So, will Lawrence Tribe receive another precious invite to participate in the exclusive and liberal dominated Fuckawi Race this year as crew?
To show his readiness for the coffee-grinder winch, Larry Tribe is off on another hostile bender, savaging President Bush in that New York Times' money losing sad Isvestia knock-off, the Boston Globe, in order to get his name in front of his Brahmin buddies at the club first thing on a rain drenched Tuesday morning--right after the squash game.
Larry, pull yourself together just a bit and begin to remember a few things about your own sainted Democratic party when it comes to raw data mining before you begin to tantrum it up all across the newsprint in your latest high pitched fustian objurgation.
Franklin Delano Roosevelt did it, Larry, and we're darned glad he did. Of course you may not remember the battles of the Coral Sea and Midway, when we tapped your Japanese fascist brothers' phones and radio calls, but it worked, big time, and it turned the tide of the Pacific war.
Of course the cursed British were listening in to the Nazis and their rigamarole, too. It helped the Limeys at el alamein, with sinking those dreadful U-boats and all, and, of course, it came in handy at D-Day.
But you may not recall Magic and Ultra, designed to listen in to, gasp, real enemies and their goings on. But some folks claim that al-Qaeda and the Taliban are real enemies, too, and they're killing us.
Then there were the awful, how dare they ever be allowed to see the sight of day, Venona decrypts, which showed--I know it was that stumblebum déclassé Democrat in name only, Harry Truman, with the cheap shoes and socks, and later that Republican cold warrior and fearsome ideologue Ike Eisenhower--that there were Communists everywhere and proved the existence of the Rosenberg spy ring. ah, the poor innocent Rosenbergs, but you know their story, too, it's a tear jerker and Stalin thanked them.
Larry, you can actually read books about the decrypts today, under the name, say it ain't so--Venona. Give it a try. You'll be shocked what they show.
LBJ was a stickler for the wiretaps, both on the domestic front, the old MLK deal, which is always blamed on Tricky Dick by your lads at Harvardiana.
But, over Vietnam, gray C-121 Constellation spy planes used to trawl the cloud dotted airspace for hints of enemy communications and plot them for immediate artillery and air strikes. Larry, you'd be amazed at what went on over there in the wire tap and communications intercept stuff. Where's your outrage? I mean we were killing your progressive brothers in the bush with wire tap information on LBJ's direct orders!
Of course, with Nixon, every Democrat knows that every crime in the book, and then some, from mass murder to the possession of rape tools, especially in the wire tap arena, has to be laid at the Trickster's door, because, well, he's the devil incarnate, or was, and how in the hell can George Bush be any worse than old Moby Dick?
and if you're saying Bush is, then we know all know you're just shining us on and laying us out in lavender and that your attempt to tar Bush is just so much paper thin bunk and absolute rubbish and not worth the paper it's printed on. We all know that the Boston Globe is just coop filler anyway and losing tons of value for Pinchy-pooh every day it's left above ground.
Then there's Jimmy the Cat Cartier, Mr. Peanut himself, who lost his shirt on the hostile takeover in Iran. Lawrence, er Mr. Tribe, I'm sure that you knew that the long suffering Professor Legume signed an executive order in 1979 to suck the airwaves dry of everything the big ears at the NSa could round up? Can we be sure that it was only to listen in on private calls from Goober City to Iran?
Of course you were aware that the NSa was working on the rudiments of massive parallel processing to handle the data? I mean, they were analyzing everything, and that bit of legerdemain was just a warm up for the big suck put on by the atmosphere by Mr. Willy J. Clinton.
Yup, Mr. Bill Clinton, in his finest stage role as President, tears and all, shuttling between Margaret Mitchell's Tara and Outer Lollypop, signed another executive order in, oh, about 1995, and fired up the old two prong assault on everything with a private radio frequency signature, called Echelon by the NSa, and Carnivore over at the FBI, which was program designed to monitor millions of our private e-mails. all it seems, to keep an eye on secret economic doings.
Of course Bill being Bill and you being progressive, all that domestic spying under loosey-goosey liberal rules is just fine and we should all be glad that a big randy brother as nice as Bill was paying such close attention to the privacy practiced by his errant wards.
Leaving Bill way behind, we have his spouse, Madam Hillary, who's working night and day with Mr. George Soros's billions and Mr. Harold Ickes' iron will, to construct the largest private data mining project in america under the guise of assembling voter information. It is a project so secretive, so gargantuan and features such a vast harnessing of resources that it's nickname among its technicians is Cloud Captain and the World of Tomorrow--where Icke's moniker is Totenkopf and giant robots steal enormous generators to run the massive data banks.
Now Larry, don't you think it's rather odd that Ms. Clinton needs such an enormous private data dump for her own designs? Or is it because she's a fellow traveler, that again, all she rates is a walk and a kiss for her canter on the wild side of information stuffing?
Nope, Mr. Tribe seems content in his extreme myopia to only see that Mr. Bush is trampling the 4th amendment in his attempt to protect us from real honest to goodness attempts to kill us.
Yet his eyes remain wide shut against the slightest hint that progressive Democrats of his own shabby stripe might have, at one time or anther, employed programs with an even greater propensity for harm in purely political applications.
Mr. Tribe, despite his Ivy League frills and robes, is just a cheap gadabout chumming cheap press for his political confederates, who eat it up.
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