Matt Drudge isn't the first prattler to launch a whopper online, but the spanking he's preparing to receive for his troubles may usher in a new era of pain for the chickenhearted. Just two weeks ago, Drudge and his AOL and mail-based gossip spigot, the Drudge Report, again became the object of consternation and condemnation for spreading information about a developing Newsweek story on the purported sexual misconduct of Bill Clinton in the White House. Newsweek's reporter on the story, Michael Isokoff, flipped, journalists scrambled to address the question of online standards, and Drudge preened. It was almost like Gary Webb all over again.
Then Drudge's parade ended with a flurry of beatings. Wife-beatings, actually. Everyone had been expecting some fallout from Mother Jones' recent investigation into the abusive past of top GOP spin doctor Don Sipple. Drudge, an avowed conservative who had claimed earlier this year that the infamous "distinguishing characteristic" Paula Jones would identify was a tattoo of a bald eagle roundabout Clinton's crotch, was probably as sensitive to the potential payback as anyone. "The Sipple Effect," he called it. Unfortunately, the responsibility gap separating the Drudge Report from Mother Jones is as vast as that between Sharpie scrawls on a bathroom stall and the Associated Press. When he ran the "tip" that Republicans would be going after ex-New Yorker writer and newly appointed senior advisor to the president, Sydney Blumenthal - repeating without so much as a hint of qualification that Blumenthal "has a spousal-abuse past," Drudge's bungee-jump into the deeper regions of hell ended with a snap.
Drudge's lightspeed retraction ("This is a case of using me to broadcast dirty laundry.") notwithstanding, Blumenthal ("This is drivel. This is garbage.") is planning on a lawsuit. Planning on winning, probably.
This being the Web, it only seems appropriate to conclude with a preposterous conspiracy theory of my own:
After the Newsweek leak, the schemers in the White House call an emergency 10-minute timeout, pooling their neurons to fabricate a quick-and-dirty trick - a better mousetrap to shut down this Drudge rat. The timing is ripe to plant a story, using the subject line: "When did you stop beating your wife?" A RocketMail account is secured; email is sent; Drudge bites without even checking his sources - it's too perfect. Blumenthal, the unwitting (?) subject of the ploy, is urged to sue - urged, in fact, to not settle for a retraction and instead demand to have the names of the "source" surrendered. Drudge doesn't really know who the sources are, and never will. All he has is an email address or two, which are about as credible (and traceable) as lipstick notes on a cocktail napkin. Drudge bites the blood sausage. The bald eagle has landed.
Sure, it's a complete fabrication - the best ones are. But it's also a toast to the apotheosis of paranoia and its inbred cousin, justice. Or is it the other way around?
This article appeared originally in HotWired.
