I believe WorldNetDaily columnist Mychal Massie may be new to us here at Wo’C, but he’s the guy who’s usually employed to say that everything Obama does, says, and thinks is wrong, illegal, or fattening.  So what better spokesman could there be to announce that everything RNC Chairman Michael Steele says is right, right, RIGHT! Which can’t be the easiest job in the world; you may have heard something in the liberal, and even the conservative media regarding Mr. Steele’s inversions of widely known facts, and penchant for historical revisionism of events which occurred within living memory — hell within short term memory — culminating in a recent piece of rhetorical ejecta that dropped from the Chairman’s mouth like dung from beneath the twitching tail of a bull: dark and rich in potentially explosive organic compounds, and hitting the ground with a moist plop!

Well forget all that, because Mr. Massie is going to rock your little world!  In fact, judging by his headshot, he’s about to get feudal on your fundament.

Michael Steele told the truth

Michael Steele is being demagogued and excoriated by those on his own side of the aisle for basically telling the truth. Let me explain.

Speaking of Parson Weems, this reminds me of George Washington’s famous declaration, “I basically cannot tell a lie.”

First of all, there is no one more pro-military than I – no one.

Being the most pro-military man on the planet, he naturally never enlisted, because — just as St. Peter felt unworthy to be crucified right-side up — Mr. Massie regards the Uniform as such a holy vestment he would never dream of profaning it with his dandruff and underarm perspiration.

But unless Obama, the leftover Clinton Pentagon pansies and all of the pusillanimous Harvard/Yale theorists get out of the way –

“– I’m going to start running out of alliterative insults.”

the war in Afghanistan will be reduced to a Vietnam. I’m more interested in killing all the enemy radical Muslims I can

Oh!  So Mr. Massie is apparently crawling through the mud and blood of No Man’s Land, crouching in a shell hole full of stagnant water only long enough to scratch out this column and attach it to the leg of a carrier pigeon; I must have misread his bio.  Well, let’s give a hero his due and celebrate his no doubt many valorous feats of arms:

Mr. Massie is also a columnist at WorldNetDaily and the former host of the top-rated show on Right Talk Radio network, “Straight Talk with Mychal Massie.”  He is a frequent inspirational/motivational speaker and regular guest on national and regional TV and radio programs.

Right, right, but we’re more interested in all the enemy radical Muslims he’s killed…

He’s been a keynote speaker at rallies support our troops and at rallies supporting conservative causes across the nation.

Well, since he’s been a “speaker at rallies support our troops,”  I’m sure that’s close enough for horseshoes and hand grenades, except for the hand grenade part.  Perhaps he’s a scholar of strategy and tactics, or a highly respected military historian…

Mychal holds degrees in education, business/real estate, theology and pastoral counseling.

So if you’re a military man interested in purchasing a house or condominium, and you’re looking for a Century 21 salesman who really understands what it’s like to be in the shit, you should ask Mychal for his card.

(more…)

Smell the Man Musk | 15 Comments »

You remember the other day, when Shermp, the Woman Who Would Be Stooge wrote that Obama plans to “end fishing by humans?” Well, her claim — as improbable as it may have seemed — has been confirmed by Townhall columnist, part-time pastor, and full-time Mack Daddy, Doug Giles. Now ordinarily I wouldn’t put much faith in Doug’s testimony, since he devotes most of his professional life to bearing false witness, and doing to the English language what the Romans did to Rabbi Akiva. But as anyone familiar with Doug’s boudoir shots knows, he also spends a considerable amount of time on hair care, and restrictions on angling will not only affect his ability to massage Omega-3 fish oils into his scalp, it will also impact his hair product endorsement contract:

“People often ask me, ‘Doug, how’d you get your hair so lustrous and manageable?’ And I tell them…”

“…it was the Salmon Mousse™!”

Hey Obama, Keep Your Hands Off My Fishing Pole

As usual, Doug is using reverse psychology in an attempt to get a handjob from the President.

God, I love fishing. I dig fishing almost as much as hunting (almost).

The major drawback being that fish are too hard to hit with a shotgun while they’re still in the water, but if you wait until after they’ve been landed and then just shoot them in the head, execution style, your boat will probably sink.

I love it so much that I moved to a place that is one of the top angling spots in the world: Miami, Florida. And you know what? I milk these waters as much as a working man can.

And Doug’s a hard-workin’ workin’ man. Granted, his Townhall column doesn’t seem to require a whole lot of research, beyond opening his blast emails from Fox News and the RNC, but coming up with all that Dr. Smith-style alliteration is probably exhausting. He’s also the Senior Pastor of a church that meets one day a week in a Residence Inn, then vanishes without a trace, like Brigadoon; nevertheless, these ecclesiastical duties are so taxing that Doug was once compelled to lay down the law about the way he wants annoying parishioners to treat their clergyman:

Do not call him every day to discuss your dorky problems. We all have problems. Suck it up.

Be self-motivated. You shouldn’t need a cheerleader to rouse you in the morning. If you do, then get some Tony Robbins tapes.

Lose you codependency upon your pastor and other church leaders. Grow up, Dinky.

[...]

Send him, once a year, on the church’s dime, to D.C., a serious worldview conference, and on a month’s paid vacation.

Stock his library with the history of the Jews, of Rome, of Greece, and of Western Civilization.

Make sure he is able to study four hours a day and exercise one hour a day.

Do not call him after 9 pm unless one of your relatives or friends happens to have passed away.

There’s a game we used to play as kids, usually when bored in the back seat of a car. Actually, it wasn’t so much a game as a sort of competitive ambush; whoever was the first to spot a Volkswagon Beetle would turn to the adjacent child (preferably a little brother or sister), punch him or her in the arm and shout, “Slug bug!” Well, I’d like to propose an Internet-friendly variation: Whenever you see this photo…

…punch the nearest wingnut and say, “Smug Doug!”

Anyway, back to Doug’s hard life of rising before dawn to milk the seacows…

Arriving at our strategic and wild location and having the privilege of watching and listening to that which is untamed waking up and beginning its tooth, fang and claw survival of the fittest exchange with Mother Nature. Life and death in its purest form, Nancy boys.

It appears Doug is either calling his readers effeminate, or Grosset & Dunlap is attempting to wring more money from the readerships of The Hardy Boys and Nancy Drew books with a new, hybrid series.

I am iron man. Dun, dun. Dun na dun dunna dunna dunna dun dunna dun. As a young squab, the whole fishing enchilada, from soup to nuts, represented what Bryan Adams called, “The best days of my life.”

So if I’m following Doug’s memoir correctly, as an immature pigeon he liked to hum Black Sabbath songs while fishing for seven course Mexican meals, which he would presumably later serve to the love of his life on her mama’s porch, where he’d tell her a bunch of lies about his music and how his crappy band was going places, until it all exploded in shrill, impotent rage, before eventually devolving into bitter tears and inconsolable self-loathing.

