• Hey! We're on Twitter!

  • Buy The Book!



    Click to Buy The Mug

    Buy The Book

Archive for the 'Happy Holidays' Category

Random Scenes of Holiday

Posted by scott on December 21st, 2010

Christmas is fast approaching, and as I’m not a Christian, I always like to solicit some expert advice on the True Meaning of the Day before I bake my cookies and trim my tree.  Usually I consult with Linus Van Pelt, but he’s in Branson performing his one man show, “Lights, Please” so this year I’m stuck with Matt C. Abbott.

You may remember Matt as the “Catholic columnist” for RenewAmerica whose columns largely consist of material written by other people — often emails from arch-conservative clerics who delight in feeding Matt table scraps of crazy, outraged but obscure laypersons, or citations from distinguished anti-semites.  He’s actually more of a conduit than a pundit, a sort of urethra for the golden wisdom that showers down upon us from the religious right.  But when on occasion Matt does write an original sentence, he makes the most of it, such as the opening to this week’s piece:

Sad to say, I’m afraid Congress has just infected our military with “spiritual AIDS,” if you will, by repealing DADT — much to the delight of the homosexualists in our midst.

Ordinarily I’d be tempted to respond to this sort of thing, but I dislike kicking a man when he’s down, and later in the column Matt confesses that he’s recently been diagnosed with a “moral hemorrhoid.”

But speaking of rectal decorations — or rectorations, as they now call them in the military — I’ve waded into the shit to take some recon photos of the War of Christmas.  And the first combat zone visited was the IMAX theater at Universal Studios.

However, judging by the landscape and architecture, it’s apparent that even after the War on Christmas turns hot, the holiday itself will survive in a futuristic, post-Apocalyptic environment from which the mutated remnants of humanity will emerge.

I also noticed that it’s helpful when the hectoring admonitions from Big Brother, and the warm, yet urgent suggestions that we pull up stakes and enjoy the good life in the Off-World Colonies is delivered by a floating, 15-foot high Tori Amos:

Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to go celebrate both the passage of DADT repeal and this happiest time of the year by spreading some Holiday Herpes.

Christmas Warriors Of The World (By Marx!)

Posted by scott on December 14th, 2010

Before we begin today’s offense against good taste and the dominant culture, here’s a brief word from our sponsor (hey, even A Charlie Brown Christmas paused occasionally to sell you Zingers).

Are you wondering what to get that obnoxious right wing uncle of yours?  Well, now Amazon lets you give the Kindle version of Better Living Through Bad Movies as a gift, and what better way to get revenge for all that racist Snopes-fodder he’s been emailing to you since 2008, than by sending him the one book that devotes an entire chapter to mocking Red Dawn?

How does it work?  Why, it’s so simple even a child could do it, so be prepared for your uncle to strike back by gifting you Going Rogue, or Glenn Beck’s The Christmas Sweater.  Just go to , and click on “Kindle Edition.”  On the right side of the screen you’ll see a button, “Give As Gift.”  Anyone with an email address can receive a digital copy, and the book can be read on any device that supports the free Kindle reading app, including iPhone, iPad, PC, Mac, Android device, and BlackBerry.

Now that I’ve thoroughly debased and commercialized the season, it’s only appropriate that I take a few incoming rounds from an elite War on Christmas Warrior, “former Army officer and a veteran of Iraq and Afghanistan,” and a man who takes planning birthday parties for dead people really seriously, John Bennett:

Score One for Judeo-Christian Culture

Multiculturalism creates a neurotic and dishonest society.

Which is why the United States, whose citizens emerge soft, phobic, and dissembling from the Melting Pot, got its ass kicked by the monocultural Germans and Japanese in World War II.

This is seen very plainly during the Christmas season. Those of us who celebrate Christmas are told that we must rip the very core of this season out, and replace it with a phony, soulless thing called “Holiday” or “Winter.”

That’s pretty much the message I got from the Perry Como version of “Winter Wonderland.”

This is dishonest because nobody celebrates winter.

Frosty the Snowman begs to differ.

“Holiday” is a shallow term to describe Christmas; the term abuses language to impose a false meaning on a reality that most of us cherish.

People seem to forget — or to no longer care — that the whole purpose of Christmas is to celebrate the birth of our lord and savior, Santa Claus.

“Holiday” and “Winter” are weasel words used by cultural appeasers who are too ashamed of their own culture to say what everybody knows to be true.

For the most part I’m just bored by my own culture, but highly entertained by people who are professionally ashamed of it (except those parts which can be used as a blunt instrument on the rest of us).

Maintaining Christmas is part of preserving the culture that gave us almost everything that we have worth keeping.

Like credit card debt, water packed ham, and flocking.

The whole name-changing charade is neurotic because it forces people to pretend that our majority culture is not what it actually is.

The orifice from which Snooki emerged.

