The back of our limo has one of those yellow ribbon decals that say “Support Our Troops” — just above the “Impeach Bush” sticker. Meanwhile, as we mark the fourth anniversary of the war in Iraq, it is increasingly clear that the military’s top brass includes its share of incompetent clowns.
We refer, of course, to those military oafs who were in charge of the rehab wards at Walter Reed, and who have been exposed by the wonderful reporting of the Washington Post’s Dana Priest and Ann Hull. This pair should get a Congressional Medal of Honor to go along with their inevitable Pulitzer.
Former Secretary of the Army Francis Harvey, former Army Surgeon General Lieutenant General Kevin Kiley, and former Walter Reed commander George Weightman (note the “former” preceding these names) should spend the rest of their lives in rat-infested Ward 18. That’s where the men and women who put their hearts and souls on the line for America — and left a few limbs lying on the battleground — were treated slightly better than the prisoners at Gitmo.
We should have seen this self-serving chest-puffing and smoke-blowing coming from the higher military echelons years ago. Remember the concocted fantasy of Jessica Lynch fighting down to her last bullet? Or the contrived story of ex-NFL star Pat Tillman who, in fact, was killed in Afghanistan by friendly fire — information initially concealed by the military? How about the ban on showing wounded and dead soldiers being dumped off military planes at night, to conceal the impact of this atrocious and bogus war?
This is disgraceful stuff, following in the well-shod footprints of Dubya Bush, “Big Time” Cheney, Rummy Rumsfeld, and Condi Rice. Not to mention the gay-bashing Marine General Peter Pace, the military’s new sensitivity officer, who is also chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff.
We’ll turn all of your sheets down in Ward 18 the next time you need a little medical help. Say hi to the cockroaches for us.
Bring them home
Speaking of this indefensible war, hats off to Representatives Betsy Dennigan and Eileen Naughton, and Senator Josh Miller, among others, for promoting anti-war resolutions at the General Assembly. These are the kinds of voices that need to be raised on this issue, not those of the Washington criminals who perpetrated this deadly charade.
So this Irishman walks into a bar
In light of P&J’s close British heritage, we offer one of our best Emerald Isle-related reminiscences, naturally surrounding St. Patrick’s Day.
Years ago, P&J were invited to emcee a St. Patrick’s concert by the wonderful Irish band, the Pogues, at the original Lupo’s, back when the legendary club was still underneath the Institute for Casual Research, founded by Messrs. Cheeks, Gosch, and Alexander, and when its lavatory was still worthy of Changi prison. When we entered the dressing room, it was obvious that 90 percent of the band had had more than a bit of Guinness and Jameson’s throughout the day, and they were ready to hit the stage absolutely legless.
This atmosphere was perfect, since “the Pogues” comes from the Gaelic, “pogue mahone,” which means “kiss my ass.” We asked many people to do this in the course of the night. Following a few of our own tots of whiskey and stout, we told a few of our favorite Irish jokes — just to be polite to our guests, mind you. To wit: “Q: What’s the most worthless thing on a woman’s body? A: An Irishman.” Or, “Q: “What’s five miles long and has an IQ of 20? A: The St. Patrick’s Day parade.”
P&J were quite pleased with our performance until we left the stage and met a couple of young men who would have scared Whitey Bulger. “We’re from JP [Jamaica Plain] and didn’t find that very funny,” they said. Phillipe, as always, took the high road, pointing at Jorge and saying, “It was his idea,” before scurrying back to the dressing room. Jorge somehow made an escape, reciting lines by Barry Fitzgerald from The Quiet Man until our shaved-head fans had departed.
Make ours a Baileys this year.