So the real answer to the question of why we invaded Iraq is: "What I say." Not what I said yesterday or last year or 4 years ago. Not what I will say tomorrow or even later today. Not what anyone else in my administration may be saying now, or said then, or will say in future. "What I say."
Also, keep in mind that "I am the decider" and I'll be making the decisions around here, though I won't be taking responsibility for them. Ever. That'll be up to whatever poopscooper's elected next. Real cowboys never muck their own stables. Horse shit happens.
Finally, pay no attention to what the pinko press sez; I'm doing a heckuva job. And pay no attention tomorrow when the Army, Navy, and Air Force Times all publish editorials advocating that Rummy resign. Rummy's doing a heckuva job, too. He's not going to stop running the Pentagon & the war-which-is-not-a-war until his job is pried from his cold dead hand. So say I. Until I say otherwise. Which might be sooner than I think.
See, it's like this: All the military knows is the facts on the ground. But mine is not a fact-based empire. That's for punkassed policy wonks. I create reality, I don't answer to it, monitor it, or otherwise stay in touch with it. The only power I answer to is a Higher One: Jesus K. Turdblossom. And also Dick C. Christ. And Whoever Else is doing my homework and taking my tests. WWJD. That's what I do. I let go and let W. And so should you.
And when all else fails, blame it on the black secretary. That's what Perle and Adelman are doing. Eventually, when we pile up enough blame, we may just have to hang her from the big apple tree in the Rose Garden. Jes' like we're hanging Saddam, which verdict we've managed to bring in just ahead of the election deadline. But that's just a coinkydink: A final desperate maneuver to keep the sky from falling on Tuesday. Because Homeland Security has set the Threat Level at the highest, CODE BLUE. All my shit is hitting the fan and it won't be long before I'm THROUGH.