The incandescent Joel Achenbach sums up the final installment of the potent-but-depressing Washington Post series on "the Dark Lord" of D.C., Dick Cheney:
That Dick Cheney: He’s not exactly John Muir. Not exactly Henry David Thoreau. The final installment of the Gellman/Becker series shows us a man who loves the smell of rotting salmon in the morning.
When he sees a photo of dead fish roasting in the sun, he thinks, "Quick, get me some wasabi."
His Secret Service code name is Angler, because he likes nothing better than to put on his waders and stand in a crystal clear mountain stream with a rod and reel and a few sticks of dynamite.
Gnawin’ on a little home-made spotted owl jerky.
Dreamin’ of that retirement home with the lovely view of the strip mine.
He’ll be there pretty soon: Putterin’ around the yard, setting leg traps for coyotes and the neighbor’s cats. Always with the canister of DDT in the hip-holster. Clearing brush with the flamethrower and the napalm.
Planning those RV trips to Yucca Mountain.
"Because of Cheney’s intervention, the government reversed itself and let the water flow in time to save the 2002 growing season, declaring that there was no threat to the fish. What followed was the largest fish kill the West had ever seen, with tens of thousands of salmon rotting on the banks of the Klamath River."
Cheney read that passage this morning and thought, "They make it sound like that’s bad."
And fellow Washington Post-er Tom Toles today on one wild creature who got away…