Cataloguing the Sigma-Lies Quotient for everyone we know (of) - would be a more breathtaking project than .. the one which damn near killed Bertie; his (224? whatever #) pages to get to: 2 + 2 = 4. Principia indeed.
I see Ben's point also, but not quite as punctiliously [see above]. So my response would be to initially give benefit of doubt as, ~harmless peccadillo to get foot in door - until familiarity with the person / record could convince me otherwise. Bizness in Murica '03 is not an iota-less than a Suppurating Tissue of Mandated Daily Lies, in general: from the Top down ---> to the smarmy salesman of products which most people 'need' as much as a board needs tits.
Recommended reading: a W. Somerset Maugham story, Mr. Knowall - also filmed exquisitely maybe ~ late '50s? in something I believe called, Quartet (which may also have included the exc. The Verger). Maybe it's worth a recap of Knowall, though I hate to spoil it for anyone tempted to read it == Skip Next, Between ***
***
Scene: a cruise ship. The usual Brit. affluent dressed to nines, post prandial. Mr Knowall is a gem expert. Protagonist #2 is wife of one of the Toffs present, wearing some er jewelry. Mr. K demonstrates his appraisals of various glitter worn by the glitterati. And nears the place of ... Ms. X.
[Her husband is aware of this 'costume jewelry' of his wife. Unaware that it ain't 'costume' - and we are left to infer the tale of a forbidden passion, and a regard bestowed.]
As the attention turns to Ms. X, who makes weak efforts to "never mind".. (We are allowed to see that Mr. K. notices) a fleeting glance crosses her face; one of horror..
But the exam cannot be shrugged off, we see.
Mr. K examines the brooch ... looks up, then at Ms. X, and pronounces it, a fine piece! ...
...
but, of course -
...
...
a very well-done imitation!
And somehow this brash egoist has become suddenly - a most alert and wise human being.
***
(Where are today's Maughams? Writing submarine war flicks?)
Change the polarity for: this presumably callow youth who imagines next that He, (like Our Burden, Callow Dubya) Shall Fix the World. Were I in the middle of this contretemps, I doubt I could resist rubbing the Self-Satisfied One's nose in his project - with whatever degree of sarcasm could be tolerated by his limited grasp of Life thus far: the point would not be to (just) humiliate - since humility he indeed appears to lack - but, more importantly, defuze. ('Nice' could even do, depending on whether the twit is salvageable, in one's snap opinion.)
Screwing-up peoples' jobs as a comic book Nemesis Against Sin, IMhO ranks right up there with:
Fucking Rev. fucking Foulwell and his legions of sanctimonious-twit followers. Who can calculate even the *dead* [queers, for just a start] -?- these miserable bastards have strewn in their wake, as of '03.
Go Get Im, Rand!
Ashton Anti-crusader Crusaders LLC