Anyway, he likes to fish.

With the busyness of college, getting married, raising little girls, making money, and kicking ass, I got out of the fishing groove until I moved mi familia to Miami where I became a fishing kid again and quickly returned to my angling roots.

Well, according to Doug’s bio, he “earned his Bachelor of Fine Arts degree from Texas Tech University and studied for his Master of Arts in Christianity and Culture from Knox Theological Seminary,” so I guess he owes some of his angling success to all the time he saved by not completing his Masters. And after all, what’s more important to a minister? A graduate degree in Christianity and Culture, or a smelly creel?

After a couple of years of getting settled in, weeding through the rip-off charters and bad captains, I landed on two Capitans

And what a hot, humid, rum-fueled night that was.

After the Lord blessed me with those two leads I quickly called my dad to get his butt on a plane to bend some rods South Florida style. And oh my God have we crushed the fish.

I’m happy for Doug that he and his father have such a close relationship. I wish I’d spent more time with my dad, although even now I don’t particularly yearn to call his butt and bend his rod and then step on some seafood.

Not only has pops been a part of many insane hauls, but my wife and my two infamous daughters have, as well.

I guess the younger daughter’s into prostitute cosplay now too.

Matter of fact, my girls grew up catching big game fish on light tackle twice their body length without daddy’s help. That’s how they roll, boys. Grow a pair or go home

So Doug’s offspring like to dress up as whores and deep sea fish. And they have testicles. This is, if you’ll pardon the expression, one nutty family.

In addition to my familial fishing trips, we have had the pleasure of fishing with folks from all over the world and from every conceivable walk of life: from diplomats, bestselling authors, pundits, big name rock stars, Fox News contributors, missionaries, attorney generals, terminal cancer patients, and good buddies at church, to at risk teens without hope and without a clue.

AT RISK TEEN: I’m depressed and suicidal, and I don’t know what to do.

SOCIAL WORKER: I’ve got just the thing. I’m going to send you to a minister whose church is in a motel.

AT RISK TEEN: Um…That sounds kinda…creepy.

SOCIAL WORKER: Oh, don’t worry, he’ll probably just take you out on his boat and show you his painting of the Lord’s penis.

AT RISK TEEN: Um…

SOCIAL WORKER: And he might bend your rod.

AT RISK TEEN: Yeah…See…

SOCIAL WORKER: Relax, his daughters will be there.

AT RISK TEEN: Oh.

SOCIAL WORKER: They’re hermaphrodites.

AT RISK TEEN: …

SOCIAL WORKER: Do you have a whore costume?

We have always had an amazing time, sharing in our mutual addiction that we seek no cure from (i.e. the screaming reel).

SOCIAL WORKER: Also, his tackle likes to shriek at people.

The fish we have caught, of which I have the pictures and videos to prove, include: giant bull sharks, lemon sharks, great hammerheads, black tip sharks, spinner sharks (the most enjoyable shark to hook), dusky sharks

In case you’ve forgotten, Doug’s bio used to list “shark master” among his honorifics, along with “Bone Daddy” and “Rug Doctor.”

We have caught them all: small, medium and large. In the gorgeous ultra marine blue seas of the Atlantic, to the gin-clear flats of Biscayne Bay, down to Key West, to the murky fish-rich waters of Chokoloskee, the Ten Thousand Islands area, and the gorgeous, uninhabited sanctuary of Flamingo.

Well, uninhabited except for the two drag shows nightly at Club Sabor.

All around the personal pursuit of my finny little friend, my life and my relationships have been greatly enriched via stretched monofilament and high-pitched Diawa drag screams.

Like I said. Anyway, Doug also thinks Obama is going to ban fishing by humans, and he has one word for you: Scream.

My advice to fishermen everywhere is to refuse to be silent and scream now via phone calls, emails and faxes to your reps as loud as your Penn reel would wail with a 50lb kingfish strippin’ off its line.

For more info on what BHO and his tree humping boys plan to do…

SOCIAL WORKER: One last piece of advice: when Pastor Giles has you out on his boat, far from shore, and he starts screaming about humping and stripping –

AT RISK TEEN: You know what? Actually…I’m cured! It’s a miracle! Thanks anyway. I, uh…I gotta go.

Smell the Man Musk | 29 Comments »

R. Emmett Tyrrell, Jr. (seen at left in the Attitude of a Classic Douchebag made famous by Selwyn Duke) is the founder and editor in chief of The American Spectator, a position which he seems to feel entitles him to waste more consonants than the average American. Today, however, he’s sharing his insights with the readers of Human Events (I’m sure there must be somebody besides me that reads it) and chief among them is the somewhat surprising claim that the U.S. military is exactly like Hitler’s war machine, except our troops are more inclined to cast an absentee ballot. Or something.

The Male of the Species (American)

In recent years when I have heard the ongoing dirge about the deficiencies of America’s young men, I have had my doubts. The army that we have sent abroad to confront some of the most barbaric enemies Western civilization ever has faced is superb. Confronting savages — usually on their own soil — our forces have been professional to the utmost, the Wehrmacht but with democratic values!

If the Army brass is smart, they’ll ride the coattails of Emmett’s glowing testimonial and change their recruiting slogan from “Army Strong” to “Nicer than Nazis!” Although, I’m not entirely sure what he means by “the Wehrmacht but with democratic values!” part. Perhaps he’s suggesting that while our military would also be willing to reduce a ghetto full of Jews to dust, they’d vote on it first, probably in a straw poll, or Iowa Caucus format.

Withal, they are brave, spirited, manly.

And as Meatloaf has been known to observe, two out of three ain’t bad.

As for my personal experiences with the men of the younger generation

“I’m not at liberty to discuss the details of an ongoing investigation.”

I have found them for the most part to be first-rate: intelligent, diligent — again — manly

I haven’t seen this much jock-sniffing since my high school track coach let his springer spaniel run around the locker room after practice.

Admittedly, the cohort I have encountered is not vast.

“Or it’s possible I’m confusing the U.S. Army with my Sunday afternoon Roman Legion LARPing group.”

Most have been young writers or reporters or the young men introduced to me by my youngest daughter. As they were often young men in the service of her employer, Blackwater, their high quality is not surprising.

I wonder if Anne, in her capacity as Blackwater’s chief spokeswoman, coined the evasion, “Morale Welfare Recreation.” Because — and I hate to be critical — that’s a bit transparent; and if you’re a government contractor who’s going to demand reimbursement for the cost of supplying your high quality young men with prostitutes, then the least you can do is lock your PR flacks in the conference room and make them spitball a decent euphemism. I mean, the Imperial Japanese Army devised the snappy circumlocution “comfort women” to describe a similar program, and that was without the benefit of modern focus groups.

