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Should Auld Acquaintances Be Forgot?

Posted by s.z. on January 1st, 2009

The answer to the above is, “Yeah, a lot of them probably should.”

But hey, it’s New Year’s Day, and we have nothing better to do that look up an old Wo’C acquaintance or two.So, let’s start with Canada’s answer to Ann Coulter, one Rachel Marsden.  (Apparently Ann asked Canada, “What do you think of me?” and they answered, “We think you are hateful and unappealing, so please leave us alone, and take Rachel Marsden for your trouble.”  And that is how we ended up with Rachel.)

In case you don’t recall Rachel, here’s a brief recap of her career:

In 1997 she seduced her swim coach at Simon Fraser University, stalked him when he tried to break up with her, then charged him with date rape when he tried to ignore her.  This was the case that put her on the map, in that it caused the coach to get fired, caused many good people a lot of unnecessary grief, and cost her college lot of money, both in dealing with the case, and then to reinstate and compensate the swim coach when the truth came out.

While at SFU, she also:  * Seduced then stalked one of her college professors.

 * Seduced (in a non-sexual way) then stalked the college sexual harassment officer her helped her file her case.

After graduation, she decided that a career in wingnuttery was the one for her:  She went on to write columns for such no-rent sites as GOPUSA, and American Daily.  She claimed in her bio to have written for McLeans magazine and the National Post, but it later was discovered that her contributions consisted of a letter to the editor.  She was hired by Paul Weyrich’s Free Congress Foundation, but resigned after she was arrested for stalking again.

Yes, in 2002 she seduced a 52-year old Vancouver radio personality.  When he told her he never wanted to see her again, she did not take it well.  And when she learned he has started to date another woman, she harassed him and his family via the phone and emails for almost a month.  She was arrested for this one, convicted of stalking, and sentenced to a year’s probation.

A bit later, under the name of “Elle Henderson,” she worked in the office of Gurmant Grewal, a Conservative member of Parliament.  She was fired after the Vancouver Sun figured out who she was.  She then used the to media to badmouth Conservative party leader Stephen Harper, presumably for having the Conservative Party break up with her — but she did not stalk it, as far as I know.  She also had brief careers with a couple of conservative Canadian newspapers, just biding her time until her probation was over and she could immigrate to America, the land of bread and wingnuts.

When we last checked on Rachel a couple of years ago, she had apparently found her niche: being one of the sex kittens/wingnut babes at Fox News.  She was a frequent guest on the “The Dennis Miller Flash in the Pan” and “The O’Reilly Factor”, and had also appeared on other Fox shows.

Now, for the update:

May 31, 2007 — SECURITY officers hastily escorted “Red Eye” contributor Rachel Marsden out of Fox News Channel’s Midtown headquarters yesterday for bizarre and erratic behavior. “She’s out of her [bleeping] mind. She was doing crazy stuff,” a spy told us. The brown-haired hottie is notorious in Canada, where authorities say she falsely accused a university swim coach of sexual harassment and harassed a Vancouver radio personality. A Fox News rep had no comment. EYE-OPENER- New York Post

Rachel was doing crazy stuff??? Say it ain’t so, Roger Ailes!  Rachel later publicly badmouthed Fox News for breaking up with her, but did not stalk it, as far as is known.

But wait, there’s more!  Here’s part of her Wikipedia bio:

In September 2007, a relationship between Marsden and an Ontario Provincial Police officer ended. She posted his photo and identified him on her blog as an anti-terrorism officer who had leaked secret anti-terrorism documents to her. At the same time, in an email to his superiors, she described the nationality and activities of the targets of an investigation in Ontario involving the OPP, Canadian Security Intelligence Service and the Royal Canadian Mounted Police and problems encountered by those investigators. The officer filed a complaint of criminal harassment against Marsden with the South Simcoe Police, claiming her actions compromised his safety, but this did not result in criminal charges. The OPP’s criminal investigations branch did not lay criminal charges against the officer. A separate internal investigation into the alleged leak of classified information by the officer is currently ongoing.

So, yes, she seduced a guy in authority, stalked him after her dumped her, and then broke into his house to boil his rabbit and kidnap his kid tried to ruin his career and send him to jail in retaliation for ignoring her.  Are you beginning to sense a pattern here?

But wait, there’s even more!  Here’s more of Rachel’s Wikipedia bio:

On more than one occasion Marsden asked Wikipedia to delete her biography on the site. Her concerns led her to contact Wikipedia co-founder Jimmy Wales in 2006, claiming that it was wrong and libellous. He reviewed her biography and, deeming that it was not up to standard, reportedly helped her to clean up the entry.On February 29, 2008, the technology gossip blog Valleywag claimed that Wales and Marsden had entered into a relationship, and published instant messaging chats that they had allegedly exchanged. On the following day Wales announced on his Wikipedia user page that he was no longer involved with her. In return, Marsden, who claimed to have learned about the breakup by reading about it on the Internet, turned to eBay and put up for auction a t-shirt and sweater with white stains that she claimed belonged to Wales.

Aw, who could have predicted that a romance between an older, powerful, married guy and sweet little Rachel Marsden wouldn’t end with them living happily ever after?

Anyway, while there were claims that Wales was involved in a conflict of interest for redacting the bio of a woman he was sleeping with, he said that he changed the bio, THEN she slept with him, presumably in a quid pro quo arrangement, so it was all above board. 

And to those of you who might find it amusing that Wales apparently didn’t find out until it was too late that Rachel is scary/crazy (you’d think he would have at least Googled her or something), Scott offered this defense of Mr. Wikipedia: “Hey, he’s a nerd, and he isn’t used to hot woman hitting on him.”  And yeah, she probably did email him this photo:


But I still find the matter so entertaining that I have to share with Rachel’s Revenge, courtesy of, um, Fox News.

“Hi, my name is Rachel and my (now ex) boyfriend, broke up with me on Wikipedia.  It was such a classy move [by Mr Wales] that I was inspired to do something equally classy myself, so I’m selling a couple of items of clothing he left behind, here in my NYC apartment, on eBay,” she explained to buyers.  

“Jimbo was supposed to come visit me in a couple of weeks and pick up some of his stuff, but obviously that won’t be happening now,” she wrote. “Both of these items have been washed, twice, with Tide extra-strength liquid detergent. Otherwise, they would not be in salable condition. I took them out of GitMo style isolation from a plastic bag in my closet (where they were placed to prevent the ongoing terrorism of my olfactory senses) and washed them out for the purposes of this auction,” she said.

“PS: Sorry that my hair is such a mess,” Marsden adds. “I’m in breakup mode right now and really couldn’t be bothered.”


She doesn’t look so good now, does she, Jimmy?

Fox also provided excerpts from some of the couple’s steamy IMs (messages which Rachel saved, presumably for stalking purposes after the inevitable dumping).  This one was my favorite:

In another exchange carried on Valleywag the pair compare broadband services around the world, and Wales complains about the miserly download speeds offered in America.

