Browsing freerepublic.com this morning, I came across this 2001 satire by Rand Simberg that I had not seen before. Let's just say it holds up well three years out. Here's a taste:
At the entrance the doctors, assisted by editors, are performing triage. They quickly sort through the injured, making snap decisions to place them in three categories: those who can be quickly bandaged up with some minor counseling and facts, and sent back to the front; those who continue to pontificate under the burden of so much maleducation and inability to think, and so many wrong ideas, broken syllogisms, and inappropriate conclusions, that they are beyond redemption; and those who are grievously confused, but can be saved with immediate attention.Posted by dan at December 31, 2004 12:52 PMThe first thing that strikes you when you enter the infirmary is the smell. The stench assaults the nose--it's a pungent blend of moldering printer's ink and decaying sanctimony.