If still proof is needed that besotted-and-proud-of-it Christopher Hitchens is losing his marbles (beyond his nefarious activities with the "Get Clinton" lynch mob, his weird embrace of Margaret Thatcher, his snitching on his "cousin" Sid Blumenthal), I invite you to read his latest mad outburst (The Real David Brock) in the current edition of The Nation.
Here Hitchens launches a nutty broadside against self-confessed right-wing hit man David Brock and his new book, Blinded by the Right: Confessions of an ex-Conservative.
Ignoring Brock’s theme–that he sold his soul for a few pieces of silver to a movement he had little in common with– Hitchens hatefully hones in on minutiae. For instance, he lambastes Brock for the sin of getting the date of Ted and Babs Olson wedding wrong. Did Hitchens have an engraved invitation at hand?
But, finally, the source of Hitchens’ ravings comes into full view. And that would be Brock’s portrayal of Hitchens as slovenly and unkempt. In a petulant and hissy fit Hitchens says amongst friends he’s famous for cleanliness!
Hitch old boy. Let’s roll the tape.
Look at yourself as you appeared during the Blumenthal affair. Unshaved, mussed up hair, slurred speech. You were a fucking mess!
Recall if you will that humorist Harry Shearer quipped on "Le Show" that you looked like you just rolled of the bed of a homeless shelter. You looked like Mayberry’s town drunk Otis Campbell–minus the charm.
Not to mention that ole Otis would never snitch on a relative.
Most revealing, Hitchens scowlingly lambastes Brock, for–get this–pretending to the throne of another slovenly snitch, Whit Chambers.
A sure sign of madness is one’s lost sense of irony.
Poor Hitchens has certainly lost his. And now he’s running madly through the pumpkin patch with visions of Chambers and Thatcher running through his brain.
And insanely uttering, to paraphrase Nixon, "I am not a slob!"
Jack McCarthy lives in Tallahassee, Florida. He can be reached at: firstname.lastname@example.org