Breitbart's Raison d'Être

Breitbart threw his Web muscle behind James O'Keefe, the young activist who posed as a pimp during an undercover sting against ACORN, and scored again this month with hidden-camera video of a National Public Radio executive trashing the Tea Party.

Breitbart defends the deception involved, saying he and O'Keefe "stick our fingers in the eye of the mainstream media," which he says perpetrates "the most ludicrous double standard known to humankind."

Really. Were it so glaringly obvious wouldn't it be easier to point out the double standardness of it all, & let the market/audience/focus group decide, one way or the other? (After which, the journalists will be strung up or have their pay & union benefits doubled, depending.)

Apparently not. He'd rather do it the hard way. Not the honest way, just the hard way. Double standards, bad. Lying, deception, bogus editing & the dildo boat, all good. Finger in the eye? Relax, loony libs. Merely a metaphor.

Wait, did we type "finger?" We did. As in Andy's magic finger.

A thousand marchers into the protest, the sour looks aimed at the hotel's clientele began to wear on us. The marchers' defiant smugness started to make an enemy of me.

"Oh, no," I thought. The antiwar movement that I saw growing only days after Sept. 11, 2001, was at it again. I thought: Even with a new president - and one who mostly shares their point of view - the I-love-a-protest-parade political left couldn't help itself. It likes ruining nice sunny days. Protesting is what these people do. Sneering at their fellow citizens is their chief skill. Projecting arrogance is their birthright.

So with the antiwar sign, the T-shirt and the thousand-strong parade right under our noses, I began to seethe. These anti-warriors were trying to destroy the peaceful seaside vibe and our pleasant Jose Cuervo buzz.

Imagine the horror as the smug marchers smugly smugged at him, not smug at all on the second story of "Shutters [...] a pricey joint."

But when one dude raised his fist like runners Tommie Smith and John Carlos did at the 1968 Mexico City Olympics, I could not hold myself back. I jumped from my seat and bolted to the center of the balcony, where the American flag waved furiously in a now-harsh wind. Positioned next to Old Glory, I countered the young punk and reached out my right arm directing my middle finger in his direction.

As soon as my finger was raised, a phalanx of photographers began snapping away at the white middle-aged man wearing a white LaCoste shirt next to the old red, white and blue. Cognizant of the power of imagery, I owned the moment and refused to back down. The fist wielder immediately dropped his arm. I clearly had won and envisioned photos of the anti-antiwar protester making the front pages of the Los Angeles Times.

And if not for the phalanx of photogs, his little confessional would never have crossed his mind, let alone the pages of The Washington Times.

It's almost as if Andrew hasn't quite grown up yet, isn't it? As if he were a frat-boy in ++extended adolescence, doing a doughnut on the neighbor's lawn & knocking over their mailbox because they called the police that one night his parents were out of town & he cranked his dad's stereo to 11. He'll show 'em!