Now, the madness of the Christmas season is upon us- not the madness of shopping centers, but the madness of toxic tolerance.

The cure for which is, of course, an Intolerance Ipecac.

Yes, it was largely immigrants of Christian denominations who built this country, and if one does not like that fact then they are free to find another place whose history doesn’t offend them.

Ethnic cleansing?  You’re soaking in it!  And for the record, John, it’s not history that offends me — it’s “history.”

Some people call it the “war on Christmas” but this phenomenon is best described as part of something larger that harms us year round:

Fox News?

toxic tolerance.


Toxic tolerance has been described as “the imperative never to offend anyone, no matter how evil, duplicitous, or exploitative they might be.”

So people who might prefer to hear “Happy Holidays” rather than “Merry Christmas” are “evil, duplicitous, [and] exploitative”?  I don’t know, John, that seems like kind of a harsh way to talk about the Jews. But then, the description you quote comes from the famously not-fond-of-Semitic-people blog Gates of Vienna, although your link brings up this page…

…so maybe they had a change of heart and took down the post, and then died from tolerance toxemia.

Make no mistake about it, those who rip Christmas out of public life are duplicitous and exploitative, no matter what they claim their victim status to be, and no matter how noble their motives.

John’s motives, however, are fell and deceitful, so we can trust his methods.

It is duplicitous to attack the majority culture under the pretense of tolerance, when the outcome of the ostensible tolerance is to be intolerant of the majority culture.

Yes, I hope you enjoyed John’s rendition of that beloved old classic, “You O So Tolerant Liberals Are Intolerant of My Intolerance!”

Everybody now…!  ♬ It’s beginning to look a lot like War on Christmas…

It is exploitative to use privileged victim status to enforce personal preferences at the expense of a profoundly important cultural and, yes, religious observance.

But enforcing personal religious preferences on secular society is reasonable and wholesome, because certain people need to be reminded every once in a while that being a victim is a privilege, not a right.

There are few things more self-centered than using privileged victim status to erase part of the culture one finds themselves in. If Westerners went to non-western nations and tried this ungrateful, petty behavior, they would be rightly condemned or worse, depending on the locale.

Thank God we’ve never tried to impose our values on the non-western world.

We invite hypocrisy as well- not just garden variety hypocrisy, but the type of fundamental hypocrisy that makes a sham of our self-respect and attacks our national identity.

Oh boo hoo — it’s Christmas! I have to invite my sister-in-law and my wife’s cousin every year; and at least fundamental hypocrisy usually brings a bottle of Mateus Rosé and a Holiday Smoked Meat Log from Hickory Farms.

In particular, we can’t have any mention of Christ at Christmastime in public, government places, but your tax money will be used to degrade and insult Christ.

It’s true, I have never heard a politician invoke Christ or Christmas, nor have I ever seen religious art in a publicly-funded museum, but I did use the Gents on the Senate side of the Capitol once, and the urinal cakes were molded in the shape of mini-Pietàs.

At root, this toxic tolerance and holiday madness is produced by blending multicultural appeasement with a thoughtless liberal notion of equality- not equality brought about by merit or based on majority norms, but equality brought about by government coercion, leveling, and betraying the majority culture.

Thoughtless liberal notion of equality, enforced by government coercion on the majority culture, 1957.

If a fraction of the public doesn’t celebrate Christmas, we’ll offend the majority by eliminating references to their cultural observance…

Likewise, if certain groups can’t perform academically at a high standard, we’ll destroy the high standard. Thus a high school in affluent Evanston, Illinois is considering eliminating an honors course because the class had too many whites and not enough minorities.

The result of “a century-old and controversial tradition of tracking, or sorting, students into different levels of classes.”  The “elite honors English course…has traditionally been offered to the highest-achieving incoming freshmen — usually white.”

So instead of allowed all students, once they are in the same school, to compete for positions in elite courses, Evanston has been stovepiping middle schoolers from various high income areas directly into honor classes before they actually arrive at the school, resulting in de facto segregation.  Now Evanston is considering a program where “freshmen of all races and socioeconomic and achievement backgrounds would learn together in the same freshman humanities class, an English course that blends literature, history, art, music and philosophy and is required for graduation. The class would be taught at the honors level, according to district officials, and all students would have the opportunity to earn honors credit depending on their grades on assignments.”

Sure, it might right a historical wrong — except according to our guest today, history is never wrong — help to stem an invidious and self-replicating selection bias, and stop rewarding kids for simply being born middle class, but still! Nobody with a cultivated palate wants pepper in their salt cellar, Evanston!

And if certain groups are more likely to commit terrorism, we’ll avoid offending those groups, pretend that everyone is an equal risk, and obscenely offend all groups.