“When you talk about megabits and broadband, you have no idea what that does to me,” she replies provocatively.

Hot stuff!

Anyway, Wikipedia is now engaged in a fund drive, possibly in order to get enough money to pay off Rachel before she sells Wales’ underwear and jock itch medication.  Rachel has been picked up as a columnist by Human Events Online (Motto: “We’ll be featuring that Ann Coulter blog any day now”), and Town Hall (Motto: “You can never be too boring, too stupid, or too crazy to write for Town Hall”).

Men, this cautionary tale has been brought to you by Townhall’s KLo, who warns you that abstinence is the only safe sex (Kathryn Jean Lopez : Talking About Sex-Ed that Works).

But women, you’re not off the hook, as next time we will feature auld acquaintance Dennis Prager, who has written TWO columns on why you are required to have sex with your husband whenever he wants it, even if you don’t feel like it.  (Spoiler: Because it’s your job, sister!)

See you then.  And Happy New Year!

Bailey The Huggable Hangover Hound Says Happy New Year!

Posted by scott on January 1st, 2009

I was talking to s.z. last night about how 2008 had occasioned more whiplash-inducing mood swings than any other year of the Bush Restoration.  By virtually every reasonable metric, 2008 was a crap year of mythically crappy dimensions, mad in shape and purpose; and yet, it had it’s moments, and one historically uncraptacular peak of hope and joy in particular.  Looking back, we decided that 2008 felt like living through a year in which Hollywood offered nothing but films like Batman & Robin, Hercules in New York, The Postman, Zardoz, Highlander II: The Quickening, and Druids, until finally, you drag yourself to the movies on Thanksgiving Day, already depressed after your parents got drunk on Italian Swiss Colony Rosé at dinner, and your mother started reminiscing about your bedwetting, and your cousins got in a fistfight on the patio over a roach, and then your dad backed his Monte Carlo into your grandma’s collection of lawn gnomes.  But as you sit slumped in the theater, listlessly transferring popcorn from the bag to your mouth like one of those penny arcade claw machines, the lights go down, and suddenly you see a trailer for The.  Single.  Coolest.  Movie.  EVER!

But it doesn’t open until January.


Happy New Year, everyone.

The Nine Billion Names Of Blog

Posted by scott on December 29th, 2008

First off, I’d like to thank everyone for the kind words, thoughtful insights, and disturbing group sex trivia regarding this years holiday crèche full o’ crap, Santa Claus: The Movie, and take a moment to answer a few questions that came up in comments:

Djur writes in to say, “hold

what you are doing is wrong

why do you do this thing”

The answer, Djur, is simple:  I do it for you.  Because it inspires e.e. cummings-like poetry from readers, and because it is bitter, and because it is my heart.

Bill S. inquires, “which is worse, Santa Claus: The Movie or One Magic Christmas?”

That’s quite the Sophie’s Choice, Bill, and I’m naturally inclined to snap, “Santa Claus,” simply because the wounds are still suppurating; but actually, I think this was the worst holiday movie I’d had to sit through so far.  It’s true that One Magic Christmas is full of wretched people doing horrible — yet horribly dull — things to each other, but frankly I’d rather see a sympathetic character get his head blown off in front of his own children on Christmas Eve than listen to Dudley Moore make one more goddamned elf pun.

WeirdDave asks, “Just….uhhh. Scott, do you do it to torture yourself?”

No, Dave.  I do it mostly because I’m too squeamish to be a cutter.

Elsewhere in the Blogosphere, Reasonable Conservative™ Jon Swift has published his annual chrestomathy, Best Blog Posts of 2008.  The superlative in the title may be a trifle suspect, since the posts were chosen by the bloggers themselves, and the one we submitted (on “post-abortive men“) was almost certainly not our best; but it was arguably the most controversial post to appear on Wo’C this year, since it sparked a thread of unusual length and ferocity (which is worth skimming if only for D.Sidhe’s deft demolition of troll-borne boilerplate).

Mr. Swift’s compedium includes a multitude of blogs previously unknown to me, covering a myriad of the year’s outrages, embarrassments, and joys, making it a convenient and well-stocked one-stop shopping spot for readers nostalgic for the late twelvemonth, or irked by the present blogging downturn.  Speaking of which, we’re spending the inter-holiday period with my sister’s family in the Pacific Northwest, and blogging may be sporadic, depending on how quickly their puppy gets bored with my attempts to play.


“Look.  Dude.  I’m not gonna tell you again…Just put the sock down, and back away…”

Every Time A Bell Rings, An Angel Salivates

Posted by scott on December 25th, 2008

And now we present our annual World o’ Crap Holiday Special:


Santa Claus: The Movie (1985)
Directed by Jeannot Szwarc
Written by:  David Newman (screenplay) David & Leslie Newman (story)

Tagline:  Seeing is Believing.

Santa Claus was produced by Alexander and Illya Salkind, at a time when the legendary team was at the height of their creative powers; that is to say, between Supergirl (1984) and Superman IV: The Quest for Peace (1987).  Suggested tagline:  You Will Believe a Movie Can Suck.

Now, I’m not going to sugarcoat it, kids – this film takes a hard and uncompromising look at the hand-made wooden toy industry, and exposes us to some harsh truths about Santa; but I believe that in the end, we’ll be better or bitter people for it.  One or the other.

The budget was reportedly $50 million (in 1985 dollars), and no expense was spared in creating an otherworldly realm of enchantment.  We open in medieval Scandinavia, which at this performance will be played by a plastic log cabin inside a $9.99 musical snowglobe from Spencer’s Gifts.

It’s Christmas Eve, and inside the snowglobe, a Jessica Fletcher impersonator dressed like a Pilgrim is telling a rambling story about ice to a group of children whose immobile, slack-jawed faces suggest they have each been lovingly and individually stunned with a blunt object.   Suddenly, we hear a jingling of sleigh bells, then portly, middle-aged fur-enthusiast Claus bursts into the lodge.  The sole supplier of wood to the village’s entirely wood-based economy, the boisterous Claus still finds time to make crappy gifts for the stupefied moppets out of bark and sawdust.

A storm is raging, but Claus must still deliver his burlap sack full of crudely carved horse figurines and vaguely disturbing birchwood Voodoo dolls to the remaining children on the other side of the Village.  Since the conditions are potentially deadly, he decides to drag his wife along with him; but not to worry, for Claus’s faithful reindeer, Donner and Blitzen, can pull his sleigh through any weather.  They set off with a merry jingle and a twinkle in their eyes and immediately become lost in the blizzard, while the reindeer drop dead.

