honors.


Then there’s
Paul Krugman, I presume a new kid on the block, having worked as a consultant
to Enron–before that he kept busy indoctrinating the young as a teacher–at
present trying to proselytize the converted of the Upper West Side. I never
heard of this bum, but his CV must have been what got him the job at the Times.
Enron, after all, is quite a well-known company. Not that he knows much. Like
his colleague Frank (the smelly one) Rich, he prefers the low blow to the bon
mot, but then how many at the Times don’t? Krugman is a caddy for
the likes of George Soros, an egomaniacal, bald-faced phony (he first made his
pile, then turned against the system), but thinks Dick Scaife is a little Hitler,
without the mustache. (If only Krugman had one percent of what Scaife gives
away each year, he might not be so envious and bitter.) Wrong again, Krugman,
just as you’re wrong about the Rev. Sun Myung Moon influencing policy at
The Washington Times, the only paper of record in the nation’s
capital. In fact, it’s almost a blood libel, and the ex-Enron consultant
knows it. In all my years of close friendship with two editors-in-chief of The
Washington Times, there has never been the slightest suggestion that
the Unification Church has tried to influence policy. To the contrary. I remember
Arnaud de Borchgrave writing an editorial against a deal the UC was trying to
make in Japan, and not even an eyebrow was raised. But looking for the truth
in Krugman’s writing is like believing David Brock.


Given the
fact that he’s cried wolf, Brock’s credibility must be on a par with
Bill Clinton’s. Let’s face it, one is either a liar or one is not.
Brock is a liar, and he has something worse: a quisling quality about him. I
don’t know him, but what I find repugnant is his lack of manliness and
lack of honor. This has nothing to do with his sexual preferences, but the homosexual
community could do without the likes of Brock. Kissing and telling stinks where
men and women are concerned, and it’s just as unmanly when gays do it.
I suggest Brock’s next book will be the most interesting. He should title
it How I Conned First the Right, Then the Left, and Then Had My Double Sex-Change.


Brock is
out doing the dirty work of lowlifes of the left, attacking the American
Spectator
and The Washington Times with his sleazy innuendo
and sleazier intimate details (most probably all made up). Bob Tyrrell, Dick
Scaife, Wes Pruden, men I know and respect, did not need to conspire against
Clinton. Their point was proved when Clinton pardoned not only Marc Rich, but
also a cocaine kingpin, a terrorist and a wide variety of petty and not so petty
crooks. Clinton was unfit to be president, was a corrupt and pathological liar,
and what Hillary called a vast right-wing conspiracy was the effort to expose
the grotesque couple’s abuses of power. Now Brock is trying to tell us
that it was all the fault of Bob Tyrrell and The Washington Times.
It is indicative of the man’s perverted and treacherous nature. A quisling
indeed.


Smears are
nothing new to the left. Now we have a Frank Rich Lite in Paul Krugman pretending
to be outraged at Brock’s revelations. It’s par for the course. Since
when is the word of a turncoat trusted? Apparently it is where the Times
is concerned.


But enough
of such unpleasant subjects. Brock, Krugman, Rich, my God, when Arnaud de Borchgrave
got me into this business in 1967, he did not warn me I’d have to deal
with such scum. I thought my problems would be people like Charlie, as in Charlie
Vietcong, little realizing that Charlie was not only brave and honorable, he
was much easier on my olfactory nerves than this rabble would be 25 years later.
Pfeeeww!


Still, it’s
great to be back in Noo Yawk. Michael Mailer, a wonderful tough guy and probably
the only honest producer in the world of movies, is thinking of developing
Nothing to Declare
, my book on my experiences being a guest of the Queen–as
doing time is euphemistically known in depressing Old Blighty. Michael is an
expert in making movies on budget, on time and without using Hollywood accounting.
I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t flattered, but two minutes into negotiations
we hit a rough spot. I’d like to see Billy Zane play me, as I’ve heard
he’s part Greek and all that. Michael thought Rupert Everett was perfect
to play the poor little Greek boy. If he weren’t the tough amateur boxing
champ that he is, I’d take Michael out and do a Brock on him.


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