I was a little confused at first about what this had to do with Christmas, but then I realized that if Jesus were born today, the TSA would fondle the Three Kings’ junk through their tunics, and limit them to 3 oz. of carry-on myrrh.

Every place where multiculturalists make the rules, the people who work hard are having their interests undermined, and the majority culture has to let itself be muzzled. Make things worse for successful people in order to compensate for those who aren’t. That will make everyone strive to do better. Erode the majority culture to make minorities feel more welcome. That will increase social harmony.

Geez, for “a former Army officer and a veteran of Iraq and Afghanistan,” he sure whines a lot.

We in America, and in the West as a whole, need to stop apologizing for our culture. We –or more accurately those who came before us- have created something great, and that is why people leave their non-Christian nations to come here and to other Western nations. How dare anyone say they have a right to the benefits of our society while at the same time attacking the root of our culture?

Well, if someone comes here and works hard, provides for their family, contributes to society, then I suppose they’re entitled to exist, as long as they don’t forget to wish me a Merry Fucking Christmas!

The norm needs to be reinforced:

This guy sounds like my old high school vice principal.

At Christmas time, we are celebrating the birth of the historical figure who gave rise to our culture, Jesus Christ.

Remember earlier when I said history didn’t offend me?  I think it’s more your definition I’m having a problem with…

We who celebrate Christmas should be vocal in saying that we are offended when Christmas is ripped out of public life.

“Should be”?  Dude, it’s become a holiday tradition, like tamales, and the Yule Log.

Those who do not celebrate can bloody well not celebrate. It is selfish and insulting to demand that the majority alter something sacred, simply for the convenience or comfort of an unreasonable minority.

If the unreasonable minority went into your church during midnight mass and demanded everybody stop with the Jesus already!, you’d have a point; they’d be harshing your sacred buzz.  But of course, nobody does that, and this whole thing comes down to mass market retailers trying to rake in a little of that sweet, sweet heathen cash by being inclusive.  You may think a perfunctory “happy holidays” is a selfish insult to Jesus, the Archangel Gabriel, the talking snake, and other historical figures, while I reserve the right to believe my purchase of two quarts of motor oil and a dozen tubesocks at Target does not legally constitute a sacred transaction.

Happy Turkey Day!

Posted by scott on November 25th, 2010

Well, it was The Thanksgiving That Almost Wasn’t! around here, since the oven died about three weeks ago, after a long and greasy life.  It was so old, in fact, that the company which manufactured it was no longer in business, and any replacement parts would have had to be hand-forged by Hephaestus in the boiling caldera of Mount Etna, and even then there’s a 12 to 15 day delivery, which sounds fine, but that’s business days.

Amazingly, though, they replaced it with a brand new stove-and-oven (stoven?) combo, so the Jenni-O turkey breast in the freezer will not have been severed from a dead bird countless weeks ago in vain.  It’s a Thanksgiving Miracle!

And here to deliver the invocation is Riley:

Felicitations on your Feast of Gratitude, Bipeds.  You may begin by getting down on your ungainly mid-leg joints and kissing my white socks that I haven’t killed you yet.  However, later today, after your gluttony has left you weak, bloated, and tempting, I issue no guarantees.

Okay.  Let’s move on to Moondoggie for the Benediction:


As long time readers know, Mystery Science Theater 3000 has a special place in my heart (specifically, the place — down and to the right — where most of America has Bristol Palin clog-dancing in their vena cava), since s.z., Mary and I all initially bonded over our shared love of the show.  For which I’m thankful; because if we’d been brought together through a common interest in Hayek or Ayn Rand, then we all would have just wound up as assholes.  The hundreds of cats and dogs that s.z. has saved would instead have been turned out into the snow to make their own Galtian way — perhaps by founding a freelance snow-shoveling business (and don’t give me that crap about domestic quadrupeds lacking thumbs!  I’ve seen footage of Goofy mowing his own lawn); and Mary and I would be divorced by now, and giving you unsolicited advice on the sanctity of marriage.

Anyway, I never much cared for Thanksgiving a child, because it meant a series of dull undercard bouts amongst relatives who didn’t much interest me when they weren’t fighting, culminating with the main event when my parents would inevitably square off after the gallon jug of Italian-Swiss Colony Rosé was empty.  Worse, it meant my grandmother’s cottage cheese and lime Jell-O salad.

Any pleasant memories I have of the holiday date to the early-mid-90s, and are due entirely to the MST3K Turkey Day Marathons, which Mary and I recreate every year with a few carefully curated DVDs.  So here’s a little something to get you in the mood…

And in case I don’t say it often enough — and I don’t — I’m thankful for the many smart, funny, unbelievably kind and generous people who continue to cling to this disreputable corner of blogtopia.  On behalf on Sheri, Mary, and the cats, Happy Turkey Day everyone.