All are retired special ops guys, and once the lurid canards about Blackwater collapse from lack of evidence, their bravery and devotion in protecting American diplomats will stand as another splendid chapter in American soldiering.

It comes immediately after the chapter on Civil War General Joseph Hooker.

So, what is the evidence that the young men of the country are sub-par?

Well, apparently they compose less than 50 percent of the college population. Why worry about that? Most universities are simply pretentious extensions of high school, presided over by a professoriate that is — with heroic exceptions — mediocre, tedious, ill-informed, bovine and anti-intellectual. Better it would be for young men to take a couple of years of business courses and join the adult world.

This is beginning to sound like William F. Buckley doing one of those trade school commercials on basic cable. “Would you like to make more money? Certainly, we all would. Are you mediocre, tedious, ill-informed, bovine and anti-intellectual? Then you have all the prerequisites necessary to matriculate at ICS. Here at ICS the instructors will mold you like the Lord God breathing life into inanimate clay, and you will arise, endowed with the gnosis necessary to practice TV/VCR Repair, Auto Mechanics, Bookkeeping, Refrigeration, Arc Welding, or just take a couple years of business courses that will qualify you to labor, not unlike Hercules, in the rich, loamy fields of Accounting, or Restaurant/Hotel Management.”

Yet there apparently really is evidence that many young men are loath to join the adult world. The demographics suggest as much.

Translation: It’s fine — even manly! — to whoremonger in a war zone, but here at home, Young American Men — in the prime of their Young Manlihood! — have been reduced to a generation of infantile, diaper-wearing David Vitters by the castrating effects of beer commercials.

From an unexpected source, I recently got a sense of those demographics, namely, the ads televised during the Super Bowl. The clever minds that create those ads have obviously studied the characteristics of the audience they want to snare, which appears to be an audience of young men. All the ads I saw depicted young men who were stupid, giddy, neurotic and adolescent unto middle age. They were charmless, often dressed like schoolchildren

So, Buster Browns and short pants? Or were they sporting those nautical-themed uniforms worn by Japanese schoolgirls?

Often the Super Bowl ads depicted these patheticoes in humiliating states of catastrophe.

And yet FEMA still hasn’t shown up at that touch football game Betty White was playing in.

One promoting a disgusting snack called Doritos — an inescapable insult to Latin cuisine —

I appreciate Emmett’s attempts to enliven his column with a little cosplay, but it’s not always easy to following the transitions. I think in this paragraph he’s pretending to be an emissary from a higher alien intelligence, observing the curious diet and customs of terrestrial natives. “…and the autochthons subsist on a confection they call ‘Devil Dogs,’ although it does not appear to contain either canines or mythological avatars of evil. Unfortunately, the actual ingredients so far remain opaque to our analysis.”

ended with a loutish young man wearing a dog collar and writhing on the ground, supposedly another exemplary Doritos customer. Would you buy Doritos if you were depicted in such an undignified way?

Certainly not! In fact, I always dressed to dine on Doritos, until the Zesty Taco Chipotle Ranch turned my spats orange.

Are sensible adult viewers supposed to conclude that because an obvious idiot adores Doritos, we will, too?

Are housewives to sensibly conclude that because Ajax releases a “white tornado,” they will be sucked into its vortex and transported to Oz every time they mop the kitchen?

I am told there is also a wave of films whose protagonists are such coarse and stupid louts. My moviegoing confidants speak of “Step Brothers” and “Knocked Up.” Perhaps I shall order a copy of each if I am laid up long enough with the flu.

I am informed by reliable correspondents that public spectacles have progressed (if that is indeed the mot juste) from the dazzling, yet manly “Wild West” shows of my youth, to “moving pictures,” which seek to capture men in degrading episodes, such as that depicted in Record of a Sneeze.

Now, every generation has its allotment of poor souls. Yet I can think of no generation that has cast the poor soul as the norm. In fact, there was a day when young men were seen as young gentlemen. They aspired to being intelligent, hardworking, interested in a variety of exacting pastimes: sports, the outdoors, music, reading. In its early days, Playboy magazine was marketed to just this sort of discerning young man, one interested in jazz, sports cars, what then passed for high-tech consumer goods, what are now called careers and, of course, women undraped. Believe it or not, in the 1950s and for a while thereafter, Playboy was an intelligent — if amoral — magazine. Today, of course, it is coarse and stupid.

Maybe you should cancel your subscription.

So maybe Playboy, too, is evidence of young American men’s failings.

The man who co-founded the Arkansas Project and brought us the Paula Jones allegations wants you to know that it’s okay to wank to dirty pictures, providing that — at the supreme moment — you close your eyes and think of Coltrane.

The pathetic young men depicted in the Super Bowl ads at least do not appear dangerous. Crapulent after a few beers and a sack of Doritos, they probably pass out and catch colds sleeping on park benches in their shorts and sandals.

Yes, when I was a lad, my friends and I would always gather in a park with our beer and Doritos to watch the Super Bowl. Oh sure, it was a bit annoying having to continually pass the telescope, but our bench had an unrivaled view of the appliance store window.

At some point a few years from now, they really will enter middle age, at least physiologically. Their sad condition will not inspire emulation. An even younger generation of men will aspire to manliness, and American history abounds with examples of manliness for them to imitate. Young women, do not despair! Help is on the way.

Emmett will personally taste test each male member of the next generation to ensure they’re at the peak of manliness, before stamping their taut rumps USDA and passing them on to the young women sitting despairingly by the phone. It’s like Match.com, but more hands-on. Or mouth-on.

Smell the Man Musk | 25 Comments »

You may remember Gary DeMar, doyenne of the pro-theocracy website American Vision (“Exercising Servanthood Dominion”) from this piece (“Homosexual Marriages: Square Peg, Round Hole”). Well, he’s back, and seems to have had a change of heart, since his current column is a helpful guide to in-flight cruising. But beware, boys — Gary likes it rough.

No More Terror in the Skies if Men take Charge

How many of you have heard about the November 17, 2009 AirTran Flight 297 from Atlanta to Houston? While there is some confusion about what really happened, there is no doubt some passengers were alarmed enough to leave the plane when it returned to the gate. They believed a terrorist “dry run” was in progress.

And I know some people who still refuse to shower in a motel since seeing Psycho.

AirTran has downplayed the “alleged incident.” Were these men just messing with the passengers? I don’t know, but I’m not taking any chances. Were they scouting the reaction of the passengers for another group that has plans to carry out a future terror mission? It doesn’t matter. I refuse to stand by while a bunch of Islamic terrorists use me and my fellow passengers to make some perverted religio-political statement.

“Am I likely to be arrested after shrieking in panic and stabbing a fellow passenger in the wrist with my spork because he looks even more like Nasser than I do? That’s irrelevant.”

