The bell again, always that bell. A capsule through the pneumatic tube. How now, what’s this?
Glenn Reynolds, Instapundit:
MORE ON ANDREW BREITBART’S OFFER OF $100,000
MORE ON ANDREW BREITBART’S OFFER OF $100,000 for the JournoList archives. My thoughts:
(1) If, as Jonathan Chait says, there’s nothing there, why not relieve Breitbart of his bucks?
That’s what Col. Möller said as he poured apple brandy from a crystal decanter into my snifter, handing it to me, then poured some of the pale gold liquor into his own snifter in turn, rolling it around the bottom of the glass expertly with his hook hand as he replaced the decanter on the teak tea cart. Möller stared looking glum for a moment before straightening and addressing me with a level Prussian gaze.
“If you have nothing to hide, von Em,” he asked, not unpleasantly. “Then what is your obsession with privacy?”
His tone bore only a hint of impatience, but I knew that I could not give the answer he needed — the names, the intercepts — and knew that the tone would rise much higher before the evening was long into night, knowing also the grievous distance through which a night can compel one to travel, when the path is made hard toward morning.
“You are not having your brandy?” asked Möller.
“Oh no, I am,” I said, gulping it.
I realized too late that I could have asked for a light first, then not swallowed the brandy, and then blown fire at Möller when he would not have been expecting this, as is mostly the case with people.
I gestured with my snifter. “May I have a light and another brandy?”
“Foosh” replied Möller, blowing fire at me.
(2) If you’re worried about your own stuff being released, you don’t really safeguard it by not selling out to Breitbart — you just ensure that if one of the 400 other members does, you won’t get the $100K.
We think The Joker tried this with two boats wired to explode.
(3) Here’s your chance to be Deep Throat — and maybe to settle some scores along the way…
Glenn’s moral skeleton went bendy a long time ago, but it’s still a shock to see this gelatinous being squidging past on his way to or from some petty errand of incitement, and to think that he was once a leader of our group.