Parliamentary Whore

My loathing for that bitch Margaret Thatcher reaches new lows today, with her response, reported in the Guardian, to Augusto Pinochet's death:

A spokesman for Lady Thatcher, the former prime minister who cherished Gen Pinochet's assistance during the Falklands war with Argentina, said she was "greatly saddened" and had sent her condolences to his family, but would not be issuing a formal statement.

I expect little else from that corrupt bitch, but still I can't fathom how--in the face of the mountains of public evidence attesting to Pinochet's criminality--one would have the gall to say a good word on the man's death bed. Such insolence offends the better selves of all decent Britons, just as Henry Kissinger's continued support (and repression of evidence to Pinochet's detriment through his role on the Council on Foreign Relations) for Pinochet does for Americans.

Of course, nifty titles, wealth and acclaim can't entirely shield Maggie Thatcher from the debased lows to which such people stoop: her son Mark barely avoided prison for his role in a business backed coup attempt in Equatorial Guinea.

What today shows is the disgusting aftermath of the Cold War, more than anything; the self-righteous hawks who knew no low in their zealous pursuit of anything that smacked of socialism continue to feel no remorse for the violence and brutality they helped unleash on the world, marking them as no better than their own worst enemies. I can't even express how enraged I feel that that whore Thatcher continues her happy, self-satisfied existence in London, while Pinochet's crimes go unpunished in Chile. The desire to see them both burning in hell is almost enough to make me Christian again, just so I can have the joy of believing it could be so.