Realizing their lives are in danger, Claus hops out of the sleigh and delivers a tongue-lashing to his recently deceased draft animals.  Meanwhile, Mrs. Claus begins pissing and moaning about the cold while her core temperature drops.  Claus grabs hold of her just as she loses consciousness, and quickly but calmly takes action.  Although by now he’s half-obscured by the driving snow, I think he cuts her open and tries to climb into her abdominal cavity; but he’s too slow slicing through her many layers of doeskin undergarments, and he freezes to death too.

Merry Christmas, kids!  The only thing you’re going to find under the tree this year is Santa’s autopsy report.

Suddenly, a brilliant star appears above the pile of dead bodies, glowing ever brighter, and we realize that somewhere on this magic Christmas night, a supernova has obliterated an entire solar system.

But the star has amazing powers, for its ethereal radiance resurrects the reindeer, and turns them into overpriced puppets from FAO Schwartz.  Then Claus is revived by the stellar defibrillator, and nudges awake his deceased wife just as a vast army of torch-wielding lawn gnomes shamble toward them.  In the vanguard is Dudley Moore, who identifies himself as an elf, and adds, “I’m the one called Patch.”  And while this hardly comes as welcome news, it could’ve been worse, I suppose; he could’ve been Patch Adams.  The rest of the elves are named things like Boog, Honka, Vout – basically they all sound like things that were hawked up into a Kleenex.

Mrs. Claus is visibly uncomfortable to find that her lifeless body has been reanimated by Travelocity mascots, but Patch urges her not to feel “elf-conscious.”  It seems the elves live in a vast, mystical ski lodge, and they have been observing humanity for centuries, waiting for “the Chosen One,” a man with a heart so pure he could see the invisible elfin realm, as if through the eyes of a child, and so stupid he doesn’t know to come in out of the blizzard.  It’s all a little overwhelming, but the important thing is that Santa is dead, and his corpse enslaved by imps so he can work in their toy fulfillment operation.

As they drag Claus and his wife toward their new, gingerbread-encrusted prison, the elves remark that he seems very jolly for a Shanghaied cadaver, while Patch admits to “a real feeling of elf-confidence.”  By the way, I hope you’re enjoying the elf puns, because the screenwriters have about 317 more of them.

The Clauses enter the intricately carved wooden lodge, which is both the elves’ home and their workshop, a whimsical wonderland that resembles a Vietnamese sneaker factory crammed inside a Black Forest cuckoo clock.  As Zombie Santa gazes about, marveling  at the abundance of toys lovingly fashioned from Scots pine and Norway spruce, aspen, birch, alder, and Siberian larch, we realize that elves are a serious cause of deforestation.  We also realize that all the gnomes are male, and really hope this fairytale doesn’t end up with Mrs. Claus downing too much mulled wine one night and pulling an HO scale train.

The gnomes play dress-up with Santa, finally settling on the red suit because it nicely matches his rosacea, then they give him a magical sleigh, and six reindeer to go along with his team of two undead ones.  Suddenly, a visibly confused Burgess Meredith wanders onto the set, and starts muttering about how Claus is “the Chosen One,” (I thought we’d covered this already), then explains the physics of his new powers:  “Time travels with you.  Indeed, the night of the world is a passage of endless night for you.”  Well, that sure sounds like damnation to me.  Thanks, Mick.

He dubs the confused walking corpse “Santa,” then wanders out of the room again, dragging eight yards of beard behind him.  I never did get his name, but since he has the power to declare people saints, I presume it was the Pope.

The elves feed each reindeer a glowing mixture of crank, Pop Secret, and PCP, which allows them to fly, and to punch their hoof through a windshield and not even feel it.

Santa takes off, but almost immediately Donner gets airsick, and Claus has to bank sharply to dodge all the reindeer puke in the slipstream.  The rest of the trip is a montage of wooden toys, bad blue screen flying effects, superimposed letters to Santa (although he never existed before tonight, so you have to admire the elves’ viral marketing) and one shot of a depressed adolescent dressed like a harlequin and moping on his mandolin.

The years pass.  Much like a kidney stone.  In the 18th century, a little girl writes a letter to Santa, ratting out her brother for being mean to the cat.  Mrs. Claus declares that from now on, only good children will receive crappy wooden toys, and the Naughty List is established.  Unfortunately, Santa can’t depend entirely on snitches, so the elves initiate an illegal surveillance program of the world’s children.

Then we get another montage of kids getting slightly more modern, but still incredibly crappy presents (a plastic abacus?  Really, Santa?), while a horrible, keening childrens’ choir shrieks lyrics like, “Santa really knows the way to live…!”

Now it’s the 20th century, and a street urchin who resembles Jack Wild in Oliver! is dodging the police, when he suddenly glances into a townhouse, and locks eyes with a Poor Little Rich Boy or Girl (the Prince Valiant haircut is a little ambiguous).   From across the street, they exchange long, lingering, unmotivated and intensely uncomfortable glances.

Back at the North Pole, Santa has gotten used to his slave name, but not the workload, and has begun passing out in his pea soup.   Patch connives to be appointed Dick Cheney, and immediately reorganizes the artisanal workshop along industrial principles, and introduces innovations like toys made on an assembly line, before being hand-dipped in bright, lead-based paint.

It’s Christmas Eve again, and Santa takes his load of gifts to New York City, which is the only place he ever goes in this movie.  Meanwhile, the Artful Dodger is gazing through the window of McDonalds, salivating as extras gorge themselves on product placement.   Suddenly, he teleports to a window outside Pageboy’s townhouse, and peers at her for awhile.  Deeply touched by his plight, Pageboy gathers scraps from her dinner table, and steps out back, clucking her tongue and calling “Little Boy!  Hey Boy…!”  She puts the plate down, then steps back inside.  The Artful Dodger creeps out from under a bush, and ravenously feasts on her leftovers; then, while he’s groggy from the dinner roll, chicken skin, and residual salad, she traps and neuters him.

High above the city, Santa is ho-ho-hoing it up, declaring, “Tonight there’s not a child alive who’s not bursting with happiness!”  Then, in the alley below, he spies the Artful Dodger – a child with no home, no parents, no testicles.

Santa teleports to the Dodger’s side, but the boy thinks the jolly old man is just another one of those winos who ring the bell beside the Salvation Army kettle, or a pedophile, or maybe both.  Santa confirms this suspicion when he says, “wanna go for a ride?”

But Claus changes the Artful Dodger’s mind when he takes the grimy urchin on a glorious rear-projected tour of New York City; a thrill-ride that almost ends in disaster when Santa tries to pull an outside loop and nearly rams the sleigh deer-first into the World Trade Center.
He drags the kid along on his route, where they accidentally wake up Pageboy, and they have another oddly sexualized stare-down while Santa eats cookies.   Coincidentally, it seems that Pageboy is the only child to get presents this year, since Santa is ready to knock off for the night.  He drops Jack Wild off in the alley and says, “See you next Christmas Eve!”  Naturally, the homeless child is thrilled, and promises to meet Santa again one year from tonight, providing he doesn’t starve to death, die of exposure, or get shanked in a culvert.

