One bad Murtha-fo The longtime Marine shows up Dubya’s chicken hawk

Berets and sombreros off to US Representative John Murtha of Pennsylvania, who, by calling for the removal of US troops from Iraq within six months, last week tore Little Georgie Boy a new one.

This wasn’t bighead Ted Kennedy talking, but rather a combat veteran who spent 37 years with the Marines. When Dubya went AWOL from his cozy Poppy-secured National Guard spot, Murtha was busy elsewhere, earning a bevy of medals for his bravery. A well respected Democratic hawk, he’s long been the congressional go-to guy on military issues. After supporting the Iraq war at the beginning, he, like many people, now considers it a deadly farce.

The White House’s immediate response was to try to equate Murtha with Michael Moore and the extreme left. Thankfully, the ex-gyrene got in a beautiful shot at "Big Time " Cheney, suggesting that someone who received five deferments to avoid Vietnam service isn’t the best qualified to be sending young people into harm’s way.

Despite the dubious assault on Murtha’s credentials (can you say, "Swift Boat," boys and girls?), Republicans in Congress are quickly putting distance themselves and Dubya, since they’re scared to death of losing their seats in 2006 now that the great unwashed are coming to their senses about Iraq. Even Boy George is trying to pull his attackers back from Murtha, realizing it is a no-win situation (see: Iraq, invasion of). Great job, Representative Murtha.

More than 2000 American troops killed and still counting. Mission accomplished!

LIE OF THE WEEK

The most blatant bit of prevarication came from our old friend, septuagenarian war enthusiast Rummy Rumsfeld. (Veep Big Time Cheney is no longer eligible for this distinction because of his serial difficulty with the truth.)

On CNN’s Late Edition, Rumsfeld, the bespectacled torture advocate, said of Representative Murtha’s assault on the White House, "The Democrats didn’t step up and support it . . . I think it’s important for our troops to know that. " Perhaps they could draw their own conclusions (unlike being coached for a TV appearance with Dubya by one of Rummy’s PR minions) by viewing a tape of fellow Democrats giving Murtha a standing ovation when he entered the House). Nah, no support at all, Rummy. You’re right, as usual.

HOW DO WE GET A JOB LIKE THIS?

Despite his participation in L’Affaire Dufault, former West Warwick Mayor Mike Levesque will apparently retain his $7500-per-month job as a lobbyist (or as a "community relations specialist") for Harrah’s Entertainment, the casino proponent that would like to alight in West Wark.

This word came from Jan Jones, the Harrah’s exec and former Las Vegas mayor, the company’s local front person. She tells the BeloJo that Levesque was in the "wrong place at the wrong time." Yep, Jan, and he might have said the wrong thing at the wrong time by helpfully suggesting to Guy during the infamous broadcast, "Send a little brown envelope." By Lost Wages ethical standards, that is hardly cause for dismissal. But if anyone thinks for a minute that Donald "The Don" Carcieri and his allies will forget that little exchange before they turn up their toes, have another Pernod and grapefruit and mull it over for a while.

P&J are getting a chuckle about how everyone at Halitosis Hall and beyond is now racing to return Dufault’s campaign contributions. (Sheldon Whitebread, to his credit, has refused to.) If they returned every contribution from every Vo Dilunduh who ran into similarly hot water, their political runs would be fueled by scratch ticket winnings.

CORPORATE JUSTICE

We have two questions for our valued readers regarding the possibility of actual convictions in two controversial cases. (No, not Scooter Libby in the Plame case. Although we do like the theory being floated that prosecutor Patrick Fitzgerald is squeezing the Scootster until the fear of a few years in prison forces the names "Cheney" and "Rove" from his lips.)

First, we have the whistleblower case emerging from the Army Corps of Engineers, concerning a gigantic contract awarded to a Halliburton subsidiary, Kellogg Brown and Root, for oil field repairs. We give odds of 200-to-1 against anything ever coming of that investigation, other than more misery for the person who instigated it.

Second, wotta co-winky-dink that oil and gas prices plummeted after record oil company profits were reported. Not only did this blatant profiteering (nice work, Big Oil boys, obscenely blaming rising prices on Hurricane Katrina) put a dent in everyman’s wallet, the ripple effect on the transport of consumer goods will be felt by the average American for months to come. Funny, how that story vanished from media scrutiny in about three days. Odds here of conviction run from 100-to-one of seeing any of Dubya and Big Time’s buddies in the dock any time this century.

COULD THIS REALLY BE THE FINAL COMATTA ITEM?

Like Michael Corleone, every time we think we’ve written our final item on "Comattagate," we get pulled back in. Here are excerpts from a pair of e-mails we received in the past week, addressing the issue of how the honorable title of comare could have been distorted into a term for mistress.

First, from Joe Hutnak, a former newspaper reporter and one-time press secretary for Aram Garabedian: "Here’s one theory on the use of goumada that I’ve heard from my wife, a third-generation, full-blooded Italian. Apparently, guys would use the term for a cover story, as in, ‘I’m going out to see my godmother,’ when the implicit meaning (to the other [friends]) was going to see their mistress."

And this unsigned epistle: "About a year ago while getting a hair cut at a barber shop, I asked some of the regulars, who were talking about an unnamed guy and his comatta, what a comatta was. I’m a French-Canadian Vo Dilunduh and hadn’t watched any episodes of The Sopranos, hence, the word was new to me. The fellas gladly filled me in on the word and its origins. As you stated in last week’s Phoenix (and the barbershop customers confirmed), the word refers to a ‘godmother.’ As all good Italian boys have a real godmother. They would tell the wife that they were visiting this comatta, at those times when a viable cover was needed for time with the mistress. "

We have heard this explanation from a few other people. Using the time-honored Casa Diablo scientific method, we’ll go with this story until a better one pops up.

DEATH BE NOT (TOO) LOUD

Richard Walton, good friend and Casa Diablo regular, sends us this info culled by the Progressive Review from England’s Guardian: "It is unclear whether Frank Sinatra had in mind the red velvet drapes of a crematorium when he sang about facing his final curtain in ‘My Way.’ But his best-known number emerged as the most popular contemporary song played at British funerals. When not organizing the final sendoff of 80,000 Britons each year, Co-operative Funeralcare likes to compile charts of favorite numbers heard at funerals. Its research reveals that popular songs now account for 40 percent of all music chosen for funerals. Hymns account for 55 percent, and classical works a mere five percent.

" ‘My Way’ tops the pop chart, with Vera Lynn's possibly optimistic ‘We’ll Meet Again’ sneaking in at No 10. Bette Midler ("Wind Beneath My Wings") is just behind Sinatra, ahead of Robbie Williams ("Angels"). Celine Dion ("My Heart Will Go On") and Tina Turner ("Simply the Best") are fourth and fifth."

The news that the Brits have forsaken the immortal Vera Lynn for later, and lesser, Old Blue Balls has caused shock waves at Casa D. But what do we know? Funeral plans for the masters of Casa Diablo include the playing of the tunes "I Love You, Big Dummy," by Captain Beefheart and the Magic Band, "My Pink Half of the Drainpipe," by the Bonzo Dog Band and "Ooh, My Soul," by Little Richard.

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