If someone drinks that much for long enough and manages to carry on their professional life in the meantime, either they are good at something or they're so incompetent they'd never get as far as he has. If it were as easy as you want it to be, he wouldn't be there at all, would he. I could write a series of very impassioned letters about his incompetence and unfitness for his position, and the best that would happen would be that someone would read them, reflect on how sweet it is some silly little girl wishes to protect her father from war, or possibly see it in a worse light than that, depending on their particular attitude to the war—

And nothing changes, except that someone gets a laugh out of it before he dies. Remind me why any of this is any of your fucking business, again.