Why I Won't Resign

CIA Director George Tenet, who was accused of misleading the president about Iraqi WMD, announced today that he is stepping down for "personal reasons" - presumably he wants to spend more time misleading his family. While we may never know the real reasons behind his departure (I'm hoping they're really sordid), I'd like to take this opportunity to address a controversy of my own that's arisen in the last few days.

Ever since I issued an apology for my writing during the runup to the Iraq war, people from all corners of the Net have written in to suggest that I relieve myself of my current capacity and perhaps turn the blog over to someone else (Message board regulars Anonymous and fbe have been mentioned, as has Sonia Gandhi). Still others have written advising that I accept a transfer of funds from Liberia or take penile enhancement medication. To these people, I can only say, "No", "No", and "No thank you, I'm happy with what the good Lord gave me." While I acknowledge that my conduct was reprehensible, I simply refuse to be a scapegoat for anyone, least of all myself. Let me explain why.

When did America stop being the land of second chances? Where is it written that everyone who makes a mistake in public view has to run away and hide forever, like Tonya Harding or that guy that streaked on the Oscars? There can be no doubt that I committed misdeeds. Yes, I engaged in exaggeration and hyperbole. Yes, I sold out my principles and acted with the most rank form of opportunism. Yes, I betrayed my friends and misled my readers. Yes, I am a disgrace to everyone who has ever believed in me or supported me along the way. Yes, I'd do it again if I thought I could get away with it. But the point is...I've grown. There has not been a major instance of me lying or making things up in the nearly six days since I first published that apology. Frankly, I'd put that record up against an untested newcomer any day of the week.

I know none of this will give my enemies the satisfaction they so desperately crave. They won't be happy until they've gotten their proverbial "pound of flesh." Well, chew on this, LF-haters: the only pound of flesh you're going to see is on my backside as I speed past you on the way to journalistic legendhood. Just be sure you have a glass of water handy to wash down all that dust you'll be eating.

Remorsefully,

LF