A shoutout to Fred Reed

Posted By Thomas E. Ricks Monday, February 16, 2009 - 5:23 PM Share

Best wishes to Fred Reed, the king of curmudgeons, who is hanging up his online column (Fred on Everything) for at least several months while he leaves his Mexican lair for an American cornea transplant.

I am bereft. Now I will have nowhere to go for well-written, pungent, political incorrectness mixed with smart military commentary and libertarian impulses, topped off with a splash of Third World sunshine and tequila. Fred is the Hunter Thompson of the right, and frankly has more street cred with me. Fred's one of those guys for whom the conversation isn't serious until you get to crew-served weapons.

EXPLORE:INTERNET

(1)

HIDE COMMENTS LOGIN OR REGISTER REPORT ABUSE

STEWART NUSBAUMER

12:24 AM ET

February 17, 2009

Fred's only on Vacation

A couple of months ago, Fred and I stumbled upon one humdinger of a solution to our problem. I mean, it was perfect! You see, both Fred and I wanted to go to Afghanistan, but Fred could barely see and I could barely walk. Not the best physical equipment for a land of land mines. Actually, Fred couldn’t see past the nearest tequila bottle, nailed to his right hand -- it's part of his Jesus complex -- and I was doing more crawling than walking because of a lousy artificial leg, which most of the time Fred hid. The man does have a mean streak. Anyway, in a burst of brilliance Fred and I realized we had a solution to our problem. Together we’re nearly a whole person. Together, we'd go to Afghanistan.

As the night progressed on the precarious roof of his Mexican villa, we hammered out the details. In Afghanistan, I would be the eyes and he would be the legs. Actually, I would give directions while riding on his back. "Yes," we shouted. "This is perfect!" Then Fred fell off the roof.

I should say that both Fred and I are Vietnam veterans, we served in the US Marines, and both of us got whacked pretty hard in the war. But none of that mattered anymore. We were off to Afghanistan. We had crafted our Afghanistan solution.

Then Fred’s eyes turned really bad, and my good leg, my real leg, somehow got twisted around like a pretzel. Suddenly our humdinger went flat and all we had was Tequila.

But we’re not giving up. Fred’s sight will return, and I’m already stumbling along the mean streets of Manhattan. And soon, my guess is in a matter of months, with a Mexican Tequila in one hand and a writing pad in the other, Fred and I will be ripping off dispatches while perched on the ridgeline of the Afghan-Pakistan border. Trust me, we're going. As soon as Fred’s finishes his cornea vacation and my pretzel leg is as straight as a cocktail mixer. We're going!