Heckler the Koch

The Algemeiner has an interview with a wry Ed Koch who explains how he got taken to the cleaners with both his eyes open. Koch says he always expected to be shafted by Obama, though he never imagined it would come so soon.


“Frankly, I thought that there would come a time when he would renege on what he conveyed on his support of Israel,” said Koch, adding, “it comes a little earlier than I thought it would.” …

“I’m sure that the Arabs are drinking orange juice and toasting Hagel’s good health,” Koch said.

“I believe it will encourage the Iranian program. I believe it will encourage the jihadists. They will say ‘ah, we are winning the battle. America is beginning to desert Israel,’” he added.

Asked if he had an idea as to why the President selected Hagel, Koch said, “If I wanted to be Dr. Freud, I’d open up an office. I don’t know.”

Maybe it’s Koch who should have his head examined. He notes “the Jews were going to vote for him no matter what. And that’s the nature of the Jews. They are always very solicitous of everybody else except their own needs and community.”

Well there’s no help for that, is there. But what was he paying for by coming along for the ride? The interval of illusion? The momentary relieving of an ancient youthful memory of “we shall overcome” with a paid actor in place of the real Martin Luther King? The simulacrum of a memory? Not even the memory itself?


Whatever mirage Koch paid for it’s over now. The night has faded and the dawn has risen clear over Washington showing — not Abraham, Martin and John  — but Barack, Chuck and Joe.

Ed should console himself by thinking that it could have been worse. It might have been Larry, Moe and Shemp.

The thing was, Ed just knew it would be this way. He could have told you before it happened how it would work out. But somehow he couldn’t help himself and voted for Obama anyway. Koch joins Alan Dershowitz in heading the list of those who should have known better but somehow never do.

Don’t you love farce?
My fault I fear.
I thought that you’d want what I want.
Sorry, my dear.
But where are the clowns?
Quick, send in the clowns.
Don’t bother, they’re here.

Isn’t it rich?
Isn’t it queer,
Losing my timing this late
In my career?
And where are the clowns?
There ought to be clowns.
Well, maybe next year.

Just get it over with Charlie.


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