Meanwhile, all the wooden wagons and hobbyhorses turned out by Patch’s assembly line are breaking down, and overnight Santa gets a global reputation for giving out “shoddy, cheap toys.”  Patch is demoted from Dick Cheney to Assistant Scooter Libby, so he throws a hobo bindle over his shoulder and trudges off across the tundra.  Perhaps heading toward the Island of Misfit Toys, although with any luck, he’ll elf-destruct.

Cut to Capitol Hill, where Congress is holding hearings on John Lithgow’s toy company.  The committee members read Lithgow the riot act for manufacturing baby dolls that combust like flash paper, and adorable pandas that are stuffed with nails and broken glass, but they still vote him a 34 billion dollar bailout.

Patch goes to Lithgow’s office, and introduces himself as an “elf-taught” toymaker with skills that are “elf-explanatory.”  He’s got a stash of stolen reindeer crack, and wants to lace lollipops with it and deliver it to all children all over the world on Christmas night, thus becoming Santa himself!  (The original title of this film was Kringle White Female.)

Patch creates a whimsical rocket sled powered by Christmas lights in a plastic tube, and delivers his highly addictive confections all over the world, while Santa, as usual, meanders around New York City.  Suddenly the jolly old Zombie remembers that homeless kid from last year, and lands in a urine-scented vacant lot.  Amazingly, the kid is still alive, and Santa presents him with a hand-carved wooden elf effigy.  The urchin is naturally excited by this gift, because as soon as Santa dumps him again, he can burn it in a trashcan to stay warm.

The repurposed reindeer crack is a huge hit, and Patch becomes a media darling.  Meanwhile, back at the North Pole, Santa is having a mid-immortal life crisis, and wondering if he should just eliminate Christmas altogether, since he’s getting underbid by treacherous former employees who are flagrantly violating their non-compete agreements.

At Lithgow’s factory, Patch is having second thoughts about going mano a mano with Santa Claus, and spends a good 30 seconds moping in the giant dresser where he sleeps.  Then he sighs, grabs a copy of Sleighboy magazine and retires to his drawer for a little elf-abuse.  (If you can’t beat ‘em…)

Back in the Big Apple, the Artful Dodger climbs into Pageboy’s bedroom so he can share his tuberculosis and dangerously high fever.  The Poor Little Rich Boy/Girl is again touched by the plight of this friendless, destitute orphan, and insists that he stay and recuperate in a damp storage closet in her basement.

Cut to the North Pole, where the new Dick Cheney tries to cheer up Santa by making dolls that pee, but the old man, despite his Germanic origins, seems to have lost his taste for water sports.

Cut to Pageboy’s townhouse, where the kids are eavesdropping on her step-uncle, John Lithgow, and his plans for a hostile takeover of Christmas.  It seems the reindeer crack, which they’re planning to distribute again, is explosive, and will blow the heads off their prepubescent demographic.

Lithgow catches the Artful Dodger, but Pageboy escapes and writes an emergency letter to Santa, explaining the asinine third act complications.  Santa tells the elves to hitch up the reindeer, because he’s going to kick ass and rescue that homeless kid he keeps ditching.  Tragically, two of the reindeer are on the DL, but Santa gives the remaining members of the team a pep talk.  “Now listen,” he says.  “I know we’re two men short today, but this time you’ve got to fly like the wind.  Can you do it for me?  Can you do it for that homeless kid I keep ditching?  Sure you can!”

As inspirational speeches go, it’s not exactly St. Crispin’s Day, but then, he’s a zombie trying to rabble-rouse ungulates.

Patch finds the Artful Dodger tried up in the basement, and immediately enlists him to help distribute his deadly explosive candy canes.  They take off in the Fisher Price Rocket Sled of Death, with Santa and Pageboy in hot pursuit.

Back at the toy factory, the police pull up outside, and Lithgow reaches into his desk just the way Bob Gunton did when he committed suicide at the end of The Shawshank Redemption.  Sadly, though, he doesn’t pull out a gun; instead, he takes an overdose of reindeer crack and floats away into the sky like a mylar Happy Birthday balloon, except he’s wearing spats and screaming.

The candy crack in the trunk of Patch’s sled is about to explode, and Santa realizes his only hope of saving his turncoat elf and that grimy homeless kid is to perform a completely senseless outside loop, which he does.  And somehow everything is fine now.

Back at the North Pole, the urchin decides to join the gnome fraternity, because they have a damp spot in the basement where he can sleep, and Pageboy decides to hang around until next Christmas, when Santa can drop her off at home, even though it’s likely someone would have reported her missing at some point, and Fox News would be running nightly updates about the Missing White Girl with the Prince Valiant Hair, and Nancy Grace would be showing composite sketches of Santa, who would die, tragically, in a police crossfire when he attempted to return the girl to her townhouse.

Our movie ends as John Lithgow floats above the atmosphere, into outer space, and we cut away seconds before his lungs rupture and his eyes burst from their sockets.

Happy Holidays, everyone.

Ann Coulter’s Obsession

Posted by s.z. on December 24th, 2008

I am pleased to announce the winners of the “Caption the Presidential Portrait With Bonus Bush” contest.  All of the entries were amusing, thus making it hard to pick a winner.  As is often said (you know, by people and such), “World o’ Crap readers are the wittiest, smartest, and generally best people in the world.”  But, in order to provide a sense of closure, I selected five entries that made me laugh.  Here they are in order of posting:

1.  “What is that strange and magical device on my right wrist?” -  darkell 

2.  “Why ain’t the mirror movin’?” - M. Bouffant

3.  “I call that hand thing I’m doin’ ‘The Potholder’. Been workin’ on it for several weeks now. Makes me look smarter.” - Doghouse Riley 

4.  “Don’t never let anyone say Preznidentin’ ain’t hard work. I had to keep saying ‘cheese’ for 13 hours straight!” - arghous

5.  “President Pleased Portrait Proves He Passed Yale Course in Handweaving” - Fearguth

And what do our award-winning quipsters get for their outstanding efforts?  Well, to help limit their tax liability, our accountants mandated that we give them nothing of value.  So, lucky winners, please enjoy the cover of Ann Coulter’s latest book!!! 

Yes, Ann’s wardrobe consists entirely of black cocktail dresses from ”Skanks ‘R Us.”  You know, the title of her book reminds me of that pretentious Calvin Klein perfume ad from the ’80’s with the slogan, “If obsession is a sin, let me be guilty.”  In Ann’s case, I guess the line would be, “If an obsession with demonizing half the country is a sin, let me be guilty, and then send me to Gitmo for the rest of my life.”  Ah, Coulter, the smell of it.  Smells like tobacco breath, stale gin, and desperation.

And, lucky winners, here’s a bonus prize for you: a review of/promo for “Guilty” by WorldNetDaily.

