Washington Babylon — September 4, 2008, 7:40 am

Hypocrisy, Thy Name is Rove

Karl Rove thinks that a president who would pick as his running mate a former small-town mayor and state governor with little experience would be making “an intensely political choice” and demonstrating that he was not “first and foremost concerned with, ‘Is this person capable of being president of the United States?’” Or at least that would have been the case had Barack Obama selected Tim Kaine, the governor or Virginia and the former mayor of Richmond, which Rove derided (“with all due respect”) as only about the 150th biggest city in America.

Of course, soon thereafter Rove praised McCain’s choice of Sarah Palin. She’s more than qualified to be the VP, he said, seeing as she’s not only been a state governor but is also the “former mayor of the second-largest city in Alaska.”

The Daily Show also catches a few other wonderful moments of hackery, like Bill O’Reilly on the pregnancy of Bristol Palin (“a personal matter” on which judgment should be withheld) vs. Bill O’Reilly on the pregnancy of Jamie Spears (“the blame falls primarily on the parents”).

Meanwhile, Peggy Noonan publicly praises Palin but is caught on an open mic saying, “The most qualified? No! I think they went for this–excuse me–political bullshit about narratives.”

That’s the problem with using political hacks (from either side) as cable-news analysts and op-ed writers. It’s not so much that that they’ve wrong or misinformed, but that their opinions are worthless because they’ll say anything to advance their side’s agenda.

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I first heard the name Barack Obama in the spring of 2004, while visiting my mother in Chicago. As we sat around the kitchen table early one spring morning, I noticed a handsome studio portrait among the pictures, lists, cards, and other totems of family life fastened to the refrigerator door. “Who’s the guy with the ears?” I asked, assuming he was some distant relative or family friend I didn’t know or else had forgotten. “Barack Obama,” she answered with a broad smile. “He’s running for Senate, but he’s going to be the first black president.”

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I first heard the name Barack Obama in the spring of 2004, while visiting my mother in Chicago. As we sat around the kitchen table early one spring morning, I noticed a handsome studio portrait among the pictures, lists, cards, and other totems of family life fastened to the refrigerator door. “Who’s the guy with the ears?” I asked, assuming he was some distant relative or family friend I didn’t know or else had forgotten. “Barack Obama,” she answered with a broad smile. “He’s running for Senate, but he’s going to be the first black president.”

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I first heard the name Barack Obama in the spring of 2004, while visiting my mother in Chicago. As we sat around the kitchen table early one spring morning, I noticed a handsome studio portrait among the pictures, lists, cards, and other totems of family life fastened to the refrigerator door. “Who’s the guy with the ears?” I asked, assuming he was some distant relative or family friend I didn’t know or else had forgotten. “Barack Obama,” she answered with a broad smile. “He’s running for Senate, but he’s going to be the first black president.”

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