Happy BDay to Chris, Happy All Saints Day to All Saints

Posted by s.z. on November 1st, 2010

Chris, let me add my happy wishes to the stack there on the mantle. Like others have noted, Chris is a long-time favorite around here (and as such, is entitled to our “super secret snark” reserved for founding members). I remember the days when my fingers would automatically type “Christ V” whenever I mentioned him, and eventually the name stuck, and then he died for our sins.

Anyway, I wish you the happiest of birthdays, Chris, and because Scott has already inflicted the traditional Coulter torture on you, I will just share with you this appalling photo.

Besides being Chris’s birthday, today is also All Saints’ Day. Per Wikipedia, All Saints’ Day honors “all the saints, known and unknown.” And hey, that just might include some of you!

Also, there are many Saints who are known, but not all that notable, and probably wouldn’t get honored any other day. For example, one St. Alkeld: “Nothing is documented about her life, but she is depicted in a painting as being strangled by Dane invaders.” Which probably wasn’t a lot of fun, but doesn’t really inspire many people to live better lives these days.

But one good thing about Saints, there seems to be one for every purpose you can think of. Here are a few from the list, chosen more or less at random:

~ Saint Anthony the Patron of Lost articles, the Poor, Amputees and Cemetery workers

~ Saint Benedict the Patron of Monks and Poisoning
~ Saint Bernadine the Patron of Advertising
~ Saint Bernadino the Patron of Impulsive and uncontrolled gambling

~ Saint Christina – Millers, Insanity and Psychiatrists

~ Saint Maurice the Patron of Infantrymen, Cramp and Swordsmiths
~ Saint Maximilian Kolbe the Patron of Drug Addiction
~ Saint Michael the Patron of Battles, Germany, Grocers, Police officers, Radiologists, Seafarers
~ Saint Monica the Patron of Alcoholism, Bakers, Brewers, Children, Coopers, Greece and Peace
~ Saint Nicholas/Saint Dorothy the Patron of Brides
~ Saint Norbert the Patron of Peasants

~ Saint Scholastica the Patron of Convulsions in Children and rain
~ Saint Sebastian the Patron of Athletes, Enemies of religion, Gardeners, Iron mongers, Undertakers
~ Saint Stephen the Patron of Austria, Casket makers, Hungary and Stone masons
~ Saint Swithin – Weather
~ Saint Theresa of Avila the Patron of Headache sufferers

Anyway, your assignment to commemorate the holiday is to either pick your patron saint (from the link above, or any other official Catholic saint list, or your imagination, or whatever), and say why he or she is getting that honor.

Or, make up a patron saint for a group, situation, or attribute that seems to be patronless. For example, I suggest that the Catholic Church beatify somebody who can be the “Patron of finding a parking place when you’re running late and really need one.” Or perhaps St. Sebastian could add that to his list. I also note that as St. Alkeld (the one who was strangled by Danes) has apparently not been chosen to be over anything, I recommend that she be made the patron of Altoids, stranglers, and being jumped on by big, overly-friendly dogs.

Now, get to work!

Steep Until Horrifying

Posted by scott on October 31st, 2010

You kids are so jaded nowadays, with your Zombie Apocalypse on basic cable, and your Young Adult vampire books, and your gruesome games about vivisection, where you callously remove a man’s Wrenched Ankle without benefit of anesthetic.  Obviously, it takes more to frighten you than a warty-nosed witch or a mummified corpse rising from an ancient sarcophagus, so I searched the web for hours, trying to find a picture appropriate for the holiday, and this was the single most terrifying image I could find.

And I’m deeply, deeply sorry.  Have a Very Sinister Samhain, everybody.


Posted by s.z. on October 29th, 2010

We continue the week’s festivities in honor of Scott’s birthday with some wise counsel for Scott (and the rest of you). And that advice is to be thankful that things aren’t a lot worse.

For example, Scott, your back may be shot to hell and your skeleton may be trying to escape out of your body (like in an old horror movie I think I saw once), but just be grateful that you don’t have Jonah Goldberg’s body. Or his mind either.

And while advancing middle-age may bring regrets for the mistakes of youth or for roads not taken, you can be very grateful that you never got involved with current Town Hall columnist Rachel Marsden (or if you did, somehow you managed to avoid being stalked by her, or having her sell your dirty clothes on eBay).

And while you may have current challenges, be very, very grateful that you aren’t seeing Robin of Berkeley to help you deal with them. Because she’s crazy!

Anyway, in honor of the Halloween season, Robin is sharing with us a wrenching tale of horror that would make Stephen King cry in terror like a little girl.

Spooky in Berkeley

It was Saturday, and the day started out propitiously–with a gaggle of adorable children masquerading as witches and ballerinas. But as the day went on, I noticed a new trend: older children and teens, stuffed into minivans.

They didn’t wear costumes, and they brought with them an angry vibe that was likely fueled by envy.

