And lo, I dreamed, and in my dream I beheld in my hands the organizational chart of the command structure of the U.S.A. in Iraq. Thereon were displayed the faces, together with both the public and private job descriptions, of each of the principal players.
In the middle were a pair of defense secretaries, one (Don Rumsfeld) flickering out, and one (Robert Gates) flickering in. The former bearing the title “The Derider”, having served for many years as an effective sneerer-in-chief at all critics of the war and the occupation. While the latter, protected from any scrutiny by the contempt universally showered upon the former, was seen to hold the refashioned position of “The Freerider.”
Reporting to these worthies was General Peter Pace, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, here simply designated “The Topfighter”. Below him, Nouri al Maliki, somewhat prematurely – but then dreams are allowed a little slippage into the future – named as “The Pushed Asider.”, and further down, a tiny image of a crowd of bearded fellows whose smudged legend might or might not have been “The Suiciders”.
Above Rummy, of course, was George Junior, “The Decider”. But the chart didn’t stop there. Dubya’s boss was a winding path of digestive organs, “The Insider”, none other than the renowned and infinitely wise Gut of the Emperor.
And at the very top of the command chain, ruling the sacred Gut, too ineffable to be pinned down to any name, appeard the brains of the entire operation: a thriving colony of Escherischia coli.
And it came to pass, when I awoke, that I spoke unto the wife of my bosom, saying, “You know, dear, that explains an awful lot.”