Worst American Birthdays, vol. 31

While the age of his mustache remains a matter of state secrecy, John Robert Bolton turns 59 today.

In his many years of public service, Bolton has never met a nation whose threat to the United States he did not hysterically overstate, nor has he ever met an international organization he did not suspect of radically undermining his country’s sovereignty. His recess appointment as the American ambassador to the United Nations must rank among the greatest pranks of modern diplomatic history. With his permanent nomination facing Congressional rejections, his resignation from that same position represents one of the few moments of sanity during the Bush years.

A self-styled tough guy and master of the office hissy fit, Bolton’s reputation as a manager of people duplicates in miniature his sense of how the United States should act toward the rest of the world. On Bolton’s view, American interests can only be secured by assuming the absolute worst about its rivals; ignoring or suppressing competing interpretations of incomplete or ambiguous data; and dealing with limitations on its power by screaming and throwing heavy objects at recalcitrant colleagues. When John Bolton sleeps, he likely dreams of a world alight with American power, with righteous, unilateral wars raging against China, Syria, Cuba, North Korea and Iran. Described by his mentor Jesse Helms as “the kind of man with whom I would want to stand at the gates of Armageddon,” Bolton — given the appropriate means — would be only too eager to oblige his enfeebled friend.