Tuesday, September 8, 2009

I can neither confirm nor deny . . .

. . . being The Prowler, whose identity has long remained a closely guarded secret of The American Spectator. Not even Sidney Blumenthal nor federal grand juries have been able to discover the identity of this Argus-eyed investigator of things sinister, hidden and usually Democratic.

The fact that The Prowler has been sleuthing around with sources unnamed for longer than I've been writing for the Spectator might be seized upon as a clue. And the fact that The Prowler is able to get inside dirt from the White House counsel's office -- the inside story of Valerie Jarrett's involvement in the Van Jones debacle, no less -- might also have evidentiary value.

Yet such are the Spectator's concerns for the security of The Prowler that anyone who wishes to be associated with this prestigious publication must undergo a blood-oath ritual, swearing in a graveyard at midnight never to aid the persistent attempts by our nation's enemies to identify The Prowler. Therefore, if anyone wishes to suspect me of being that mysterious phantom, I am forbidden even to deny it.

However, if you wish to subscribe to The American Spectator, you may one day have an opportunity to meet The Prowler, who always attends the magazine's annual gala dinner -- this year's lavish soiree will be Nov. 19 at the Capitol Hilton -- although he is recognized only by those who have sworn the blood oath. The Prowler might be that elegant fellow drinking extra-dry martinis at the gala reception, or entertaining his dinner companions with subtly ribald jests. Although the uninitiated guests won't recognize The Prowler, they'll nonetheless be able to tell their friends they were at the same gala with him.

By the way, the September issue of The American Spectator -- available for $6.95 wherever fine publications are sold -- features my 3,000-word in-depth article about the IG-Gate scandal, entitled "War On Watchdogs," beginning on Page 46.

Subscribe to The American Spectator now. The Prowler awaits you . . .


  1. "...anyone who wishes to be associated with this prestigious publication must undergo a blood-oath ritual, swearing in a graveyard at midnight ..."
    and out of the misty gloom emerges an eerie figure. It is one who presides over this unholy ritual.It is a sight so horrifying that only the strongest survive what is to come. It is R. Emmitt Tyrrell, clad only in a Speedo

  2. I heard you were the prowler hanging out by Christina Hendricks window ... any truth to that?

  3. Anyone who thinks you're The Prowler is nuts. Everyone knows that you're John Galt [can I brown nose or what?].

  4. Just got my subscription copy. Highly recommended by an admittedly biased source.

  5. "My name is Legion, for we are many."

  6. Does the Prowler drink Dos Equis and speak French in Russian? :)