Benjamin Franklin famously quipped, “In this world nothing can be said to be certain, except death and taxes.”
Franklin evidently failed to envisage today’s postmodern left. For the conservative, there exists at least one other certainty, and it is this: The degree to which “progressives” attack you corresponds precisely to the degree with which you challenge any among their assorted, distorted and sordid sacred cows.
What would you call a 33-year-old man who both had and axiomatically acted upon a deviant sexual appetite for underage, drug-addicted, runaway boys? (No, not Jerry Sandusky.)
What would you call a man of whom, as regards sexual preference, his own friend and biographer confessed, “Harvey always had a penchant for young waifs with substance abuse problems”?