To get into the proper spooky state of mind, let’s clearly visualize this hellish scenario. It was daylight. Non-threatening tots costumed as ballerinas and non-evil witches are out and about. But then it got to be afternoon, and Robin noticed tweens and teens driving around in minivans. They weren’t in costume. Their vibe felt angry. Maybe they were jealous of Robin. Okay, that’s the scene. Now for the horror!

Now I’m quick to add that my house is modest at best; my neighborhood is diverse and middle-class. As with all areas around here, there are break-ins and damaged cars. But at least tricker-treaters can walk around our block without being struck by a drive-by shooting, which is more than I can say for these kids’ neighborhoods.

After a while, it all felt too intimidating. Fearing for my personal safety, I had to shut the door and turn off the porch light. But I didn’t just shut the door on that Halloween, but the ones that followed, too.

Um, on her first Halloween in Berkeley, Robin felt an envious vibe from some kids, and so she shut the door and locked herself in the house. And she has every Halloween since! And nothing has actually happened to her, but those vibes can be deadly! That’s a tale to rival the worst that Hollywood can offer this season!

It’s tragic that liberalism robs children and adults of the innocence of Halloween.

Okay, that’s actually the scary part of the story: Robin gets scared because vans of lower-class (possibly minority) young people are in her neighborhood on Halloween, and then she blames liberalism for her fears. And she presumably has clients whom are paying her to help them with their mental problems! Scary as hell!

How sad that some kids can’t safely ring the doorbells in their very own neighborhood. And those same children have to feel the sting of shame by being bused to better areas for a few sweets.

Speaking as a former kid, I don’t find it sad at all that some “less affluent” children trick-or-treat in the “better” enclave where Robin lives. I know that at a kid, every year I would trick-or-treat in my own neighborhood, and then would hit the richer neighborhoods too — because not only did I get more candy that way, I got BETTER candy too. (My neighbors gave out that “Cheap Bag o’ Treats” stuff that was mostly thin suckers and icky bubblegum, but some houses in better neighborhoods were passing out mini chocolate bars!) And not once did I feel an ounce of shame. And not once did I plan to rob or murder the people in those nicer houses, no matter how crazy they seemed.

But I learned my lesson from that one Berkeley Halloween, and it’s this: there is no respite from the wreckage that progressivism has wrought. The only solution is escaping its iron grip.

By locking your door against the lower-class kids who are out begging for candy in better neighborhoods, while planning race riots or Helter Skelter.

That’s why this Halloween, my husband and I will do what we always do: get up early, secure the windows and doors, and hide the plants in the backyard. And then we’ll beat a hasty retreat to the suburbs.

Good for you, Robin. I hope you aren’t killed by an envious/shameful 12-year-old on Halloween morn before you can escape to Palo Alto.

Happy Birthday, America!

Posted by s.z. on July 4th, 2010

And what do we do at Wo’C to honor birthdays?

Yes, we share photos of Ann Coulter!

But since Ann’s “Use By” date passed some time ago, please enjoy the this photo of the new “Pin-Up Girl of the Crazy Right.”

Yes, it seems that Michele Bachmann is now considered quite the hottie by gun-toting loonies, angry loners, basement-dwelling losers, and misunderstood petro-chemical companies who are being scammed out of their hard-earned billions by governments who want them to clean up oil spills.

To prove my thesis about the hotness of Michele, go to WorldNetDaily, where they are so excited to announce that she is going to speak at their “political conference” that they cover up half of their announcement with a head shot of her.

But here’s what I can read of the story:

It’s Bachmann-Coulter overdrive: You ain’t seen nothin’ yet

Red-hot congresswoman joins ‘Taking America Back’ army

[Large photo of Mrs. Potato Head]

. . . including Ann Coulter, Alan Keyes, Victoria Jackson, Hannah Giles, Joseph Farah and Jerome Corsi, at WND’s “Taking America Back” national conference in Miami Sept. 16-18.

Wow, so if you attend this thing, you can not only swoon over Michele “Off her Meds” Bachmann, you can listen to Alan “Never Heard of Afghanistan Until This Month” Keyes, Victoria “Has Anybody Seen My Career?” Jackson, Hannah “Doug’s College-Age Kid” Giles, Joseph Farah Fawcett NetDaily, and Jerome “ScumBucket” Corsi! What a lineup! But only Michele is “red-hot,” which is bad news for Ann Coulter, who is apparently also going to speak.

But back to Prom Queen Michele:

“Michele Bachmann is one of the leaders in calling for a repeal of Obamacare,” said Farah, editor and chief executive officer of WND. “She’s a rock star, a principled, liberty-loving woman of conviction. It will be a treat to see her and hear her and interact with her in Miami.”

She’s red hot! She’s a rock star! She’s a candy mint and a breath mint! She’s huge! And Wo’c knew her way back when she was just a state senator, hiding in bushes to spy on gay assemblies!

