The Northeast Conservative Gripe
The bout of grousing that Eliot Spitzer’s solicitous troubles inspired from John Derbyshire sounds all too familiar. Here are the final paragraphs, which hit the page like a fist on the desk:
All the TV talking heads are telling me, with their sternest let-him-who-is-without-sin faces on, that it would be wrong, wrong to poke fun at Spitzer, to kick him when he’s down, to press for his resignation. We should reserve judgment, they tell me. We should think about his family, they tell me. It’s a victimless crime, after all, they tell me.
Well, I and my family have been living for 15 months in the state this guy presides over. We’ve been paying the taxes and premiums, seething in the traffic jams, watching the U-Hauls heading west, dealing with surly, feather-bedded state employees. What I say to the talking heads is: The hell with all that. And what I say to Eliot Spitzer is what Oliver Cromwell said to the Rump Parliament: “Depart, I say; and let us have done with you. In the name of God, go!”