When I was State Chairman of Youth For Reagan during Reagan’s original campaign for California Governor in 1966, I assembled a memorable cast of characters. There was Mr. Energy, Shawn Steel (who just retired as chairman of the California Republican Party), Mr. Enthusiasm, Dana Rohrabacher (now R-CA), our resident geniuses Arnie Steinberg (now the famous pollster) and Dennis Turner (whom we still call The Wizard), and the gorgeous Tammy Zebold in charge of the Reagan Girls. But most lovable and memorable of all was our Social Director, Bill Anthony. I had known Bill since we met in UCLA College Republicans in 1962. It was virtually impossible to dislike Bill. There was only one thing that really bugged him, that he would grouse about. He put it as an unfathomable mystery, a question for which he had no answer: “Why can’t the Right be hip?” Because no one was hipper, no one was cooler, no one was more plugged in than Bill. And it drove him crazy that the Barking Moonbats of the Left were perceived by society as jet-set couth, while denizens of the Right were sneered at as uncultured redneck troglodytes. Bill always dreamed of a time in the distant future when the Right would be Hip, and the Left’s clueless hypocrisy was exposed for everyone to witness - exposed, Bill dreamed, by those who set the standards of hipness in popular culture, the guys in Hollywood. Yet even in Bill’s very creative imagination, not even he could have come remotely close to guessing how this dream would be achieved in the 21st century. For it has been - by two Hollywood guys named Trey Parker and Matt Stone. They have made Bill Anthony’s dream come true, by making a movie called Team America.

Scorpio was suspended in the clear night sky above Ghazni, Afghanistan. The air was so pure the tiny two stars of Lambda and Upsilon in Scorpio’s stinger shone brightly. The city below was quiet, the only sounds were emplacements of government soldiers calling out to each other to watch for Mujahaddin attacks. Every few seconds one of them would fire off a round or two from a Dashaka machine gun, the tracer bullets creating bright day-glo pink arcs through the dark. Looming in front of me was the enormous rock fortress of Bala Hissar, on top of which were the barracks and headquarters of the Soviet High Command for Ghazni, lit up with huge floodlights. It was August of 1984 and I was with a group of Harakat Mujahaddin about to attack the fortress.

Have you ever been to Iowa? Even if not, you know that it’s a middle-size state, smaller than Wisconsin and a little bigger than Arkansas. Now imagine Iowa with over 140 million people, half of the entire US population. Then let’s reroute the Mississippi and Missouri rivers so they both run through Iowa and flood the place so much that most Iowans have to build their homes on stilts. To complete the picture, let’s say these vast swarms of Iowans are as poor and uneducated as Appalachian trailer park folk, and, oh yes - they are Moslem. As you may have guessed, we’re not in Iowa any longer, Toto. We’re in Bangladesh. The only time Bangladesh appears on most of our radar scopes, is when we give a passing glance to yet another story of a flood or typhoon wiping out ten thousand villages, or a ferry sinking with ten thousand people drowned, and so forth. When we think of Moslem countries and terrorist crucibles, other places come to mind like Saudi Arabia, Iran, and Pakistan. But it’s time to refocus - because there’s a cat fight going on in this land of 140 million Moslem souls that has major implications in the War on Islamofascism.

OK, kids, it’s safe to come out and play now - the Sheriff is back and chased away the scary man.During the second debate, I was so nervous that I drank an entire bottle of wine watching it. For the third, all I had was a glass of water. Kerry got demolished. He looked old. He looked haggard and weary and baggy-eyed tired. His hands trembled, either from nervousness or the onset of Parkinson’s. He droned and babbled statistics. He lost every pro-life Catholic vote in the country and every anti-homosexual “marriage” vote as well. He was constantly on the defensive regarding his pathetic and hyper-liberal Senate record. He reassured no one who doubts his capacity to win the war on Islamofascist terror.Bush looked young, fit, energetic, relaxed, and upbeat. People don’t remember statistics. They remember images and a sound bite or two. The images, not the words, lost it for GW in the first debate, and destroyed it for Kerry in the third. Couple that with lines like, “A plan has to be more than a litany of complaints”; “In the mainstream of American politics, Senator Kerry is way over sitting on the left bank”; and of course, GW’s reply to what men should learn from their wives: “To listen to them.” Just as Bush clinched it with millions of women voters with that response, so Kerry repulsed them with his “cheap and tawdry political trick,” as Lynn Cheney put it, of his invoking her daughter’s homosexuality. Moms all across America now agree with Mrs. Cheney’s assessment: “He is not a good man.”What closes the deal with voters is Bush’s message of optimism, versus Kerry’s being little more than a litany of complaints posing as a “plan.” In virtually every presidential election in American history, the candidate perceived as most optimistic has won. Let that fact sink in. George Bush has nailed John Kerry’s coffin shut.