from one of my favorite blogs, http://www.oliverwillis.com :
"Like Kryptonite to Stupid"
February 22, 2004
The Secretary of Rock
The Hummer hurtled through the air, its massive engine and cobalt blue exterior violently piercing the serenity and sanctity of the Florida Keys. As we hurtled towards a deep ditch, I expected Donald Rumsfeld to slow down or maneuver to avoid the hazard. Instead he gripped the steering wheel tightly with his shiny black leather gloves and floored the accelerator. My eyes were shut, but I felt the vehicle pushed to its limits, and my stomach threatened to turn as we flew through the air. We landed with a crunch, and as soon as I opened my eyes he spun the wheel into a perfect three hundred and sixty degree motion.
"Fuck yeah!" he said as he turned up the radio and bounced his head in time to G-Unit's "Poppin' Them Thangs".
The secretary of defense doesn't get out of Washington much nowadays, but when there is downtime at the "five-sided whorehouse" (as he calls it) he kicks back at his family compound deep in the Florida Keys. Far away from the US-1 highway and several miles from the prying eyes of any neighbors, Rumsfeld's pad is a painstakingly accurate recreation of the Vietnamese POW camp from Missing In Action. "I like to keep it real", he says as he drags on a cigar-sized blunt, "Chuck Norris was tight in that one. I wasn't a big fan of that Texas Ranger stuff, but as you know I'm down with the cowboys. Nothin' but love."
On his compound, Rumsfeld lets his guard down a little bit, stepping away from the gruff persona that has earned him the admiration of Republicans and the loathing of Democrats. He is visibly relaxed, easily slinging beers around and making sure that his guests are comfortable at all times. But Washington is never far away, it's no odd thing for him to stop mid-sentence and answer a cell phone call punctuated by a string of profanities. For much of the time he walks around without a shirt, and the blood red "PNAC 4 Life" tattoo across his chest practically glows in the sunlight.
"The critics come with the territory. I don't do this for them; I do my work for the people, my homies. I would just be little Donny from the block if they hadn't seen the hunger in my eyes, the desire in my soul." Rumsfeld is unwavering when he recounts his life story, and unapologetic for past projects. "Look, Afghanistan was the shit, and I was ready to step up to the plate hardcore for a follow-up. No sophomore slump for me." When I read out loud some of the reviews for the Iraq project to him, most notably the accusation that it felt "unfinished" and like "a complete disaster" to some - he became visibly agitated. "If I sat crying like a bitch because of what some poindexter writes in a magazine or on the web, I'd be useless. I'm in this job to be hardcore, gang-bangin' like they did in the old school. Patton Pimpin', you know? I ain't down with that touchy-feely game. I'm in this to win. All about the benjamins."
Rumsfeld roasted an entire wild hog on a spit, explaining to me in detail how he had killed the beast with his bare hands as the flame flickered and danced in his round glasses. He became philosophical, quiet-voiced but with the same intensity he had shown earlier. "My biggest regret is getting in a feud with Co-Po (Colin Powell). He's been my dog in the past, and when I got the job I thought we'd make sweet music together. But it just ain't there, you know? Back at 1600 they like to think it's just 'creative differences', but it goes deeper than that. The game's passed him by, and the sad part is Co-Po doesn't even know it yet. I'm part of the new generation; the hardcore occupiers of all kind of shit and when he goes down there won't be any question who the top dog is."
As if on cue, a coyote howled somewhere off in the distance, and Rumsfeld returned the favor.
[link] posted @ 11:48 PM est
"Like Kryptonite to Stupid"
February 22, 2004
The Secretary of Rock
"Fuck yeah!" he said as he turned up the radio and bounced his head in time to G-Unit's "Poppin' Them Thangs".
The secretary of defense doesn't get out of Washington much nowadays, but when there is downtime at the "five-sided whorehouse" (as he calls it) he kicks back at his family compound deep in the Florida Keys. Far away from the US-1 highway and several miles from the prying eyes of any neighbors, Rumsfeld's pad is a painstakingly accurate recreation of the Vietnamese POW camp from Missing In Action. "I like to keep it real", he says as he drags on a cigar-sized blunt, "Chuck Norris was tight in that one. I wasn't a big fan of that Texas Ranger stuff, but as you know I'm down with the cowboys. Nothin' but love."
On his compound, Rumsfeld lets his guard down a little bit, stepping away from the gruff persona that has earned him the admiration of Republicans and the loathing of Democrats. He is visibly relaxed, easily slinging beers around and making sure that his guests are comfortable at all times. But Washington is never far away, it's no odd thing for him to stop mid-sentence and answer a cell phone call punctuated by a string of profanities. For much of the time he walks around without a shirt, and the blood red "PNAC 4 Life" tattoo across his chest practically glows in the sunlight.
"The critics come with the territory. I don't do this for them; I do my work for the people, my homies. I would just be little Donny from the block if they hadn't seen the hunger in my eyes, the desire in my soul." Rumsfeld is unwavering when he recounts his life story, and unapologetic for past projects. "Look, Afghanistan was the shit, and I was ready to step up to the plate hardcore for a follow-up. No sophomore slump for me." When I read out loud some of the reviews for the Iraq project to him, most notably the accusation that it felt "unfinished" and like "a complete disaster" to some - he became visibly agitated. "If I sat crying like a bitch because of what some poindexter writes in a magazine or on the web, I'd be useless. I'm in this job to be hardcore, gang-bangin' like they did in the old school. Patton Pimpin', you know? I ain't down with that touchy-feely game. I'm in this to win. All about the benjamins."
Rumsfeld roasted an entire wild hog on a spit, explaining to me in detail how he had killed the beast with his bare hands as the flame flickered and danced in his round glasses. He became philosophical, quiet-voiced but with the same intensity he had shown earlier. "My biggest regret is getting in a feud with Co-Po (Colin Powell). He's been my dog in the past, and when I got the job I thought we'd make sweet music together. But it just ain't there, you know? Back at 1600 they like to think it's just 'creative differences', but it goes deeper than that. The game's passed him by, and the sad part is Co-Po doesn't even know it yet. I'm part of the new generation; the hardcore occupiers of all kind of shit and when he goes down there won't be any question who the top dog is."
As if on cue, a coyote howled somewhere off in the distance, and Rumsfeld returned the favor.
[link] posted @ 11:48 PM est
