Dennis Miller on Normal Mailer on GW Bush

Dennis Miller on Normal Mailer on GW Bush

Comedian Dennis Miller responds in the pages of the Wall Street Journal to Norman Mailer’s ridiculous op-ed last week in the London Times attacking Bush and the war in Iraq. Miller, as always, is both smart and funny.

A guy like Mailer hates a guy like Bush because Mailer thinks of himself as infinitely smarter than Bush and yet President Bush is the most powerful man on the planet and old Normy’s connecting through Atlanta and flying on prop planes to a community college that’s so far out in the sticks the mail rider has yet to arrive with the message that The Great Mailer is currently more out of the loupe than a jeweler with conjunctivitis. All so he can scoop up a submicroscopic honorarium and the accolades of star-struck locals and 18-year-olds who mistakenly think Mr. Mailer wrote “Gravity’s Rainbow.”

He feels there’s no connection between the secular state of Iraq and radical fundamentalist terrorists. Not true. Abu Abbas was recently recaptured there after Europe practiced catch-and-release with him many years back. Abu Nidal was found shot to death last year in his Baghdad apartment. Police suspect fair play.  …

Mr. Mailer at one time challenged and provoked. Now he just provokes. Norman Mailer has become Norman Maine, a former matinee idol whom loved ones best keep an eye on, because if this is the best he can now muster, he’ll no doubt be walking purposely into the surf off Provincetown any day now. And as Mr. Mailer’s prostate gradually supplants his ego as the largest gland in his body, he’s going to have to realize, as is the case with all young lions who inevitably morph into Bert Lahr, that his alleged profundities are now being perceived as the early predictors of dementia.

I empathize with Mr. Mailer in one regard, though. Although he’s clearly abdicated the lucid throne, it must be hellish for someone who can still arrange words so beautifully—i.e., “the question will keen in pitch”—to wake up every morning and have it slowly dawn on him that he’s effectively been rendered totally irrelevant.

Written by
Domenico Bettinelli

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