I’m not going down in an airplane without a fight.

But, as you’ll see, going down in an airplane toilet is a different thing entirely.

If a group of crazed men want to overpower a flight crew, they’ll find a way to do it or die trying and take the plane and its passengers with them. All it takes is a few razor blades…Razor blades can easily be concealed. But who even needs razor blades? There are some very hard plastics and composite materials that can be sharpened enough to slit a throat. (Think how easily paper can cut skin.)

You know, I’m no Jason Bourne, but I’m pretty sure even I could handle a terrorist who was trying to kill everyone on an airplane with a piece of stationery.

So what do we do? While the government has decided not to scrutinize Mid-Eastern men out of fear of verbal and legal assaults from the ACLU and Muslim advocacy groups like CAIR, there’s nothing stopping us from doing it. This isn’t to say that there may not be home-grown terrorists trying to bring down planes, but odds are that, to use Ann Coulter’s phrase, it’s going to be a group of “swarthy men.”

Yes, but but the phrase a group of”swarthy men” is Ann Coulter’s answer to everything, including the question, Where is my next orgasm coming from?

And it will take a group of them to do it. So if you see five or ten Mid-Eastern types, probably traveling without wives and children, be suspicious. If you spot such a group, size them up physically.

Check out each man’s package. Try to spot which way he dresses. Ask him if he’s circumcised, then demand he produce his penis to substantiate his claims.

Could you take most of them—man to man—in a fight?

I guess it depends on the kind of combat. If it’s Greco-Roman wrestling, here’s a tip: fight nude and oil up your flanks and torso before the match; that’ll make it harder to keep you in what wrestlers call a “submission hold,” and Gary and the boys at The American Vision call “servanthood dominion.”

Introduce yourself to the other men on the flight. Ask them about their destination, work, and family. Do they fly a lot? Talk about sports is always a good ice breaker. Did they play football in high school or college? For how long? Get an idea of their physical abilities. Do they look in shape? If they’re wearing short sleeves, take a look at their forearms. Meaty forearms are a good sign.

Other good ice breakers include: “Do you like gladiator movies?”, “I find your forearms very meaty. That’s usually a good sign for me,” and “I used to think these seat belts were uncomfortable, until I got my three-strap penis cage.”

The goal is to make the men feel comfortable knowing that there are other men who will do something if there’s trouble. Nothing needs to be said directly, but they’ll know when the time comes for action.

No need to even get up from your seat. Just widen your stance and nudge your neighbor’s foot with your own. He’ll get the message.

If the terrorists get wind of what’s happening, all the better. It will force them to look for softer targets.

Leaving the hard targets for Gary. The harder the better.

How to Strangle a Terrorist
Let’s say five “swarthy men” get up from their seats and begin to terrorize the passengers and shout threats while five more head for the cockpit. What are you going to do? How far are you willing to go to stop them? What if they threaten to kill a passenger? Have you ever been in a knife fight?

And say, so long as we’re getting to know each other…Have you ever been in a Turkish prison?

You have to be willing to die but put all your effort in staying alive.

These decisions must be made before you ever get on another plane. This means you and I have to prepare for the possibility that the next flight we take might be taken over by radical Muslims.

How far in advance must I make that decision? When I’m standing at the gate, twitching and sweating so badly the ink on my boarding pass is running, or a little earlier, when I read this piece by Nate Silver:

Over the past decade, according to BTS, there have been 99,320,309 commercial airline departures that either originated or landed within the United States. Dividing by six, we get one terrorist incident per 16,553,385 departures.

These departures flew a collective 69,415,786,000 miles. That means there has been one terrorist incident per 11,569,297,667 mles flown. This distance is equivalent to 1,459,664 trips around the diameter of the Earth, 24,218 round trips to the Moon, or two round trips to Neptune.

[T]here has been one terrorist incident per 27,221,877 hours airborne. This can also be expressed as one incident per 1,134,245 days airborne, or one incident per 3,105 years airborne.

[T]he odds of being on given departure which is the subject of a terrorist incident have been 1 in 10,408,947 over the past decade. By contrast, the odds of being struck by lightning in a given year are about 1 in 500,000. This means that you could board 20 flights per year and still be less likely to be the subject of an attempted terrorist attack than to be struck by lightning.

Anyway, Gary, go on with your thought experiment: What if Chuck Norris had been on that plane that crashed into the Pentagon…?

We can’t sit back and watch it happen. We know what’s going to happen if they succeed in taking control of the airplane.

And we also know, from Flight 93, and the Shoe Bomber and BVD Bomber cases, that passengers will no longer remain acquiescent in the face of a hijacking. The era of people sitting obediently in their seats for three days on a tarmac somewhere while their captors negotiate for the release of imprisoned comrades is over, because passengers now assume that even — or especially — if they cooperate, they’re going to wind up dying in a spectacular fireball. With 9/11 the terrorists successfully “upped the stakes” as movie development executives love to say, much like the producers of the Bond films did with Goldfinger. Which meant that in You Only Live Twice, Blofeld was obliged to launch rockets from an extinct volcano and hijack American and Soviet space capsules in order to spark a nuclear war, rather doing what he did in the book — cultivating a garden full of poisonous plants in order to help depressed Japanese people commit suicide in a more poetic way. Audiences expect the climax to feature Bond infiltrating the massive, yet secret volcano headquarters with an army of ninjas and then blowing the place up, rather than simply delivering a summons from the County Department of Agriculture to the film’s super-villain, citing him for possession of exotic flora without a permit.

Someone must verbally take charge; otherwise people will not respond. That means the person who responds to the terrorists first must tell every man what to do to defend the women on the plane. Appeal to every man’s sense of obligation toward the women and their families.

As you’re commandeering the economy cabin, and drafting all able-bodied men into your on-board militia, reject any offers of help from the females present by gently explaining the concept of male spiritual Headship. (In the interest of full disclosure, I should point out that when I was teaching Kenpo Karate, I worked with a number of women who could easily have kicked Gary’s ass — and mine — but I suppose any man who would sub-contract out his Headship isn’t worth his servanthoody.)

If you never really had the incentive to get into better physical condition, now’s the time to do it. Begin by walking, first on flat surfaces then up hills until you’re winded. Work until you can exert yourself strenuously for at least one minute without getting out of breath. Jumping rope is good exercise and a neat skill to master. This will give you the stamina you’ll need to keep an attacker from getting the best of you until someone else comes along to help. Remember, an airplane is close quarters. That’s to your advantage. The terrorists will be spread throughout the plane and will not be able to get to points of resistance quickly.

It’s like if Sun Tzu had written Coffee, Tea, or Me?

Pick an aisle seat, especially if you are traveling with your wife and children. Your positioning will allow you to move fast at the first sign of danger and to serve as a barrier to protect anyone traveling with you. You will also have a better line of sight.