But hey, stop ogling her! Newsweek said so!

Stop ogling Republican women
by Julia Baird

Something pretty creepy has been happening to conservative women lately.

I’m glad somebody noticed! They seem to have been injected with wasp woman serum or something.

There seems to be an insistent, increasingly excitable focus on the supposed hotness of Republican women in the public eye, like Sarah Palin, Michele Bachmann, Michelle Malkin, and Nikki Haley—not to mention veterans like Ann Coulter.

“Veteran” = “old bag.”

Anyway, Ms. Baird proceeds to give us all a good tongue-lashing for focusing on the “supposed hotness” of these women instead of, oh, their inner beauty or something, and concludes with:

Which is why we need to remember that these women are not competing to see who has the most smokin’ bod. They want to run the country, or their part of it. They want votes, not free drinks—and we need properly scrutinized candidates, not circus performers.

We DO need properly scrutinized candidates, and we certainly should focus on how unqualified both Sarah and Michele are to hold office, not what they look like. But to be fair, Michelle Malkin and Ann Coulter ARE circus performers — and Ann’s whole shtick is “Look at Blonde Me in this Black Mini While I
spout Outrageous Crap.” Michelle Malkin doesn’t make it about her looks, so we should respect that by only gawking at the stupid stuff she says. And while I don’t know anything about Nikki Haley using her looks to get ahead, Sarah Palin was a WEATHER GIRL, for gosh sakes, and the recipient of a bunch of GOP makeover and wardrobe funds when she was a VP candidate, so she has to expect people to comment on her appearance. And as for Michele, well, as the new Tea Party “It Girl,” she’s just going to have to let them gawk, since that’s what the “Taking Back America Army” is paying to see. Well, her and the geek who bites the heads off the chickens.

Anyway, while it’s kind of sad for Ann that her ship has sailed, sunk, and was left to rot on the bottom of the ocean, we do have this tidbit from a recent story in Ottowa’s Globe and Mail to share, so at least Ann is still in the news:

The president of the University of Ottawa wanted to invite Ann Coulter, the abrasive right-wing American commentator, back to campus after her scheduled speech last March was shut down amid fierce protests.

But Allan Rock’s advisers talked him out of it, warning that Ms. Coulter’s appearance would only turn into another media circus, newly disclosed documents show.

See, apparently Rock said that inviting her back would show a commitment to free speech, but as one adviser put it, Ann’s visit would “become a live news event that she will cynically use to personal advantage to extend her sense of grievance and victimization and amplify her profile. … It will be her win, not about your gesture.”

But “newly released documents” show that Mr. Rock did have Ann’s number, even if he did come across as a wimp at the time. Here’s what he said to a colleague in an email:

“Ann Coulter is a mean-spirited, small-minded, foul-mouthed poltroon,” Mr. Rock wrote to Mr. Houle in a March 18 e-mail. “She is ‘the loud mouth that bespeaks the vacant mind.’”

“She is an ill-informed and deeply offensive shill for a profoundly shallow and ignorant view of the world. She is a malignancy on the body politic. She is a disgrace to the broadcasting industry and a leading example of the dramatic decline in the quality of public discourse in recent times.”

But, to her credit, at least she isn’t running for a third term, like Michele.

Anyway, I hope you had a great 4th, and you enjoy tomorrow’s bonus holiday. Take care, and don’t blow off any body parts that you might need someday.

A Fightin’ Mad July 4th From the Satellite of Love!

Posted by scott on July 4th, 2010

We’ll bomb ‘em back to the Jazz Age!

To St. Valentine, With Love and Squalor

Posted by scott on February 14th, 2010

We post this every couple of years as a sort of half-assed Valentine’s Day tradition, so feel free to skip over it. For those who haven’t seen it before, this was an effort by s.z. and I to create our own holiday, and get in on some of that sweet, sweet, seasonal marketing money. Happy VD, folks!

A survey indicates that 78% of Americans are currently in a romantic relationship (and since we saw this on one of those VH-1 pop culture shows where they get all sentimental about Voltron and Shrinky Dinks, it must be accurate). For these people, there is Valentine’s Day, a time to show your loved one just how much you care by buying him or her a tacky gift and a pre-printed card. And while some cynics maintain that the holiday was invented by Fanny Farmer and FTD, we shouldn’t forget the person for whom the day is named, Saint Valentine, the Christian martyr who was shot by gangsters in a garage in Chicago over a shipment of bootleg Whitman’s Samplers.

Don’t get the wrong idea; we approve of Valentine’s Day, if only because a holiday celebrating romance is better than one honoring some of the other popular themes in American society, like random gun violence or daytime TV, thus saving us a trip to Wal*Mart to buy a heart-shaped box of hollow-points for that Special Someone.)

