It's July, it's hotter than the hinges, I'm sweating even in an industrially air-conditioned building, and I've got obligations that are demanding my time today, so I'm gonna hold my nose and put up a rerun.
Ol' Westy's bitten it. My old playmate, my old sparring partner. If he was in charge in Iraq, do you think we'd be in these straits with the IEDs and the foreign insurgents? Huh? Do you? Hell, no! We'd have "reached an important point, when the end begins to come into view," that's where we'd be. That's 'cos he wouldn't have his hands tied by hippie protesters and pusillanimous Congresscritters.
And hapless dingleberries like me.