Randi Rhodes Launches Disturbing Attack Against John McCain
Rhodes Claims McCain Was 'Well-Treated' In Vietnam
*** EXCLUSIVE TO THE RADIO EQUALIZER ***
Quick, what's the most disgusting potential way to attack the McCain-Palin presidential ticket? After two weeks of conspiring to destroy Sarah Palin and her family, often through dishonest means, what could be worse than what we've already seen, right?
Well, if you thought the left side of talk radio and the blogosphere had sunk to fresh lows with that smear strategy, it's now clear they haven't even scratched the surface.
Enter syndicated libtalker Randi Rhodes, known for her previous unhinged skits, public spills, obscene rants and wild accusations.
Known as a particularly strident supporter of Barack Obama, Rhodes seems to think even John McCain's six year period of torture at the hands of the North Vietnamese is fair game. In fact, Randi has turned it into a game, one of POW denial.
All for the greater good, right?
During the first hour of Friday's Randi Rhodes Show, she had this to say about McCain's sacrifices during the Vietnam War (clip follows immediately thereafter):
RHODES: Of course he (McCain) became very friendly with the Vietnamese. They called him the Prince. He was well treated actually. And he was well treated because he traded these propaganda interviews for good treatment. So look, it's a horrible story anyway you cut it, anyway you look at it, any way you you you deal with it.
But, it's not the story Fred Thompson told. Nor is it the story Rudy Giuliani told. Nor is it the story Sarah Palin told. Nor is it the story anybody. Cindy McCain knew to limit herself to 'I think what my husband did in Vietnam was heroic' because she knows the truth too.
Of course, that means McCain's own account, broadcast on NPR's All Things Considered in 2005, must be a lie:
MCCAIN (All Things Considered, October 17 2005): I believe in honor, faith and service -- to one's country and to mankind. It's a lesson I learned from my family, from the men with whom I served in Vietnam and from my fellow Americans.
Take William B. Ravnel. He was in Patton's tank corps that went across Europe. I knew him, though, as an English teacher and football coach in my school. He could make Shakespeare come alive and he had incredible leadership talents that made me idolize him. What he taught me more than anything else was to strictly adhere to our school's honor code. If we stuck to those standards of integrity and honor then we could be proud of ourselves. We could serve causes greater than our own self-interest.
Years later, I saw an example of honor in the most surprising of places. As a scared American prisoner of war in Vietnam, I was tied in torture ropes by my tormentors and left alone in an empty room to suffer through the night. Later in the evening, a guard I had never spoken to entered the room and silently loosened the ropes to relieve my suffering. Just before morning, that same guard came back and re-tightened the ropes before his less humanitarian comrades returned. He never said a word to me. Some months later on a Christmas morning, as I stood alone in the prison courtyard, that same guard walked up to me and stood next to me for a few moments. Then with his sandal, the guard drew a cross in the dirt. We stood wordlessly there for a minute or two, venerating the cross, until the guard rubbed it out and walked away.
To me, that was faith: a faith that unites and never divides, a faith that bridges unbridgeable gaps in humanity. It is the faith that we are all equal and endowed by our Creator with inalienable rights to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. It is the faith I would die to defend.
And this account, featured in a 1973 edition of US News & World Report, must be bogus, as well:
I hit the water and sank to the bottom. I think the lake is about 15 feet deep, maybe 20. I kicked off the bottom. I did not feel any pain at the time, and was able to rise to the surface. I took a breath of air and started sinking again. Of course, I was wearing 50 pounds, at least, of equipment and gear. I went down and managed to kick up to the surface once more. I couldn't understand why I couldn't use my right leg or my arm. I was in a dazed condition. I went up to the top again and sank back down. This time I couldn't get back to the surface. I was wearing an inflatable life-preserver-type thing that looked like water wings. I reached down with my mouth and got the toggle between my teeth and inflated the preserver and finally floated to the top.
Some North Vietnamese swam out and pulled me to the side of the lake and immediately started stripping me, which is their standard procedure. Of course, this being in the center of town, a huge crowd of people gathered, and they were all hollering and screaming and cursing and spitting and kicking at me.
When they had most of my clothes off, I felt a twinge in my right knee. I sat up and looked at it, and my right foot was resting next to my left knee, just in a 90-degree position. I said, "My God--my leg!" That seemed to enrage them —I don't know why. One of them slammed a rifle butt down on my shoulder, and smashed it pretty badly. Another stuck a bayonet in my foot. The mob was really getting up-tight.
I think it was on the fourth day that two guards came in, instead of one. One of them pulled back the blanket to show the other guard my injury. I looked at my knee. It was about the size, shape and color of a football. I remembered that when I was a flying instructor a fellow had ejected from his plane and broken his thigh. He had gone into shock, the blood had pooled in his leg, and he died, which came as quite a surprise to us—a man dying of a broken leg. Then I realized that a very similar thing was happening to me.
When I saw it, I said to the guard, "O.K., get the officer." An officer came in after a few minutes. It was the man that we came to know very well as "The Bug." He was a psychotic torturer, one of the worst fiends that we had to deal with. I said, "O.K., I'll give you military information if you will take me to the hospital." He left and came back with a doctor, a guy that we called "Zorba," who was completely incompetent. He squatted down, took my pulse. He did not speak English, but shook his head and jabbered to "The Bug." I asked, "Are you going to take me to the hospital?" "The Bug" replied, "It's too late." I said, "If you take me to the hospital, I'll get well."
Don't expect to read about this in the mainstream media, even after they smeared Rush Limbaugh over the fake "phony soldiers" flap. Nor will you find outraged Media Matters / Huffington Post types calling for Randi's head.
Lastly, don't hold your breath waiting for the left to demand Rhodes back her allegations up with even a shred of factual information.
Nope, the silence will be deafening, as it always has been.
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