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!

Uncategorized | 32 Comments »

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.

Happy Holidays | 18 Comments »

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…”

Now a word from our sponsor | 16 Comments »

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.

Movies, Happy Holidays | 29 Comments »

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!

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