'Breitbart's Last Laugh'

Rick Moran
Of all the great tributes to Andrew Breitbart that have appeared in the last 24 hours, I wanted to share what I think is one of the best; from his friend Matt Labash at the Weekly Standard.

Labash writes about the events surrounding one of Breitbart's last "capers": his dinner with Bill Ayers and Bernadine Dohrn:

Our party arrived at our economy hotel, which sat next to a highway in the ghetto. It smelled of failure and water damage. Breitbart showed up late, letting me know he was on the grounds by sending a text which read: "We have to score some heroin before we head out....Wait, I think there's someone outside my hotel room who can help." We did not score heroin, which neither of us used, though in the hotel bar, we all doubled over as Andrew worked out his shtick during pre-game drinks as he proudly explained to us a new coinage of his - "Retrobate" - the process whereby one sexually fantasizes about aged actresses who you once had a crush on, in their younger incarnation.

Our friend, Daily Caller editor Tucker Carlson, had won the Ayers dinner at an Illinois Humanities Council auction, and had brought us along. Tucker and I were a little worried that we had in our possession a human grenade in Breitbart, though if we were being honest with ourselves, that's precisely why we brought him. With Andrew, every day was anything-can-happen day.

As it happened, Breitbart was on his best behavior. "I'm here to learn," Andrew said facetiously. It was part of the pleasure of keeping company with him. He wasn't just a friend, he was a co-conspirator. Once we arrived at the apartment, much to Andrew's and Ayers's chagrin, they got along famously. Just two guys having dinner, finding commonality, even if Andrew regarded it his hidebound duty to passive-aggressively heckle Ayers as he served us plates of hoisin ribs and farmhouse cheeses. ("This is the bomb, Bill," Breitbart said to the former explosives-rigger.)

When Ayers asked me what I was reading right now, I told him "Moby Dick," which actually lived up to its billing. Ayers agreed, though added, as any good academic would, "You've picked up the gay subtext?" Breitbart nearly choked on his tofu and quinoa. "You mean in Moby Dick?" Andrew asked. "Or at this dinner?"

Labash's piece has everything a good obit should have; wit, poignancy, regret, and a celebration of the life of the deceased. Read the whole thing.


Of all the great tributes to Andrew Breitbart that have appeared in the last 24 hours, I wanted to share what I think is one of the best; from his friend Matt Labash at the Weekly Standard.

Labash writes about the events surrounding one of Breitbart's last "capers": his dinner with Bill Ayers and Bernadine Dohrn:

Our party arrived at our economy hotel, which sat next to a highway in the ghetto. It smelled of failure and water damage. Breitbart showed up late, letting me know he was on the grounds by sending a text which read: "We have to score some heroin before we head out....Wait, I think there's someone outside my hotel room who can help." We did not score heroin, which neither of us used, though in the hotel bar, we all doubled over as Andrew worked out his shtick during pre-game drinks as he proudly explained to us a new coinage of his - "Retrobate" - the process whereby one sexually fantasizes about aged actresses who you once had a crush on, in their younger incarnation.

Our friend, Daily Caller editor Tucker Carlson, had won the Ayers dinner at an Illinois Humanities Council auction, and had brought us along. Tucker and I were a little worried that we had in our possession a human grenade in Breitbart, though if we were being honest with ourselves, that's precisely why we brought him. With Andrew, every day was anything-can-happen day.

As it happened, Breitbart was on his best behavior. "I'm here to learn," Andrew said facetiously. It was part of the pleasure of keeping company with him. He wasn't just a friend, he was a co-conspirator. Once we arrived at the apartment, much to Andrew's and Ayers's chagrin, they got along famously. Just two guys having dinner, finding commonality, even if Andrew regarded it his hidebound duty to passive-aggressively heckle Ayers as he served us plates of hoisin ribs and farmhouse cheeses. ("This is the bomb, Bill," Breitbart said to the former explosives-rigger.)

When Ayers asked me what I was reading right now, I told him "Moby Dick," which actually lived up to its billing. Ayers agreed, though added, as any good academic would, "You've picked up the gay subtext?" Breitbart nearly choked on his tofu and quinoa. "You mean in Moby Dick?" Andrew asked. "Or at this dinner?"

Labash's piece has everything a good obit should have; wit, poignancy, regret, and a celebration of the life of the deceased. Read the whole thing.