If your wife objects to you repeatedly tackling people who were just on their way to the toilet, remind her that God personally gave you dominion over the beasts and the Earth, and if she doesn’t like your Headship, she can just suck it.

If you can, pick a seat in the front of the plane.

The best way to immobilize an attacker is by approaching him from behind.

Which is why it’s best to be sitting in front of him. Got it. Thanks for the strategy session, von Clausewitz.

A frontal assault may be your only opportunity, but you’ll want to avoid being cut. This will mean protecting yourself long enough for someone else to get behind the terrorist. Wrap your jacket or shirt around your arm for protection. It wouldn’t hurt to carry a pair of stiff work gloves in your carry-on bag to protect your hands. A rolled-up in-flight magazine makes a good club. Put it to good use; it’s free.

However, don’t wrap a blanket or pillow around your arm, because they charge for those now.

Here’s what you should do if you’re the guy who can get behind the terrorist. Use your belt as a garrote.

Choking a terrorist with your belt will make you a hero! However, if you wind up with your pants down around your ankles during an action sequence, this means you’re probably the comic relief.

There are other self-defense measures, but these are the simplest to perform for the untrained. What else can you use for a weapon? In the right hands, a stout ballpoint pen can do plenty of damage if driven into the soft tissue just under the jaw. Always think “McGyver.” In the right hands, a stout ballpoint pen can do plenty of damage. There’s a scene in The Bourne Identity (2002) that will show you the best technique to use.

But what Gary doesn’t tell you is that in the right hands, a stout ballpoint pen can do plenty of damage. Anyway, the solution to airline bombings and hijackings is clear: show episodes of “McGyver” and the Bourne movies throughout the flight, but refuse to rent headsets to any Middle Eastern-looking men, so when you stab them in the soft palate with a stout ballpoint pen, they won’t be expecting it. Especially if they were just sitting there, reading.

Pump Some Iron

Spent time in the steam room at the gym, trading training tips with other men. Pick the best built guys to approach, since they clearly know what they’re talking about, and ask them to demonstrate which exercises impact which areas of the body by flexing each muscle group.

Work out three or four days a week for about 20 to 30 minutes each day. If you want a basic routine using only dumbbells, email me at and I’ll send you what I’ve developed for beginners.

Include a photo.

Taking Back the Skies

It’s time American men take charge. Your wife will love you for it, and you might even save some lives. There is a new battlefield. Normandy was of a different time and place. The terrorists have brought the fight to our homes. If we’re ever going to feel safe again without turning America into a police state, we’ve got to push political correctness aside and take real action.

Real masculine action. Muscular action.

To quote Joel Robinson from the MST3K episode, Hercules: “Looks like it’s a big, brawny, hairy, glistening, two-fisted manly day!”

Smell the Man Musk | 43 Comments »

You may remember A.J. DiCintio, the retired teacher who rose from the mean streets of a city that prefers to remain nameless to become a pundit for virtual publications such as Mich News and RenewAmerica, and who, despite his humble origins, has learned to use his tongue prettier than a twenty dollar whore.  Well, lucky for us, A.J. went to the Tea Bagger protest in Washington D.C., where a vastly mis-estimated crowd gathered for the purpose of not leaving any trash behind.

Worse than the stench of the stable

As the three of us drove to the nation’s capital Saturday, the suggestion that we should have made a sign saying “I’d Rather Drink Tea Than Kool-Aid” had two of us praising our friend’s thoughtful creativity all day.

I bet that was awfully gratifying for the friend, at first.  I bet at first it filled him with a warm sense of validation and accomplishment.  But after three or four hours, it probably got a bit tiresome, and then eventually, downright embarrassing.  After eight or nine hours, he might have begun to suspect his friends’ sincerity, as night fell and their fulsome praise took an odd, almost sinister turn…

A.J.:  (GUFFAWING)  Hoo-boy, Jeff, I gotta tell ya, I just can’t get over that thoughtful, creative thing you said this morning on the drive to our nation’s capital.  It’s like a song I can’t get outta my head.  Know what I mean, Ted?

TED:  Totally.  Earworm.  But not one that drives ya nuts, like The Night Chicago Died, or Girlfriend by Avril Lavigne, or some shit — this is like a poem.

A.J.:  You’re like a genius, Jeff.

TED:  Total genius.  “I’d Rather Drink Tea Than Kool-Aid.”  Man!  That’s like the pithiest bit of political sloganeering since…I don’t know…

A.J.:  Since Reagan, when he went to Normandy and said, “Mister Gorbabob?  Tear…down…these…drapes!”

TED:   Further back than Reagan!

A.J.:  Benjamin Franklin!  Did you ever read Little Richard’s Almanack?  That’s some very pithy shit in there.

TED:  Yeah, too bad Jeff didn’t think of it until we were already on the road...

A.J.:  Hey — Yeah!  Asshole.

TED:  Greatest slogan in the history of the Republic, but does he think of it when we’re up all night makin’ signs?  No, the lightbulb doesn’t pop on over his sorry skull until he’s dumping a Stuckey’s pecan log in the Chesapeake Rest Stop off I-95!  You are such an asshole, Jeff!

After all, it is an incontrovertible truth that the dogmatic devotion leftists have exhibited to stupidities since they began praising the “important” ideas to be found in the works of the “great” Karl Marx reeks like the stables of Hercules’ Fifth Labor.

Apparently Mich News pays by the adjective.

But as I read the NY Times’ opinion columns the next day, it occurred to me that there is something much more repulsive than the love of a perverse dogma at work deep in the depths of the leftist psyche.

The stars at night,
Are big and bright,
clap! clap! clap! clap!
Deep in the heart,
Of leftist.

Now, because that conclusion was occasioned by what the columnists have to say about those who disagree with the policies advocated by the nation’s Liberal-in-Chief, it is necessary to begin with a few observations about what we saw at the “party” —

A.J. is a bit vague about his pedagogical background, but I think we can safely eliminate “English teacher” from the possibilities.

Basically, tens of thousands of ordinary Americans — the kind of people who live in your neighborhood, the kind of people who reaffirm your faith in the brilliant good sense of Jeffersonian Democracy every time you serve on jury duty —

Unless it’s the jury that let O.J. Simpson off, right?  Okay, that was a cheap shot.  I’m sure if you had been on the jury trying Robert Chambliss for the 16th Street Baptist Church bombing in 1963, you would have been the lone voice to convict.

What grievances? That story is told by thousands of variously crafted placards that shouted warnings about a number of threats to “Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness,”

None of which shouted the most Awesome. Slogan. Ever! because Jeff is such an asshole!

but mainly these two —

. . . centralized government (the essential darling of every leftist “thinker”)

I’m beginning to think scare quotes have gone the shark-jumping way of the three-letter exclamation, such as WTF! or FTW!, although I think the puppets from Thunderbirds should still be permitted to say “F.A.B.”

