Coming to Iraq from the United States is like stepping into H. G. Wells' Time Machine. The
Eloi (those effete, perfumed lovers of all things soft, cuddly and un-warlike) sit at home, saddened that their figurehead John Kerry didn't get elected. Their number one gripe is that the Global War on Terror is unneccessary and needs to stop, or they might be required at some point to join an unsavory fight.
Those of us stepping off the plane into the "underworld" of the counterinsurgency in Iraq are confronted by the mortar slinging, destructive, vengeful
Morlocks, ever on the prowl for American and British flesh.
It would be easier to just ignore the wardrums and dwell peacefully beside the river with our Democrat-voting Eloi friends, but as long as there are increasingly sophisticated Morlocks seeking to destroy all that is civil and tolerant, we have to do something about it.
What really annoys me is that this insurgency business is taking away valuable time from art and literature (yes, I suppose I'm an Eloi in American Morlock's clothing.)