A bad egg, tossed out.

You know, I belong to the school of people who don’t speak ill of the dead. Sometimes I will note the passing of people who I think were great in some regard, or whom I’ll miss, or whose passing I think diminishes us all. None of these things apply to Augusto Pinochet, who died yesterday. I shall make an exception now, and speak ill. This will seem unkind of me, and that’s because it is, but good riddance. The world doesn’t need you, nor dictators of any stripe.