BLOGOSPHERE (Reuters) - Declining rates of reenlistment among right-wing pundits are forcing units on the home front in the War on Terror to operate at partial strength, limiting their effectiveness, say media sources. Factors such as long tours of duty, fierce and costly battles against a ruthless and evil enemy, and carpal tunnel syndrome have taken a severe mental and physical toll on the conservative punditry, and many pundits are opting not to enlist for second or third tours. There are rumors that a draft may be necessary to ensure that cable news, talk radio and the blogosphere have sufficient manpower to defeat the terrorists and their liberal allies.

Col. William Safire is retiring after a thirty year career in the media trenches. �€œA soldier�€™s got to know when his time is up, when it�€™s time to return to civilian life. My time has come. I�€™ve been in battle my whole life, from the Battle of Bert Lance to the War of Lewinski, I�€™ve fought whenever and wherever my handlers needed me. But it�€™s time for me to go. It�€™s like the saying says: old pundits never die, they just fade away �€��€�

But retirement is not the only problem. Staff Sgt. Andrew Sullivan, recuperating at the Provincetown Home for Exhausted Critics, had very different reasons for leaving the battlefield. �€œYou don�€™t know what it�€™s like in the shit, until you�€™ve been in the shit, man,�€� he said. �€œYou can�€™t know what it�€™s like, day after day, post after post, interview after book review after opinion column. You see these guys, they�€™ve been staring at the computer screen too long, and you can just see it in their eyes, all bloodshot �€“ they�€™re gone, man!�€�

Sgt. Sullivan explained how his last tour ended. �€œI was with my unit, maybe 3 years, maybe a little more. Shit started getting crazy. That�€™s just how it is out there, man. I can�€™t explain it, but after a while, everything starts getting all mixed up, like you don�€™t know who is your friend and who is your foe, and like maybe they are all the same thing, man. Maybe you ain�€™t got no friends at all.�€�

�€œMy last time out, I had point. We were tracking a unit of Fifth Column economists, and we ended up in some part of the internet I didn�€™t recognize. Suddenly, I feel this blast, like I�€™ve just been hit with a hammer, and then like my whole body is on fire. I�€™m trying to get my bearings, and I�€™m calling out for backup. I see my buddies over there, and they�€™re laughing. And then I realize �€“ they fragged me. After three years, those fuckers fragged me! I sent back some really sharply-worded ripostes, but it was too late. And I never saw it coming.�€� Members of Sullivan�€™s unit, the 51st Fag-hating Super Forever Fag Haters, had no comment.

�€œPah! Sullivan was fragged because he was weak, and he was a liability to his unit,�€� said Col. Safire. �€œI know his type �€“ snot-nosed little punks, don�€™t know shit about real punditry. It�€™s all fancy doo-dads and whiz-bangs with them, all �€˜fact-check�€™ this and �€˜Google�€™ that. Weak as water! Back in my day, we didn�€™t need no internet to check our facts �€“ hell, we didn�€™t need facts at all. We�€™d just sit down at the typewriter and make shit up. We didn�€™t have any facts, and we liked it!�€�

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Some pundits, however, continue to serve their cause, no matter the cost. We caught with the unit of PFC Jonah Goldberg during a pitched battle against some objectively pro-Saddam Bush-haters. Goldberg shouted over the sound of mouse clicks and key strokes exploding all around. �€œThere�€™s just three of us here now,�€� he said. �€œThat there�€™s K-Lo, and over here is Derbyshire, but we call him Jelly Roll.�€� Pvt. Derbyshire looked up from his hand with pupils like saucers, and a look on his face halfway between ecstasy and terror.

�€œI tell you what, guv�€™nah,�€� said Derbyshire, drawing closer. �€œI seen the afterlife. You know what I seen? I seen the afterlife, and I know what it�€™s like. It�€™s like, it�€™s like it�€™s ripped, man, but with bears. Bears, man. Don�€™t you see? It�€™s ripped with bears!�€� He fell back, sobbing, and then laughing, then totally silent.

�€œIt�€™s like this,�€� said Goldberg, grabbing a fistful of Cheetos from his pack. �€œI believed in this fight, and my country needed me. They needed able-bodied men �€“ doughy, able to handle the rigors of sitting in a swivel chair for seven, eight hours at a time, and not afraid to put on a little TV make-up when the shit gets heavy. So I signed up.�€� He spit Cheetos-orange on the carpet. �€œAny man who won�€™t opinionate for his country and what he believes �€� well, I don�€™t call that a man at all.�€� At that he pulled up the sleeve on his regulation-issue Tommy Hilfiger powder-blue dress shirt to show me the tattoo on his meaty, girlish bicep. ‘Born to Bloviate’, it read, emblazoned on the bulging tummy of the Pillsbury Doughboy - the symbol of the feared 101st Fighting Keyboarders.

The enemy brought in a few independent studies to fortify their position. Goldberg called for reinforcements, and emails supporting his stand began pouring in. As quickly as they arrived, Goldberg posted them to his weblog on the front. The action was getting furious, and, without looking, Goldberg opened an email from an unknown address. On the monitor was the image of a single white feather. Goldberg fell back in his office chair, and hit the ground and began moaning, softly and piteously.

�€œMedic!�€� shouted Derbyshire.

K-Lo rushed over and crouched over him. �€œIt�€™s bad,�€� she muttered. �€œOh, man, it�€™s bad.�€�

�€œWhat is it?�€� yelled Derbyshire, panicked. �€œWhere�€™d they get him?�€�

�€œOh, it�€™s bad. Those bastards. Those fucking heartless bastards. They got him in the feelings. Oh God, oh God, no. Those motherfuckers hurt his feelings! God I hate this damned war!�€�

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I spoke to Wretchard, chief strategist at the New Media Center for Strategic Studies, run by Glenn Reynolds, Grand Field Marshall of All Blogospheric Forces.

�€œThe reenlistment problem is tripartite. Firstly, the domestic allies of the Islamofascists, both unwitting and eager, have undermined morale on the home front. Secondly, after the Armstrong Williams fiasco, the White House has cut off most media �€œconsulting fees�€�, reducing the financial incentives for the average hoplite. Thirdly, I am forty-seven years old and I have never seen a real naked lady. These three problems for the Isosceles triangle of our dilemma, which must be resolved pyramidically, trigonometrically, and in triplicate, if Western civilization is to survive.�€�

I asked him to explain the grand strategy for victory in the war on terror, liberals, and the MSM.

�€œThe situation is thus: on one side, we have the Enlightenment; on the other, Islamofascism,�€� explained Wretchard. �€œThe paradox at the heart of this conundrum is that these are both two sides of the same coin: one light, one dark. The liberal-terrorist enemy cannot see this, because he is bound in the duality which sustains him, but which will ultimately destroy him. But that is only an illusion, for indeed, the two are like the two sides of a Mobius strip; looked at closely, quite distinct, but, from a far vantage, revealed to be the same, shifted only in phase, one eternally blending into the other. This Mobius strip is tied into a Gordian�€™s Knot, which must be severed. It is in this way that the ultimate historical paradox will be resolved.

�€œNow, save against Dragon Breath.�€�

�€œHeh. Indeed,�€� remarked Reynolds. �€œRead the whole thing.�€