Horrible yuppie Stephen Green, who first enlisted in the 101st Keyboard Brigade when the thought struck him that another terrorist attack might damage his spiffy Ikea entertainment center, checks the ideological inventory of American institutions and is appalled at what he finds.

While other 101sters go the Clausewitz-Sun Tzu route, Green is more likely found treading another path; he’s more worried about the homefront. A True Believer in Dear Leader, he is disgusted at the doubts harbored by his fellow-countrymen, and questions their ideological mettle: just whose side are they on in this great Clash of Civilizations? Why are so many of the American people, and the social institutions they compose, not serious about the War on Terra? A long sigh can be heard from his tastefully-decorated home office. Dedication, devotion and a steely cultural backbone are required to survive and win the “Long March War”. Why won’t people listen?

As he idly closes the window in which he’s just confirmed his latest Pottery Barn purchase, the world weighs on his shoulders. He sips his Salty Dog. Frowns. Its finish is less than acceptable. He told her to buy Chopin, not Luksusowa. He reads Mark Steyn. He perks up. There’s a man who understands the stakes, he thinks. A comrade. Time to write:

In a column yesterday, Mark Steyn worried, “If this is a ‘long war,’ it needs a rhetoric that can go the distance.� He’s right, of course, and Steyn is also correct when he says our current political rhetoric isn’t good enough. Steyn is more right than he might know, if it’s true that the media is the “arm of decision� in this Long War.

Green smiles at putting his hackneyed phrase “Arm of Decision” in yet another essay. But isn’t it so useful? After all, it underlines the central fact of the matter: that in the War On Terra, those whose boots are on the ground aren’t nearly as important as those who fight in — meaning, with — the media, comprised as it is of traitors, appeasers, the unserious. He settles into his aeron chair. Yes, he is important. Now how to make the case yet again? Ahhh:

Compared to the Current Mess, winning the Cold War was a walk in the park with Giselle Bundchen in a thin white summer dress, and all the lawn sprinklers running cold.*

Now, that’s true only to the point that you and Giselle might get in an argument so heated that you both pull out knives and stab each other to death over the course of an hour and a half.** And sometimes your young cousins would bomb each other to death. But the point remains: We’re in tough times.

He figets. Not quite happy with that metaphor, but fuck it, he thinks. He’s got a buzz and it’s a better metaphor than any of Tom Friedman’s and besides, he can’t get his mind off Giselle’s tits. “Ummm, Giselle: you are made for alpha-males like me,” he says to himself. If Giselle only knew the importance of the War, and the importance of Vodkapundit in that war, she wouldn’t be trolloping around Europe with that darkie minstrel. She’d be in Colorado instead. He loosens his belt. Suddenly, the baby cries in the other room. “Shit”, he says under his breath. The reverie ends as it has so many times before. Down the hatch goes the rest of the Salty Dog in one gulp, its quality no longer of much concern. Well, being a warrior demands sacrifice, he remembers. Back to the Cause, the analysis, the diagnosis, the cure:

If we’re going to win a long, ideological war, we need our primary schools to our children what patriotism is – and for the most part, they don’t. We need our college professors to give our best and brightest the intellectual ammunition to confront our destroyers – and for the most part, they don’t. We need our public thinkers to defend our laws and our way of life against foreign aggression – and for the most part, they don’t. We need our entertainers to choose the home team – and for the most part, they don’t. We need our politicians to show the backbone of Churchill, but for the most part, they don’t. And we need our military to understand, embrace, and put everything on the line for their country.

One out of six? That’s pretty bad. Is it enough? Probably not.

Because the threat is “abstract”, people — stupid, lazy people living day to day in their la-la land of false security — don’t appreciate its gravity. Ahh, but Vodkapundit does!

“Stephen, honey, did you remember to buy gouda cheese and leeks at the market today?” It’s the Wife. “Goddamnit,” he swears under his breath. Then loudly he answers “Yes, Muffin!”

He stares back at the screen, particularly proud of that paragraph, proud of what it implies but does not — he was careful, he and Goldstein have discussed this — explicitly state: that the lack of ideological harmony is stabbing the Cause, the military, the United States of America, in the back. But he’s happy that the code will be deciphered by those who matter, yet will provide him with a cover of plausible deniability should those On The Other Side lefty scum accuse him of what he actually means. Can’t be too open about it, such is the condition of the country. The cure to this soft sort of macro-treason lies in turning the country into a re-education camp. Like Pipes recommends we do in Iraq, but better if more subtle. Anyway, time to wrap it up and hit the sack. Hmm, maybe if the vodka hasn’t taken too much of a toll, he might climb on top of The Wife tonight for a few seconds — nothing less than a warrior deserves, he thinks, deciding then that if he does the deed, he’ll close his eyes and think of Giselle, assuming, but not really caring, that The Wife, too, will be thinking of someone else, perhaps of that guy on One Tree Hill. Happy at these thoughts but at the same time wistful at the state of the War On Terra, he types his conclusion:

I said before it took the constant threat of a nuclear launch for us to keep our focus during the Cold War – end even then it was a hit or miss affair. It’s pretty obvious right now that we lack the tools to keep our focus during the Long War. I know exactly what it would take to get our focus – but it’s so terrible, it’s almost worse than losing***.

Better then if we had more allies at home. But we do not and probably will not. And that means we risk losing more Americans – soldiers abroad and perhaps countless thousands of civilians right here at home.

So get on board, people – it’s not too late.

If only we had Mutually Assured Destruction to keep the chumps in line! Dammit. It just irritates him so! But he brightens at the thought that another attack would ultimately get everyone back on board, would return us to a Society of Righteous and Harmonious Fists, would get everyone again behind the Son Of Heaven, whose latest incarnation is that of Dear Leader, whose determination is heroic, whose personal and ideological mettle is unimpeachable in every meaning of the word.

Like all wingnuts, Green likes to think and write in WWII imagery: the Churchill references, the good and evil blah blah blah, the stab in the back, etc. But as he composes these ideological tracts while no doubt scouring the White House website and news wires for the latest quotes of affirmation, he — albeit in his own way, what with his schtick of suburban style and consumate good taste in finery — like his comrades, betrays a fealty to the ways and means of another, entirely different conflict.