Get Coulter’s latest – autographed! – only from WND!In her most controversial and fiercely argued book yet,

Ann does argue fiercely in this one, giving body slams and kidney punches to the facts, and actually pulling a knife on some non-cooperative statistics.  But I don’t think WND is fooling anyone when they claim that one of Ann’s books is capable of causing a controversy at this point, let alone anything more than a pained sigh or a bored shrug.

 .. . Ann Coulter calls out liberals for always playing the victim – when in fact, as she sees it, they are the victimizers. In GUILTY, Coulter explodes this myth to reveal that when it comes to bullying, no one outdoes the Left. GUILTY is a mordantly witty and shockingly specific catalog of offenses which Coulter presents from A to Z

I think the examples are: “A - Liberals are the ones who are always making fun of Ann Coulter; Z - The liberal San Francisco zoo has a horse named Ann, the moniker undoubtedly chosen to make fun of Ann Coulter.”  There you have it : proof positive that liberals are the victimizers in this country!

Ann Coulter, author of multiple New York Times best sellers – every one of which sends the establishment into fits of apoplexy –

Up the establishment, man!

 . . . is about to release her latest and most fearless book, “Guilty”!

It’s true.

Hey, I never doubted for an instant that this is her latest, or that Ann isn’t afraid to keep putting out this drek.

Every time Coulter releases another book, the establishment goes crazy -

And Richard Nixon puts somebody on his enemies list.

 – as it did with “Godless,” and before that “Treason,” and before that “Slander,” and several others.

“Others” like “Witless,” “Coprophilia,” and “Slimer,” plus some other ones that even the folks at WND are too busy to list, let alone read.

Coulter’s books electrify those millions of Americans who still believe in liberty and common sense, while driving everyone else nuts.

Yeah, the people who read Ann’s books do drive everyone else nuts, since having to deal with the annoyingly delusional can become very trying.  Maybe electricity (or rather, electro-shock therapy) for them IS the answer.

And that’s just how Ann likes it.

She likes her readers to serve as malignant irritants to the rest of society, much as Willard liked having an army of rats that he could use to get back at the society which had ignored him.

Her latest – just in time to “crash Obama’s Inauguration,” as Matt Drudge put it – is titled “Guilty: Liberal ‘Victims’ and Their Assault on America.”

Wow, maybe Obama should hold off getting inaugurated if he’s going to have to compete with the release of an Ann Coulter book.  After all, Drudge has never known to have been wrong about something.

“The book exposes and mocks, in graphic detail, the media’s love affair with all things Democrat and Obama. Coulter presents exhibits A through Z,” Drudge noted.

With this emphasis on “A through Z,” It sounds like Ann’s latest work is an alphabet book for really slow, mean-spirited, right-wing children.  I wonder who did the illustrations — too bad Dr, Seuss is dead.

In “Guilty,” Coulter writes: “Liberals seem to have hit upon a reverse Christ story as their belief system. He suffered and died for our sins; liberals make the rest of us suffer for sins we didn’t commit.”

Thus, wingnuts are actually Christ-figures.  Self-aggrandize much, Ann?

“Who are the victims here?” she continues. “To hear liberals tell it, you’d think they do nothing but suffer at the hands of ruthless entities like the ‘Republican Attack Machine’ and Fox News.”

When, the truth is that Republicans and viewers of Fox News are the real victims, often suffering from shrunken brains as a direct result of their political and/or television choices.

Among the many subjects:* Single mothers: “Getting pregnant isn’t like catching the flu. There are volitional acts involved – someone else explain it to Dennis Kucinich. By this purposeful act, single mothers cause irreparable harm to other human beings – their own children – as countless studies on the subject make clear.”

Let me get this straight: Ann Coulter is denouncing other single woman for choosing to have sex???  Ann Coulter, the woman who famously said, “Let’s say I go out every night, I meet a guy and have sex with him. Good for me. I’m not married,”  is dumping on other women for committing this same volitional act???  Or is she just railing on them for choosing to not get abortions when their birth control methods fail, as they are known to do at least 1/100 of the time?

* “Brave” liberals: “In addition to being beautiful, compassionate tribunes of the downtrodden, liberals are brave. I know that because they’re always telling me how brave they are. Why, five nights a week, MSNBC’s Keith Olbermann courageously books guests who completely agree with him. It doesn’t get much braver than that.”

Aw, Ann has a crush on Keith Olbermann and is miffed because he won’t invite her to be on his show!  How cute is that!

* The offenders are offended!: “Republican senator George Allen’s career was destroyed when he made a joking remark to a privileged Indian American harassing him at campaign stops.

Yes, Allen “jokingly” twice called the dark-skinned young man who was “harassing” him by filming his appearances a “macaca,” which means “monkey” and is commonly understood as a racial slur in french-speaking countries.  So, obviously Allen is the real victim here, in that he got in trouble for something he did.

When did rich kids become a new protected category that must be shielded from words that are insulting in other languages?

Yeah, when did it become unacceptable to use racial slurs against brown people who it turns out are not poor?  And shouldn’t it be okay to insult people in a language that they presumably don’t speak, because being dark, they should be from the underclass?

How did Sidarth become a specially anointed victim?

And how come Ann thinks that Allen is a victim for showing his true (short-tempered, intemperate, possibly racist) self, and getting called on it?

What did we ever do to India?

See, unless we enslaved them or something, it should be okay to mock them for their skin color.

And why didn’t we ever hear about the far more offensive anti-Semitic flyers of Allen’s opponent Jim Webb?”

Um, perhaps because the charges that the flyers were anti-Semitic were quickly debunked (see “James Webb Accused of Anti-Semitism in Democratic Primary)?   But hey, let’s not let the truth get in the way of Ann’s claim that conservatives are the real victims here, in that they lost the elections.

The bottom line, as Coulter proves again and again in “Guilty,” is that self-righteous liberals “viciously attack, all while wailing that they are the true victims.”

As we’ve seen in just the couple of examples provided here, Ann proves her thesis by lying, basically.  And presumably if anybody calls her on it, then she will gain victim status once again, because she’s a “conservative” and anyone who disagrees with anything she writes is a liberal meanie.

Help Ann Coulter crash Obama’s Inauguration – order your copy of “Guilty: Liberal ‘Victims’ and Their Assault on America” today!

Teacher said, “Every time a copy of ‘Guilty” is ordered, an inauguration is crushed.”

But you’ve got to act quickly because Ann’s hand is getting tired.

Hey, what she does in private with her own hand is none of our business, even if it does make the saints cry!

When she’s done signing books, she’s done.

Oh, if only that were true!

The Portrait of Dorian Bush

Posted by s.z. on December 20th, 2008
As the A.P. says:
Portrait shows Bush relaxed and smiling
President George W. Bush’s two terms in office have been marked by wars, a global financial crisis, and a steady stream of political opposition.

