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10 December 2005
Taking the piss out of Paul Wolfowitz
I am Dracula, and I bid you welcome, Mr. Harker, to my house. Come in, the night air is chill, and you must need to eat and rest.

It must've looked like a total no-brainer: send the tanks to Kuwait, grab the oil and the gold, and your troubles are over. It was one of those plans that look foolproof on paper. Just ask Paul Wolfowitz about that. I hear from one of my Army moles that it took three MPs to pry Wolfowitz's fear-frozen fingers off the airconditioner he was hiding behind in his Baghdad hotel room after the rockets hit.

This is just too easy. Taking the piss out of Count Vulfovitz, I mean. Now everyone is getting in on the act. The other day he went along to address the National Press Club in Washington. He wanted to talk about the World Bank, but the hacks had other ideas:

"How do you account for the intelligence failures regarding weapons of mass destruction in Iraq?" he was asked.

"I don't have to," was all he could think to reply. Being a Neocon means never having to say you're sorry.

Vulfuvitz should have known what was coming from the introduction by Richard Dunham of Buiness Week magazine: "His admirers have called him the intellectual high priest of the neoconservatives," Dunham said. "I can't repeat some of the things his critics have called him."

Volfuvitz sat with his lips pursed and slurped his coffee as Dunham went on to say that the Count "drew fire from Democrats for predicting that U.S. forces would be welcomed as liberators." Then Dunham reminded everyone about Vulfovitz's student deferment during the war against Vietnam, and the short-arsed dwarf was left shaking his head.

That's the way to treat 'em: with mockery!
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