An insect of another kind

I have been able to avoid exposure to the world's dumbest columnist for quite a while now, but Glennzilla and Atrios brought Richard Cohen back into my peripheral vision, and I was too weak to resist rubbernecking at this jacknifed truck of a writer.

The occasion is his explanation in Slate for his ongoing imbecility re: Iraq. Given the man's obvious belief in his own infallibility, it would be too much to expect much gravitas in his mea culpa. But this just beggars belief:

I was miserably wrong in my judgment and somewhat emotional, and whenever my resolve weakened, as it did over time, I steadied myself by downing belts of inane criticism from the likes of Michael Moore or "realists" like Brent Scowcroft, who had presided over the slaughter of the Shiites. I favored the war not for oil or empire (what silliness!) or Israel but for all the reasons that made me regret Bosnia, Rwanda, and every other time when innocents were being killed and nothing was done to stop it. I owe it to Tony Judt for giving me the French ex-Stalinist Pierre Courtade, who, wrongheaded though he might have been, neatly sums it all up for me: "You and your kind were wrong to be right; we were right to be wrong."

Jeebus. What towering cluelessness. What epic self-delusion. What arrogant flippancy in the face of great suffering -- suffering he helped cause. To admit his own blind rage, then claim he was wrong for the right reasons (and to dismiss as "silliness" the real first causes) -- the pathology still stuns me.

Update: a better but still flawed attempt from Sully. And the model mea culpa from John Cole, who thereby earns a coveted spot on the blogroll.