But his portrait at the National Portrait Gallery, unveiled Friday, shows him at ease and smiling, seemingly unfazed by eight years of tumult.

Anyway, here’s your chance for you to caption the above photo.  The first prize winner will get a cool prize from our prize vault (and not that photo of Ann Coulter wearing dead muskrat skins, probably).  Bush family members not eligible for prizes, including future political offices (this means YOU, Jeb).  Katharine Jean Lopez is eligible for marriage, preferably to a nice, young, Republican man, but she probably shouldn’t enter this contest, as we aren’t in the mood to read something like “George Bush Created in the Likeness of Our Heavenly Commander In Chief.”  Offer Void in Wasilla, AK. 

K-Lo The Brown-Nosed Reindeer

Posted by scott on December 19th, 2008

As Wo’C reader David E. predicted, the hankies are coming out now, as wingnuts begin to seriously contemplate a life without George the Bush, and struggle to put their febrile mancrushes, and ill-disguised cravings for dominance into awkward and hilariously passionate words.  First up, we have a holiday-themed mash note from the moist and aching void of Katherine Jean Lopez


It’s Christmastime, which means I’ve had a chance to shake hands with President George W. Bush for the last time before Barack Obama succeeds him.

“It was also my last chance to watch as he tenderly withdrew his hand from mine, then squeezed a dog turd-sized dollop of Purell into his palm and rubbed away my lingering foulness…”

The peaceful succession process is a beautiful thing, even when it means I won’t be invited to next year’s Christmas party. That’s more than fine, especially because I received a great gift from the president this year — more proof of his moral leadership.

Sadly, when K-Lo turned it over and read the label, she realized it was actually Gordon Brown’s moral leadership, and Bush had just regifted it.

He’s had his flaws, of course, but he’s always led with an ear to his conscience and his heart

Say what you want about the guy — he’s limber as a Cirque du Soleil self-fellationist.

…consumed with the burden of not only protecting and defending but also loving the people who are so integral to what America is, has been and will be — and whose lives are directly and dramatically changed by decisions he makes.

You know, if it’s really that big a burden for Bush to love me, maybe we should just be friends.

A friend of mine told the president that night about how grateful she feels toward him. She’s the mother of an Iraq War veteran — one of those countless, intensely proud moms who prayed and worried about their children overseas. When she finally welcomed him back home, she knew he had seen and done things from which any mother would want to protect her son.

Thanks, George Bush!

If anything can help a mom in that situation besides faith, it’s knowing that her commander in chief takes his responsibility deadly seriously.

Wait…Mom is in the military, too?  Are we so desperate for cannon fodder now that we’ve nationalized America’s mothers so we can draft their progeny fresh and steaming from the womb?

And that’s a fact the troops on the ground know — even when others in Washington shamelessly decried the war effort, the commander and sometimes even the troops.

When Bush lengthened the tour of duty in Iraq from 12 to 15 months, you can imagine how the troops must have paused to say, “What a relief!  For awhile there I was afraid he might not be deadly serious.  Oh, and look — my MRE came with a prize inside!  It’s a piece’a moral leadership…”

Still, I can’t imagine the pain and worry suffered by the troops and their families.

“That’s why I sleep like a baby every night.  A crappy imagination is as good as a clean conscience!”

I haven’t experienced the sacrifice firsthand. But I sure do give thanks for all those who shed blood for the rest of us.

Golly, I’m just pleased as punch about that bloodshed there.

And I sure am grateful for a president who fully appreciates that sacrifice and who fully understands his pivotal role in war, peace, stewardship and leadership.

Let’s not forget receivership.

Every time I’ve ever seen the president over these past eight years, he’s managed to talk about the keepers of the flame of freedom.

Yeah, we’ll I’ve collected the complete Challengers of the Unknown, but I don’t feel the need to bore everybody talking about it.

Every time I’ve seen him give an address to military audiences, I’ve seen in the crowd a great respect for him and our country — a real enthusiasm informed by experience.

That’s funny, because it seems like the more people experience Bush, the less respect and enthusiasm they seem to display.  Maybe faking affection for Bush is one of those military hazing rituals, like blood-pinning.

The respect President Bush feels for soldiers and their families is mutual, as my friend told him during these last weeks in Washington, D.C. The love is mutual, she said.

You can cut it with a knife.  The love between Bush and his military is as thick as the mold on the walls of Walter Reed.

My friend’s son made it home. Another friend’s brother didn’t, killed by an IED in Afghanistan a few months ago. Over the past eight years, people have had innocence, limbs and lives taken from them while voluntarily serving our country during the war on terror. Their stories should inspire us, and they have — tales of wounded men on multiple tours, even after suffering catastrophic injuries. Visit Walter Reed Army Medical Center, and your response may be a lot like mine: These folks have what it takes.

As long as it doesn’t take money, staff, drugs, adequate housing, janitorial supplies, or the sustained attention of someone at the White House.

Similarly, the interaction my friend had with the president struck me as so very Christmas. For all the “Bush lied, people died,” hysteria, there is something of St. Joseph in George W. Bush.

He’s pink, and you can rub him on a baby’s gums?

St. Joseph plays a key part in the Christmas story. If you’re a believer, you know — you have faith — that he wasn’t Jesus Christ’s biological father.

Just the holiest cuckold around.

But he was a loving, hard-working man, who out of all men the Creator trusted with his Son.

Just as many fathers have trusted Bush with their sons.  And, just like Jesus, not all of them were returned in mint condition.

St. Joseph had a faith that allowed him to follow divine requests that couldn’t have made a whole lot of sense.

While Bush has a faith that allows him to issue orders that don’t make a whole lot of sense.  The parallels are uncanny.

He was a model of masculine faith. While all men are not called to act as a father to the most important man in human history…

…That was George Herbert Walker Bush’s job.

…Christian manhood involves providing, protecting and obeying, not just when it comes to family life, but also in the Church. What would any religion be without a few good men?


And it’s not just “The Decider” that seems to channel a little bit of Joseph. The moving and shaking of St. Joseph brings to mind so many men I’ve encountered over this past year. I know some of them as fathers of a less-traditional sort, united in purpose with St. Joseph…I think of a talk-show phenom who never forgets to invest in human capital, fathering the movement by teaching for three hours a day and supporting his fellow happy warriors, no matter where they are on the totem pole.

Emphasis added.  Squeamishly.
Good grief this woman needs to get laid.

