Look – I have utmost respect for the ideals of the scientific method; the rigor and skepticism that one must bring to genuine inquiry.

And so while I’m the last person in the world to try to turn the recent revelations that Dr. Bruce Ivins – the FBI’s prime suspect in the 2001 anthrax attacks that killed five Americans, who killed himself as the investigation closed in – was a cross-dressing …:

After the Department of Justice last month formally closed its probe of the 2001 anthrax attacks, the FBI released the first batch of documents detailing the years-long investigation that ended with officials concluding that Bruce Ivins, a government scientist who committed suicide in July 2008, was responsible for the mailings that killed five victims. The records, released pursuant to Freedom of Information Act requests, portray Ivins as becoming increasingly unhinged as it became clear that he was the principal target of the FBI’s “Amerithrax” probe. Additionally, the memos–a selection of which you’ll find on the following pages–reveal how agents examined every aspect of Ivins’s life, monitored his e-mails, searched his trash, and were even surveilling his Maryland home at the exact time he was inside overdosing. Despite being an FBI target, Ivins was often forthcoming about the details of his strange obsessions and private life. For example, as seen below, when agents executed search warrants in late-2007, an FBI supervisor asked Ivins if he was worried about those raids. Ivins said he was, noting that he did things a “middle age man should not do,” adding that his actions would “not be acceptable to most people.” He then noted that agents searching his basement would find a “bag of material that he uses to ‘cross-dress,'” according to an interview report.

…stolen-panty-sniffing…

Three months before his suicide, surveillance agents sifted through trash Ivins left at his curb and discovered that the beleaguered scientist was disposing of pornographic magazines, fetish titles, and 15 pairs of stained women’s panties. When an FBI lab analysis of the underwear showed that semen was detected on 14 of the garments, a grand jury directive was issued to obtain DNA from Ivins.

…Obama supporter…

In a July 2008 e-mail, Ivins wrote that “Dick Cheney scares me. The Patriot Act is so unconstitutional it’s not even funny.” He added, “I’m voting for Obama!”

…with an odd sense of priorities…:

A laboratory co-worker reported that Ivins hated the New York Yankees and thought New Yorkers were “elitist.”

…into some elaborate generalization about people with whom I disagree about politics, my respect for science means I have to admit I have no evidence that says I should discount the theory, either.

It’s science.  Just saying.

Oh, relax.  Again, I’m satirizing things in the news; making light of a rather odd twist in an incredibly grim story, and intend absolutely no real reflection on the character of any liberal.

I’m exercising the normal human defense mechanism, finding humor – however questi0nable – in an event where horror at the extinction of five innocent human beings only stretches so far and so long.

In other words, I’m doing all of you, Democrat and Republican, a service.

Because we live in a world that has horrors. And those horrors have to be brought down to size by men and women with humor. Who’s gonna do it? You? You, in your “If You’re Not Outraged, You’re Not Paying Attention” T-shirt? I have a greater responsibility than you can possibly fathom. You whinge about my satire and you curse the satirists. You have that luxury. You have the luxury of not knowing what I know: That satire, while sometimes tasteless, makes life’s horrors emotionally manageable. And my existence, while grotesque and incomprehensible to you, saves lives because I make those horrors manageable. You don’t want the truth. Because deep down, in places you don’t talk about at parties, you want me writing that satire. You need me there.  We use words like “satire”, “fart” and “semprini”…we use these words as the backbone to a life spent defending the world’s sanity, with punchlines. You use ’em as a punchline.  I have neither the time nor the inclination to explain myself to a man who rises and sleeps under the blanket of the very occasional yuk I provide, then questions the manner in which I provide it. I’d prefer you just said thank you and went on your way. Otherwise, I suggest you find an unimaginable horror and an angle for a cheap yuk to emotionally defuse it, and stand a post. Either way, I don’t give a damn what you think you’re entitled to.

Uncouth?  You can’t handle the couth.