Factcheck.org (endorsed by Cheney himself) hasn’t commented on the wolf ad itself, but has dealt with the charges against Kerry on intelligence and defense spending:

here

and

here

and

here

He wouldn’t have rushed to hug her before building a building a real coalition that includes our traditional allies. That way he wouldn’t have to bear the burden of supplying 95% of the hug, and wouldn’t have to pay 99% of the cost of the hug.

He would’ve done all of the hug completely different if he was president.

And when he’s president, he’ll be completely accountable for the hug. (unlike how accountable he is about answering the Swift Boat Vets charges).

Oh, come on now. We all know Kerry would have shaken Ashley’s hand awkwardly, and then called Arafat about another sleepover in the Lincoln Bedroom.

I strongly believe that Kerry would weaken America, but I don’t think this ad illustrates it very well.

(I would have liked it better if it had just shown the wolves running through the shadows menacingly, with no voice over, for 20 seconds, and then cut to stark white letters on a black background: “Remain vigilant. Keep America safe.” Cut to the Bush/Cheney logo.)

The bear ad, on the other hand, is absolutely superb. I’d never seen it before (I was but a wee bairn during the Reagan administration) but it carries an impact even today. Will the wolf ad remain as fresh 20 years from now? I doubt it.

There is a reason that he rest of America makes smart ass comments about California falling in to the ocean.

Sorry Roger and all other Californians with the sense God gave lettuce.

On an even happier note, Slate has a great piece written by Richard Rushfield. Titled “Political Poseur: Pretending to be a Republican in Blue California”, Mr. Rushfields describes his adventures in Orange County and LA while wearing a Bush-Cheney 2004 T-shirt and buttons.

Excerpt:

Dressed to impress in my Bush-Cheney T-shirt, tote bag, and “W.” button, I first stop at Silverlake’s ÔøΩber-cafe, the Coffee Table. “The Table,” as it is known, is the daytime HQ for the area’s writing communityÔøΩthe bed-headed brigades of aspiring indie auteurs who hunch over their laptops, whispering pitches back and forth like state secrets. I stand in line for a soda; my T-shirt first makes contact with the locals as the server, a rather prim-looking Asian-American man, double-takes at my unabashedly partisan display, his smile freezing into a look I can only describe as bracing for me to pull out an assault weapon and open fire. I order, pay, and walk with my Diet Coke through the restaurant, taking a seat on the patio that puts me and my garb on prominent display for the 20 or so patrons. A wave of distressed glances ripples in my direction, but I remain unmolested. Yet as I finish my soda, two hipsters saunter past. One of them, untucked shirt hanging over his jeans, gapes at my shirt and mutters, “Asshole,” only slightly under his breath.

Next up: CafÔøΩ Tropical, the gritty Cuban coffee house in old Silverlake. I park my Bush-Cheney festooned car behind a Volvo station wagon decorated with a bumper sticker that reads, “Ban war without end. Not in our name.” I order an iced espresso and sit beneath a collage of Che Guevara photos. Customers accessorize their coffees at the condiment station in front of me. Suddenly I look up to see Latino man, who appears to be in his early 40s, rushing toward me …