Ghosts of Wingnuts Past

Posted by scott on December 19th, 2008

Get out your Tamagotchis and your Trapper Keepers, kids, because Congressional Republicans have announced they’re taking us all on a field trip to the 1990s!  As part of Eric Holder’s confirmation hearings for the post of Attorney General, we’ll enjoy a special guided tour of the Marc Rich pardon and the Elian Gonzalez affair, then it’s off to the cafeteria for a lunch of Mentos and Zima, and a quick visit to the Gift Shop for Special Limited Edition Beanie Babies and Koosh Balls.  But wait!  Museum of Poutrage docent Lisa Fabrizio insists that before we go, we simply must take in their latest exhibit:  The “Barack Obama is an Accessory to the Murder of Terri Schiavo” Pavilion.  Presented by Monsanto.

fabriziosmall.jpgBirds of a feather

As the year 2008 winds down and President Bush’s days in office draw to a close, liberals all over the world are celebrating the Iraq shoe-throwing incident. But this only illustrates that the Bush’s efforts in Iraq have proved a tremendous success, given that a member of the Iraqi press has managed to outdo even Western media types who, despite their best efforts, have never laid a glove on W.

So he’s the Bush now?  Like Richard the Lionheart, Ethelred the Unready, and Charles the Bald, we must now address the president as George the Bush?  I don’t necessarily object, but it’s going to create a lot of extra work for his bomber jacket and windbreaker embroiderers.

However, just in time for the holidays, the liberal media have received a Fitzmas present, though not of the sort for which they wished. No, after years of beating the Bushes for a chance to take down the 43rd president of the United States, they find themselves in the position of having to defend one of their own, via the Blagojevich pay-for-play scandal and the Obama Administration’s alleged involvement therein.

I’m not a freelance columnist for a prominent website like RenewAmerica, and thus unqualified to render a legal judgment, but in order for the “Obama Administration” to have “alleged involvement” with a scandal, doesn’t there first have to technically be an Obama Administration, and then, doesn’t someone need to actually make an allegation against  it?  I mean, apart from Patrick Fitzgerald’s statements exonerating Obama and his staff, the tapes themselves seem to indicate that Blagojevich wasn’t getting paid to play.  So it appears that Ms. Fabrizio is really offering us less of a Fitzmas and more of a Fabmas present, which is great, because I’ve been wondering what to get my gay friends this year.

And in a seemingly unrelated matter…

…but which is really connected, because as we learned from our jaunt in the WayBack Machine to the 1990s, “it’s not the crime, it’s the cover-up,” unless there actually wasn’t a crime or a cover-up, in which case it’s the “seemingly unrelated matter,” which allows an inquiry into a fraudulent real estate deal which predated a President’s term of office to morph into the Vince Foster suicide inquest cum murder investigation, which turned into an exposé of hanky panky on company time, which exploded into an impeachment trial, which left nothing behind but the great smell of Brut, and the charred remains of a failed investigation into a fraudulent real estate deal which now both predated and outlasted a President’s term of office, which left us, ultimately, with a weird hybrid of 19th century literature and 21st century media, featuring Ken Starr as Javert, remorselessly trying the case of Jarndyce vs. Jarndyce, except with less sharp, but compassionate social criticism and more crusty semen stains.

…we have learned that the “office” of President-Elect has swelled its by tapping Harvard chum Thomas Perrelli for its Justice Department transition team. Now, what does the Blago flap have to do with Perrelli’s presence on the Obama team?

Both Perrelli and Blagojevich have a Bacon Number of 3?

For those who remember the Terri Schiavo case, Mr. Perrelli was one of a team of lawyers representing Michael Schiavo’s efforts to end the life of that defenseless woman. Mr. Perrelli’s firm, Jenner & Block, honored him for his work which allowed the state of Florida to take the life of an innocent woman whose official cause of death was tragicomically listed as “undetermined.”

Actually, “Schiavo’s immediate cause of death was ‘marked dehydration’…”  But you can’t blame a gal for fudging the facts and exploiting a corpse when the payoff is so tragicomically good.

Also lauded by his firm were those lawyers who made “exceptional pro bono contributions on behalf of Death Row prisoners.” Yes, such is the state of the legal profession in this country that supporters of innocent life have reason to fear it, while convicted killers can depend on it for a rigorous defense.

Of course, each year a number of “convicted killers” in this country actually turn out to be a part of that “innocent life” contingent, thanks to pro bono work by attorneys, but if innocent men must die by lethal injection so that one brain dead woman may be kept alive on a feeding tube, well, that’s just the sort of tough call that freelance columnists for RenewAmerica are paid(?) to make.

We know what Shakespeare said about lawyers; it only seems more appropriate when applied to recent presidents.

Well that seems a little bloodthirsty.  I was just going to suggest we don’t buy their ghostwritten memoirs.  At least, not in hardcover.

Is it any coincidence that neither Ronald Reagan or the Bushes had law degrees and managed for the most part to elude liberal prosecution? Or that the last elected Republican president who was a lawyer was also “a crook?”

Yet Richard Nixon’s sins seem penny-ante in comparison to the goings on of our most recent lawyerly president; but not to hear the media tell it. A two-bit burglary by the Watergate bunglers was treated as a capital crime, while the reprehensible offenses — both illegal and immoral — committed by Bill Clinton were pooh-poohed as mere randy behavior by the Teflon one.

Now, to be fair, Clinton was persecuted by a coterie of serial adulterers for getting an extracurricular blowjob, but I’m pretty sure that after the Senate Watergate committee concluded its business each day, Sam Ervin did not retire to his Barcalounger and secretly bomb Cambodia.

The sad part of all of this is that we have a right to expect that a United States president — the chief executor of the law of the land as laid out in our Constitution — should have at least a working grasp of those laws and the moral strictures behind them. And this should be even more true of those who are lawyers; which brings us back to Obama and his advisors. In a presidential debate in February, he was asked about his part in the congressional intervention to save the life of Terri Schiavo; a life Perrelli fought so hard to snuff. The Big O’s answer was most illuminating:

“It wasn’t something I was comfortable with, but it was not something that I stood on the floor and stopped. And I think that was a mistake, and I think the American people understood that that was a mistake. And as a constitutional law professor, I knew better.”

If George gets to be called “the Bush,” then I suppose Obama is entitled to his own nickname, but “The Big O” strikes me as a tad informal (although, judging by the exit polls, the ladies seem to like it).  Anyway, the upshot appears to be that Perrelli was part of a legal team that advised Michael Schiavo, while Obama voted along with the rest of the Senate to allow Terri Schiavo’s parents to take her case from state to federal court, but later regretted voting for “a bill that allowed Congress to intrude where it shouldn’t have.”  Meaning that Obama’s alleged crime is…?

Either way, it appears that in the makeup of his administrations and the way in which it seeks to suppress information before it is even installed, recalls that of his fellow law professor from Arkansas. And both of these legal scholars would be better served had they sought to know better the wording of U.S. Code Title 18, Section 4, which reads:

Misprision of a Felony: Whoever, having knowledge of the actual commission of a felony cognizable by a court of the United States, conceals and does not as soon as possible make known the same to some judge or other person in civil or military authority under the United States, shall be fined under this title or imprisoned not more than three years, or both.