Here, I admit my complicity in discussions that have sent liberals screaming “O! The horror, the ugly, racist, fascist, Know-Nothing horror of it all!”

Yes, reacting to an “ACORN HEADQUARTERS” sign posted on a portable toilet, I entered into a conversation with a couple standing next to me, the three of us condemning the funneling of tax money to support the insidious “community organizers” who labor under ACORN’s far from oaken probity.

We spoke briefly, too, about Federalism and the Federalist Papers.

Because the port-a-potties were out of regular toilet paper.

Such ideas and attitudes are the mark of hateful, miserly, seditious idiots?

No.  I wouldn’t say miserly…

Apparently for liberals, because Maureen Dowd was moved to write an entire column not only informing us that “what [she] heard” from Representative Joe Wilson was “You lie, boy!” but also that the racially demeaning term she hallucinated reveals the real motive of the opponents of the president’s policies.

That’s right, in a perfectly anti-intellectual, disgustingly irrational assertion, Dowd implies that the opposition to Obama’s policies is composed of a xenophobic (former DNC chairman Don Fowler’s idea) “loco fringe” given to a “shrieking lunacy.”

Okay, that was a cheap shot, too, because I’ve seen lots of you lunatics use your inside voice; at least when you’re being interviewed on FoxNews.

That venom, however, only winds her up to mock protestors as a repulsive bunch of secessionist crazies.

To be fair, many of them are only talking about Nullification at this point, and that’s never led to secession and civil war, except for that one time, and that was really more of a war between the several States to see who was the most “sovereign,” which I’m pretty sure back in the 19th century meant “bad-ass.”  But it’s not only Maureen Dowd who has the ex-gym teacher’s jock in a knot; Frank Rich also suggested that one or two of the Tea Baggers’ grievances might be construed as trivial.

There you have it, Frank Rich standing enormously shallow beside the infinitesimally small Maureen Dowd

I used to stand shallow as a kid, until they made me wear corrective shoes for eighteen months.

who, in addition to sliming Obama’s opponents as racists, reacted to ideas that have been hotly and honestly debated in America since the days of the Constitutional Convention with this hateful, ugly, supremely stupid comment:

Democratic presidents typically have provoked a frothing response from paranoids — from Father Coughlin against F.D.R. to Joe McCarthy against Truman to the John Birchers against J.F.K. and the vast right-wing conspiracy against Bill Clinton.

Ah, liberals and the triumph of reason. What a beautiful thing to behold!

I think he meant that last part sarcastically.

If you are like me, you have wondered, “What is the source of such incredibly contemptible ‘thinking’? The love of centralized power? Of ruling? Of being ruled? Of arrogance, pretension, and hypocrisy?”

Well, for me, it’s For the Love of the Game.  For others, it might be For the Love of Benji.  And for still others, it’s probably for the love of Songs of Love For Lovers Only.

Anyway, it’s getting pretty late in the column; time for Mr. DiCintio to end with a Grand Finale of pyrotechnic goofiness.  How about if he mistakes Jonathan Swift’s satire Travels into Several Remote Nations of the World, in Four Parts. By Lemuel Gulliver, First a Surgeon, and then a Captain of several Ships for a Rick Steves travel guide.

The questions turn our minds to Gulliver, the self-proclaimed giant who claims to be perfected by reason alone — the pride sickened misanthrope who cannot stand the sight and smell of even his wife and children but delights in his long visits to the stable, where, insulated from repulsive inferiors, he converses with horses, his only perfectly reasonable peers.

And who does that remind you of?  Hm?  Exactly!  Barack Obama.  And don’t get me started on new guys showing up in town and “proclaiming” themselves “giants,” just because they’re thirty times our size.

The madman does, however, condescend to tell us he has reconciled himself to the rest of humanity — who, unlike him, are subject to every vice — except one kind of person: “a lump of deformity, and diseases both in body and mind, smitten with pride.”

Having uttered that astonishing piece of irony, he then closes with another, equally as disgusting:

I here entreat those who have any tincture of this absurd vice that they will not presume to come in my sight.

Is it a particularly ugly, fetid, pernicious pride that swirls amid neurotic guilt and self-loathing in the deep, dark recesses of the liberal psyche?

Jonathan Swift (30 November, 1667 – 19 October, 1745): Doctor of Sacred Theology, Dean of St. Patrick’s Cathedral Dublin, leader of the Democratic Party.

Who knows? But whatever roils there, its effect stinks infinitely worse than the stench of the stable.

I, for one, am thoroughly sick of it.

As a liberal who reads a lot of wingnuts, I was given to understand that my principles came from Saul Alinsky, so you can imagine my joy in discovering that our founding document was actually written by an author who’s fun to read.  Moreover, Gulliver’s Travels, unlike Rules for Radicals, has been adapted for the screen as an animated feature by Dave Fleischer, so you don’t even have to read the book to understand our firm, but nuanced position on the public option.  So I suggest we all thank Dr. Swift, and vote for him next year for DNC Chairman.

Smell the Man Musk | 24 Comments »

In the annals of manly man-love, there is no more touching tale than the story of Apollo and Hyachinthus — or — Alexander and Hephaestion — or, no, wait — Washington and the Savage Weiner!  You may remember Mr. Washington from a previous World Net Daily column, in which he drew an unflattering parallel between the Obama Administration and the dystopia described in Orwell’s 1984, a jaunty jeremiad in which he managed to get the characters, plot, and theme of the book exactly backwards.  But Ellis is more than just a man who affects a familiarity with books he clearly hasn’t read; he’s also a resume padder nonpareil, who claims in his bio to be “a professor of law and political science at Savannah State University,” although SSU lists him as a “part-time Instructor” (not an Assistant Professor, Associate Professor, or Professor) in the Political Science, Public Administration, and Urban Studies Department.

But just as Governor Mark Sanford deserves pity rather than scorn because his extramarital ugly-bumping was in the service of a love story (“A forbidden one, a tragic one, but a love story at the end of the day.”), so should we also pardon “Professor” Washington his fibs and vanities, for he is also in thrall to a forbidden soulmate: Michael Savage (neé Weiner).

On Jan. 13, 1898, the celebrated French writer and intellectual Émile Zola risked his career and endangered his life when his letter “J’accuse!” was published on the front page of the Paris daily L’Aurore. This famous letter was a scathing indictment against the French government for unjustly condemning a war hero, Capt. Alfred Dreyfus, to Devil’s Island and covering up evidence of his innocence. This passionate letter “J’accuse!” has stood through the ages as a singular expression of indignation and accusation against powerful persons, organizations and nations.

Now, 100 years later, the Dreyfus Affair has now crossed the English Channel in the case of Michael Savage.

