But then, all this blather was from the rudderless years, that floundering: pre-discovery of the PNAC.. and Direction.

Since those unfortunate years of angst, he has become Washed in the Blood of the Neoconman hymn. No more callow quavering uncertainties with an, "it may be that.." or... "I may be missing something, but -" (Like this wavering opus of measured objectivityObjectivity?)

No more conditionals! Now he's rilly Certain of those certainties.

And You Aren't.