Ryan Fenno Meets the Pie Man

Horowitz: The Man from Self-Victimizationville

OK - he didn't actually meet Horowitz, but he was in the same room, watching and listening as Horowitz buzzed and sputtered, like an antique lightbulb burning off its filament.

I wonder if what they say about LSD flashbacks are true? It's the stuff of acid lore - that if you do enough the drug can linger on for years in your fatty tissue to be released at inopportune moments throughout the rest of your life. Will the psychedelic transgressions of my wayward youth in Berkeley come back to haunt me as a cranky old man like ghosts of Christmasses past someday, the way, perhaps, they do to Horowitz? One minute he's speaking to a group of campus conservatives in the heart of Hoosier country and the next he's holding a seance on stage with the ghosts of his erstwhile ideological heroes Marx, Engels and Lenin.

What do you do if you're a College Republican and your featured speaker starts serving tea to Mao? This is when another pie or a bottle of salad dressing would come in handy. I know when my father has one of his acid flashbacks the only thing we can do to snap him out is to beat him with rakes and spray him with a garden hose. It's exactly the same thing we do to stop a dogfight.

Brother Horowitz, I hate to harsh your buzz, but you're bringing the rest of us down. Take your dog and pony show away to wherever it is that burnt-out leftist traitors go when they've blown their wads and stay there.

And tell Dennis Hopper I said hello.

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