A quick programming note:  Michael Savage’s talk radio show, The Savage Nation, is broadcast live, Monday through Friday, from the Crimson Barracks on Devil’s Island in the penal colony of French Guiana, from which there is no escape.

Jim Meyers of Newsmax dropped a bombshell article on July 1 that chronicles the recent admission by the British government that it did not consult with the U.S. and the Obama Administration regarding the exclusion of Michael Savage from England. As remarkable as that statement is, it made an even more incredible admission that England is now presently speaking with ranking members of the Obama administration about the blacklisting of Michael Savage.

Yes, Cathy Lee, that IS Incredible!  I guess…

The May 5 blacklisting of Savage is suspiciously close to – and I believe connected with – a lawsuit Savage filed in mid-April against Department of Homeland Security Janet Napolitano over a DHS report suggesting U.S. military veterans could be targeted by right-wing extremists.

Yes, the most logical way for the Obama Administration to punish Savage is for the British to ban him from traveling to the U.K., without telling the U.S. government, because it’s important to occasionally surprise your co-conspirators in order to keep your cabal fresh and romantic.

Britain’s defensive and convoluted reply on the case of Michael Savage amounts to a non-denial denial. It smacks of conspiracy, cover-up, lies and collusion at the highest levels of the world’s two most powerful governments.

Nothing smacks more of rank conspiracy than two groups doing things without coordinating or even telling each other.

Here is my theory on how the Obama administration colluded with Britain to blacklist Michael Savage:

In order to trace the line of Professor Washington’s recondite reasoning, take your index finger and place it in a parallel orientation to your mouth, then rub it over your lips in an up-and-down motion while humming at high volume.

• Let us float a “Fairness Doctrine” trial balloon with our ally across the pond before we bring it home to America.

I think I’d rather just go see Up again.

• Let us pick a sacrificial lamb: a conservative of some notoriety, yet controversial with few friends in the state-run media or among his conservative peers.

In other words, a phenomenal asshat.  Got anyone in mind, Prof?

• Let us associate him with the most evil, irredeemable criminals on the planet.

• And let us wait and watch with glee as his fellow conservatives lurch back into the shadows, shut their normally big yaps on this case and not come to Michael Savage’s defense.

Because nobody loves the Savage Weiner the way you love him!  All those other pundits, they don’t understand him the way you do!

The Machiavellian plot of the British and U.S. government against Michael Savage, an American patriot and self-confessed Anglophile is really appalling. Their scheme would have worked, but they only made one mistake:

They forgot to tell each other they were in a conspiracy and so they both wound up bringing the same hot dish to the potluck?

They picked the wrong man to blacklist.

This is where Weiner tears off his shirt, ties on a headband, and begins screwing explosive tips onto graphite arrow shafts, right?  Because this is where I usually go out to the concession stand for Good ‘n’ Plentys and a Mr. Pibb.

They underestimated this man. Michael Savage is a Promethean figure who has the courage and fortitude to take his case all the way before the British Parliament if necessary.

By the way, if you thought I was perhaps exaggerating a bit in that first paragraph, take a gander at Washington’s portrait of Michael Savage as the Modern Prometheus.  Here’s a taste:

Prometheus challenged the awesome authority of Zeus by stealing fire from heaven, which gave warmth to the earth thus saving all humanity. Likewise, Savage has put his reputation on the line daily for 15 years as a Ph.D. trained scientist, autodidactic philosopher and historian, zealously defending America’s national heritage and waging battle in the arena of ideas against the Zeuses of our time…a list of infamy that included Muslim terrorists, homosexual hate-mongers, neo-Nazis and Russian mobsters.

Zeus meted out unjust and sadistic punishment to Prometheus by chaining him to a rock and commanding an eagle to eat his liver every day, only to have the liver grow back anew each day. Likewise, a similar Sisyphus-like torture was heaped upon Savage by Great Britain whose unprovoked defamation of his name and reputation has daily caused Savage’s life and the physical security of his entire family to be brought into mortal danger.

And I thought that “Leave Britney alone!” guy went a little overboard.  How does Professor Ellis even manage to teach his occasional, part-time, Pass/Fail classes, when he is continually haunted by Savage’s Promethean inability to order spotted dick and fresh toad-in-the-hole?

[According to a] member of the Labour Party: “The Home Office did not consult the U.S. administration about the creation of the list of foreign nationals who are excluded from the United Kingdom on unacceptable behavior grounds, which included U.S. citizen, Michael Savage.

“However, following publication of the list, Home Office and FCO (Foreign and Commonwealth Office) officials have discussed the Government’s policy on exclusion with American officials.”

Who are these unnamed American officials? This British-American axis amounts to collusion to exclude Savage. Furthermore, it is a modern-day metaphor of the “Dreyfus Affair” regarding the unjust conviction, imprisonment and cover-up of Capt. Alfred Dreyfus, a decorated war hero, a French citizen of Jewish extraction who was falsely accused of treason by France in 1894. At least Capt. Dreyfus had the celebrated writer and intellectual, Émile Zola, to defend his cause, but who does Michael Savage have on his side?

Only deranged, but dedicated stalker and fan-boy Ellis Washington, that’s who.  But I don’t think comparing this situation to the torments suffered by Captain Dreyfus goes nearly far enough.  It’s like the Obama Administration has waterboarded Dr. Savage, in that his bosom has been repeatedly bedewed with the bitter, salty tears of Ellis Washington.

J’accuse England! … J’accuse America!

Smell the Man Musk | 35 Comments »

Over at Pajamas (We Thought the Name Was Ironic at the Time) Media, Andrew Klavan is busy growing a petri dish full of wisdom in his column, Klavan On The Culture.  Andrew, who has graced WO’C once or twice in the past, is the author of numerous novels and screenplays.  Here’s a taste of his latest opus:

The Last Thing I Remember
Apr 30, 2009

Andrew’s new suspense novel for Young Adults is now available at bookstores and amazon.com. “The Last Thing I Remember” is the story of Charlie West, an ordinary, straight arrow teenager who goes to bed one night and wakes up strapped to a chair being tortured by jihadists. Charlie’s desperate struggle to find out how he got into a situation like this will challenge him in every way, forcing him to rely on his faith, his courage and his fighting skills to stay alive. This is the first novel in Andrew’s Homelanders series

Wow, it’s like The Hardy Boys meet Hostel.  Fans of Andrew’s YA fiction will be excited to learn he’s just signed on to pen the revival of The Baby-sitters Club series:

Jessi and the Jihadists

All your favorites are back!  When Jessi and Mallory are raped and murdered by Islamofascists, it’s up to original Baby-sitter Club members Kristy, Claudia, Mary Anne, and Stacey to hunt them down through the mean streets of Stoneybrook and exact a bloody revenge.  This is the first novel in Andrews Blut Madchen series.