Now maybe Mr. Perrelli, a former counsel to Janet Reno — whose rein of terror included the Waco Massacre and the midnight raid on Elian Gonzalez — together with Greg Craig, Clinton’s Impeachment trial mouthpiece and brave defender of John Hinckley, Jr. and Fidel Castro’s interests in the Gonzalez case, can help Obama out with the legal and ethical implications of all of this. After all, these are the legal eagles who gave us the most ethical administration in history, right?

So…Okay, wait…So…Obama voted to allow the Federal courts to override the state courts decision to remove the feeding tube, but because he later had second thoughts, he became an unindicted co-conspirator with the Florida Supreme Court which allowed Terri Schiavo to be taken off life support, even though Dr. Bill Frist had remotely diagnosed her as hale and healthy and perfectly capable of getting by with a brain that was half normal size and partially liquified, because a thing like that hadn’t stopped Rick Santorum!  Or…


This is a trick question, isn’t it?

Pride Of The Wankees

Posted by scott on December 16th, 2008


Dennis Prager can sympathize with the happiness and pride that certain minority types have been displaying in the wake of Barack Obama’s historic election as President of the United States, but he also feels that enough’s enough.

Gay Pride. Jewish Pride. Black pride. Hispanic Pride.

Empty rhetoric.  Buzzwords.  Not a single one of them provides society with any tangible benefits, the way Pilgrim’s Pride provides us with the bolder, more exciting flavors of their new WingSations.


Ethnic pride. Minority rights vs. tyranny of the majority.

For a generation, America has been awash in the celebration of minorities and minorities celebration of themselves. Just recall Black is Beautiful or I am a woman, I am invincible.

Dennis is being name-raped and oppressed by imperfectly remembered lyrics from a 36-year old pop song, and his very soul cries out for justice!

At the same time, the majority group in America — white Christians — has been allowed to celebrate very little. Rather, they have constantly been reminded of what they should be ashamed of — their racism, sexism, homophobia, patriarchy, and xenophobia — real and alleged.

It’s hard out there for a wimp.

But what about minority shame?

You homos and differently-hued people have had your fun.  Now it’s time for you to taste the humiliation, impotence and bitter self-loathing that White Christians have had to struggle to overcome for the past 6 weeks.

Why does one almost never hear expressions of group shame from members of any American group other than white Christians (specifically, white Christian male heterosexuals)?

I don’t think I can stand one more weepy, tortured mea culpa from Dick Cheney without my heart breaking.  I hear he’s come down with bulemia, and started cutting himself…

Are the only evildoers in America white male heterosexual Christians? Is there something inherently wrong about members of minorities expressing anything but group pride? Are there no minority sins worthy of shame?

Are there no prisons?  No work-houses?  I say it is a humbug, sir!

For a generation, college students have been taught that it is impossible for blacks to be racist because only the racial group in power, i.e. whites, can express racism.

Express.  Enforce.  What’s the difference?

If only the majority group is expected to express shame, then only the majority group is expected to be governed by rules of morality. It is, ironically, the highest moral compliment to Americas white Christians that they are the only American group of whom expressions of shame are expected. It means more is morally expected of them than of anyone else.

White People.  Nature’s Noblemen.


“See?  You can be totally gangsta, and still provide the moral backbone of a civilized society.  I hope you black kids are watching…”

Expressing group shame when morally necessary is not airing dirty linen or giving solace to ones ideological enemies. It is, rather, one of the highest expressions of moral development. And it is therefore universally applicable. Being a minority doesnt exempt its members from moral responsibility. It will be a great day for America and the world when minorities begin to express shame as well as pride. In fact, there is real pride in expressing shame. Minorities should give it a try.

But remember, too much of a good thing can be bad, so start slow.  Maybe we could all feel the Shame in shifts.  For instance, White Christians could be ashamed about slavery, and the genocide of the Native American population, and monopolizing opportunity, and exploiting minorities while controlling all the wealth, and the media and the government, till about sixish.  Then Black people could punch in, and feel bad about yanking down their pants so we can see their underwear, while White people pull the Pride shift.

And the great thing is, just as African-American pride has stirring anthems such as “We Shall Overcome” and “Lift Every Voice and Sing,” White Pride comes with its own soundtrack, too!


Dating for Petro-Dollars

Posted by s.z. on December 16th, 2008

As we continue the search for the new Swank (as seen on the Fox Reality Show “So You Think You Can Rant”), we are interviewing a number of unlikely contenders.  Included on that list is Dick Morris, who, although not as linguistically gifted as the good Pastor, is just as delusional.  He also has a shot at being just as prolific, since he has a collaborator (some woman) who apparently does all the heavy lifting, thus freeing Dick for appearances on the O’Reilly Factor and for general frothing at the mouth.

So, I looked forward to reading Dick&Aide’s latest, The Impending Collapse of Our Enemies, which I thought was going to be about how Bill Clinton soon won’t be President any more.  Instead, I was disappointed to find that it doesn’t deal with the Clintons at all, but instead is about how lower oil prices are affecting the Axis of Meanies ‘n Countries We Hate.  Here’s a key passage:

Putin’s Russia, which so recently threw its weight around by invading Georgia, faces perhaps the biggest hit of all to its economy. Producing 10 million barrels per day, Russia will be hit the hardest by the collapse of prices. (Again, do the math: Assume Russia budgeted at $60 oil prices and the price drops to $40. $20/barrel x 10 million barrels per day x 365 = a $73 billion annual shortfall). With a GDP of only about $1.4 trillion, Russia faces the loss of about 5% of its economy. And Russian oil production has dropped by one million barrels per day for each of the past two years. With prices at rock bottom and nationalization an ever-present threat, who is going to invest in increasing Russian production?

Good question.  But I find it noteworthy that on the VERY SAME PAGE as Dick’s article, Townhall features an ad with a bikini-clad blonde in front of the Kremlin advising you to ”Find Your Russian Beauty Today.”

A quick visit to the sponsor’s site (RussianEuro.com) lets us know that this is indeed Dick Morris’s kind of place.

Dreaming of the perfect Russian lady? Are you ready to meet your Russian partner? RussianEuro is a specialty dating and personals site that focuses on bringing together Russian women and those seeking Eastern European women for dating, marriage and chat. You can meet the perfect Russian woman or Eastern European partner from within our extensive database featuring 1000’s of single marriage minded Eastern European women looking for love. Beautiful young Russian ladies are waiting to meet you today.

And to suck your toes.  Anyway, I guess Townhall agrees with Conan the Barbarian that what is best in life is to crush your enemies through a world-wide recession, to see them driven before you in hybrid cars, and to hear the lamentation of the women who are forced to become mail-order brides to the guys who read Townhall.

P.S,  When I just went back to Dick’s column, the ad wasn’t there anymore.  I guess Dick has snagged all of the Russian beauties for himself.