Nevertheless, we don’t think it’s quite fair that couples get Valentine’s Day and Sweetest Day, the third Saturday in October (described as “a day to honor and be kind to one’s sweetheart”). While Sweetest Day has never really caught on with shoppers (despite the urging of florists, who fail to see much Halloween business) it is still listed on most calendars and celebrated by many parochial schools. So, since people who need people are the luckiest people in the world, we think that it’s only right that the 22% of the populace who are not in a relationship get a holiday of their own. Thus, for everyone who won’t be getting flowers, a diamond, or dinner and an amateur strip show this Valentine’s Day, we would like to propose a special day, just for us. We call it Bitterest Day.

Bitterest Day, celebrated on the 15th of February, will be the official anti-romance holiday. It will be a legal holiday, involving time off work with full pay, but only for those who are nobody because nobody loves them. Its motto will be, “I am not appealing to the opposite sex, so I have lots of disposable income to spend on consumer goods.”

Let us now explain some of the customs and traditions of this newest American holiday:


We all know that an integral part of Valentine’s Day is those frilly, mushy, overpriced bits of cardboard which all spouses and sweethearts are required to buy, under penalty of a booty moratorium. Bitterest Day also has its cards, but you don’t send them to that Special Someone. No, you send them to one member of that Special Twosome. Indeed, you choose the cutest, sweetest, ickiest couples you can think of, and “Care enough to send the very worst.” And although you may address the card to Marsha, your intended audiences is John (or vice versa). After all, they do share everything, right?

Here are a couple of sample cards:

Front cover: When you left, you took my heart. But you left behind . . .
Inside: THESE! (Attached is a pair of crotchless panties.)

Front cover: How do you make love last forever?
Inside: I don’t know. But I DO know how to make you pay for it for 18 years. (Attached are authentic-looking paternity test results.)


While lovers get 5-pound boxes of chocolates and expensive candlelit dinners at French restaurants, what do we, the non-adored get? Well, we also get expensive dinners at French restaurants. This is how it works. You call up “Danny,” your ex-boyfriend, and you tell him that you read in Ann Landers that it’s “Reconciliation Day” today, and you want to invite him to sup at Chez l’Imbecile to demonstrate that you’ve “gotten beyond” everything. Mention that you also want to invite Klamidia, the stewardess he dumped you for, since you know she must be a special lady.

When they arrive, tell them that this is a special occasion, and urge them to order the most expensive things on the menu—you do the same. During dinner, offer small talk such as, “I’m so happy to see that the two of you are still together. It’s rare to see somebody forgive the person who gave them . . .oh, but I shouldn’t be talking about periodic discharge at the dinner table!” And, “Danny, I have such special memories of our time together–I think of them whenever I watch the videos. Hey, have you heard about those websites where they pay for amateur bedroom tapes? Kind of intriguing, huh?”

Then, while they are enjoying dessert, get up to “powder your nose.” Keep on walking right out of the restaurant, leaving the check for them. Worried about repercussions? On Bitterest Day, there are none. It’s the law.


Okay, maybe you won’t be getting two dozen red roses, but that doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy nature’s bounty. As a celebrant of Bitterest Day, you’ll get your fill of posies by spending time in a floral shop—whichever floral shop uses the most annoying Valentine’s Day ad this year. (My nominee is the one that cautions “Don’t break her heart this Valentine’s Day—get her the roses she deserves, if you really care.”)

On February 15th, the florist will be exhausted, stressed, and probably suffering from methamphetamine withdrawal. So, use Bitterest Day to choose massively complicated flower arrangements for your upcoming wedding! Surely you’ll need to look at LOTS of design books and at TONS of samples to plan the floral arrangements for the extravaganza your daddy, the Senator, will be giving his little girl. And since you are something of a bubble brain, you will have a hard time remembering just exactly what they call those white blossoms that you’ve always dreamed of for your bouquet. (“Bougainvillea? Tuberoses? No, wait, I think they’re called carnations!”)

After five or six hours, when you have finally gotten everything settled, call your fiancé and tell him the plans. Sputter, stutter, mutter some profanities, and finally yell, “Then the wedding is OFF!” and slam down the phone. Inform the florist that you could never marry a man who didn’t love baby’s breath as much as you do. But feel no need to apologize for wasting the petal monger’s time–for you’ve just helped another curmudgeon learn the true meaning of Bitterest Day! Which brings us to…

Bitterest Day Holiday Specials

Let’s face it; we all lead rushed, harried lives that leave little time for the simple joys of an old-fashioned holiday celebration. That’s where the media comes in, since it often takes a showing of “It’s a Wonderful Life,” or “Frosty the Snowman” before we can begin to feel the Christmas spirit. So it is with Bitterest Day.Of course, in our version of the typical Rankin-Bass animated special, Frosty has nerve-endings, and he screams as he melts. Screams quite a lot, actually, until the children who pranced so gaily around him are left pale and shaken, and his last, whispered words, “I’ll be BACK again, someday…!” haunts the dreams of all who witnessed his hideous demise.

For the adults, meanwhile, there’s that Bitterest Day perennial, “The Bishop’s Wife,” in which an angel is sent to Earth to restore a churchman’s wavering faith, and help him to erect a cathedral. In short order, the angel cuckolds the hapless cleric, then hatches a ghost payrolling scheme with the mobbed-up local union boss to funnel the construction funds to an offshore account, leaving the Bishop behind to face charges of peculation while the angel and the Bishop’s wife enjoy an extradition-free life on Grand Cayman.

So, in conclusion, we urge you to open your heart to Bitterest Day, the one day a year in which it’s okay to be an old maid living with nine cats, or a quiet loner with a large collection of guns and porn. For the most important part of Bitterest Day is feeling good about yourself as a person in your own right, and realizing that you don’t have to be part of a couple in order to be okay. Plus, on Bitterest Day, you don’t have to wear anything that makes you look like a prostitute Care Bear, and can wander around your dusty house in the tattered remains of a wedding dress without enduring any snide references to “Great Expectations.” So get on the phone to Merlin Olson today, and say it with Bitterness.

Bill S. Walks a Mile in Rob Lowe’s Christmas Shoes

Posted by scott on December 31st, 2009

I’ve got a treat for you, kids. Today we’re fortunate to be visited by longtime Wo’C guest columnist Bill S., scourge of wingnut movies and critics alike, who had the nerve to go where I feared to tread this year. Take it away, Bill!

Earlier this month, the Lifetime Movie Network treated us to a heartwarming trio of films aired back-to-back: , a made-for-TV movie inspired by the Worst. Christmas. Song. Ever., followed by its two sequels, The Christmas Blessing and The Christmas Hope.

[Note from Scott: It appears that the movie, The Christmas Shoes was based on a novel, which was based on a song -- at least, that's the lineage according to author Donna Van Liere, and why would a writer lie about swiping her literary premise from the crappiest Christmas carol ever (unless she's just trying to shift the blame a bit)?]

I taped them all, with the intention of offering a review of all three in time for Christmas. Unfortunately, I was only able to get through the first one, so the other two will have to wait til next Christmas. Something to look forward to, I suppose. Even more unfortunately, I still hadn’t finished writing the first draft by Christmas day, so you’ll excuse my tardiness. You might think of this as a package that arrived a bit late. Or maybe a fabulous post-holiday markdown. Or a slice of leftover, moldy fruitcake. I like to think it’s all three…

Our story begins, fittingly enough, in a cemetery. Rob Lowe is visiting his mother’s grave on Christmas Eve. The only other visitor is a mysterious young man in a baseball cap, standing at another grave just a few feet away. Who could he be? We don’t know yet, but we soon will, as the film flashes back to a Christmas many years ago…

It’s 1985, although many of the cars, and Rob Lowe’s face, are clearly from two decades later. Rob is a lawyer, and his wife Kate is a stay-at-home mom who looks after their daughter Lily. They seem to have a perfect life, except he’s such a busy, workaholic yuppie he has no time to enjoy the small, incidental pleasures like attending his daughter’s concert recitals, or actually talking to his wife. What a tool.

Lily begs him to attend her next concert, and Rob promises her he will. His conviction is so strong, so clear, that we know, without a shadow of a doubt, that he will screw up and miss it. While in town for some important lawyering, a delivery truck whizzes by him and a package drops out the back and hits the ground by his feet, flying open. Rob picks it up to examine its contents: a pair of tacky red women’s shoes with little sprigs of holly drawn on them. CHRISTMAS SHOES! Noting they aren’t his style (he actually DOES say this), he tries to return them to the truck, which by this time is about half a mile away. His attempt to return the box consists of standing in the same spot, holding one shoe aloft and saying, in a slightly louder tone, “Hey!” What a tool.

Later, he passes the home of Maggie Andrews (Kimberly Williams). She’s out in the front yard, teaching her son Nathan the finer points of hurling footballs at moving vehicles. Rob gives her pointers and departs. Nathan races his mother back to the house, but Maggie seems to be having trouble keeping up. Her pace gets slower and her breathing gets shallow, which either indicates that she’s got a Movie-of-the-Week disease of the week, or she’s just trying to match the director’s tone, since most of this movie is slow and shallow.

Maggie’s husband, Jack, is a schlubby auto mechanic. Nathan pleads with him for a puppy, and his mother supports this. Jack, however, shoots down the idea by going into Nathan’s room and hauling out a bowl containing a pair goldfish floating belly-up. He declares Nathan “irresponsible,” which is ironic coming from a guy who let his son keep a pair of dead fish in his bedroom for two weeks.