This week, Andrew went to see The Hangover, and he’s returned brimming with conservative insights.  Unlike most critics, he didn’t find the film particularly funny — but that’s only because he thought it was a documentary.

A lot of critics get all huffy about this depiction of the sexes [in film comedies]…But you know what? I suspect a lot of it is simple realism.  More and more often I meet young guys just like this:  overgrown kids who are their grim wives’ poodles…They “share” household and child-rearing tasks equally – which isn’t really equal at all because they don’t care about a clean house or a well-reared child anywhere near as much as their wives do.

Most men, faced with raising a child, would gladly abandon it in the forest and hope a pack of wolves will pick up the slack.  Which is why conservatives must continue the fight against marriage equality.  This holy institution, as we know, was anointed by God for the purpose of begetting and rearing children, even though a full 50% of the partnership couldn’t give a crap about it.  So imagine what would happen to children growing up in a house where both partners were male?  The home of the typical married gay couple would be a filthy sty full of feral toddlers.  So I guess that means we should only let lesbians get married…Wait.  No.  Because then they could still fool us by getting a sex change like Chastity Bono and just start the whole horrible cycle all over again!

In short, each one seems set to spend his life taking orders from a perpetually dissatisfied Mrs. who sounds to me – forgive me but just speaking in all honesty – like a bloody shrike.  Who can blame these poor shnooks if they go out and get drunk or laid or just plain divorced?

Women with their own personalities are the reason the rates of alcoholism, STDs, and divorce are so high in this country.  What we need, instead of changes in statute to permit same-sex couples to wed, is a fundamental reform of the law that will recognize marriage as a union between one man and one Realdoll™.

I’m the old-fashioned King of the Castle type:  my wife knew it when she married me, she knows it now, and she knows where the door is if she gets sick of it.

Now that’s True Love.  It reminds me of Romeo and Juliet; but instead of taking their own lives, rather than face a life without love, they beat each other to death with shovels in the crypt.

And you can curse me or consign me to Feminist Hell or whatever you want to do.  But when you’re done, answer me this:  why would a man get married under any other circumstances?  I’m serious.  What’s in it for him?  I mean, marriage is a large sacrifice for a man.  He gives up his right to sleep with a variety of partners, which is as basic an urge in men as having children is in women.

Apparently Andrew thinks the life of the average single guy is a nonstop roundelay of hot chicks, cool jazz, dry martinis, and large black velvet bow ties.  Whereas I think of it more as a Tilt-A-Whirl of Mac-n-Cheese, psycho roommates, awkward first dates, and ziggurats of accumulated laundry.

He takes on responsibilities which will probably curtail both his work and his social life.  If he doesn’t also acquire authority, gravitas, respect and, yes, mastery over his own home, what does he get?  Companionship?  Hey, stay single, dude, you’ll have a lot more money, and then you can buy companionship.

As Maggie Gallagher’s National Organization for Marriage states: “Love is a great thing. But marriage isn’t just any kind of love; it’s the special love of husband and wife for each other and their children.”  On the downside, it cuts into Daddy’s whoring.

All right, I know, I’m a mean old man.  But I’ve also been blissfully married for 30 years to a woman who wakes up singing.

Ah, so she’s insane. That explains it.

I think some of these young guys have been sold a bill of goods, I really do.  I think they’ve been told what they’re supposed to be like and have sacrificed what they are like.  Maybe their marriages are more “fair” than mine but just looking at them, I think they’re miserable.  And I suspect, deep down, their wives are probably miserable too.

Yes, if there’s one thing women hate, it’s equality.  And spiders.  And that weird form of sleep apnea where you wake up in the middle of the night belting out “Brush Up Your Shakespeare” from Kiss Me Kate.

Smell the Man Musk | 41 Comments »

Updated below
Over at American Thinker (“Where Irony Comes To Choke On Its Own Vomit”), Ralph Alter has discovered that President Obama is the queerest girly-man who ever flounced through the Vermeil room:

Our First Female President?

And who is Ralph Alter, I hear you ask?  Why, he’s only the man who discovered that Colin Powell is a big super-queeny clutch purse full of queer-bait, that’s who!

No Closet Big Enough For Colin Powell-Democrat

Describing Colin Powell as a Republican is akin to describing Perez Hilton http://www.icelebz.com/celebs/perez_hilton/photo8.html as straight.

Some people will inevitably say, “Gee, that Mr. Alter sure seems to see a teh ghey wherever he looks.”  But describing Ralph Alter as a closet homosexual is akin to describing him as a man who knows how to properly construct HTML links.  Others may say, how can you imply that a man is secretly gay when he has a famously beautiful wife, two adoring children, and isn’t even a Republican?  Nevertheless, Ralph is an expert, so we owe it to ourselves to hear him out.

In the same sense that Toni Morrison claimed Bill Clinton was our first black president, Barack Obama could be thought of as another groundbreaker: our first female president. He displays every trope of femininity more than any female “who could ever be elected in our children’s lifetime” (to borrow Morrison’s phrase about Clinton).

I assume that he displays these feminine figures of speech using the dance language of Hula.

Obama is filled with sensitivity

Ralph, on the other hand, is filled with a creamy nougat.

(one might even say, empathy) he would rather talk than fight

As opposed to Bush, who would rather fight and lose a war, than talk and lose an argument.

…is highly (yet selectively) compassionate and to top it all off, he has a finely tuned sense of fashion.  B.O. attempts to collaborate with Europeans, South Americans, Muslims and nearly everyone except the citizens of red state America.

Well, to be fair, Europeans, South Americans, and Muslims aren’t always questioning his manhood or calling him a foreign-born Commie.  Plus, they’re less likely to smell like Right Guard and Lipton Soup Mix.

Oh, and his position on abortion and women’s rights is nearly identical to that of the Choicers at NARAL and NOW.

Just because the Pro-Life side is filled with men desperately trying to gain control of their opponents’ wombs doesn’t necessarily mean all of their opponents have one.

Ms. Magazine felt so simpatico with B.O. that he was featured on their special Inaugural issue cover

Wait, Ms. put a picture of the President on the cover of their Inaugural issue?  Who’s editing that piece of crap?

In addition, Obama has surrounded himself with women in most important security and foreign policy positions in his administration.  While some might choose to describe BO as our first metrosexual President, the clincher is that, consistent with all outward appearances, the Obama administration fights like a girl.

Whoa, you got your ass kicked by a girl?  That is weak, dude.  Look — let’s just tell everyone it was Wonder Woman who jumped you, or Xena, or even some random, pissed-off Amazon, ‘kay?

The Axis of Evil has certainly picked up on this.  Not a week goes by without Kim Jong-Il or Iran’s Ahmadinejad or  some other pipsqueak tin-pot wannabe figuratively bitch-slapping  the POTUS.  Every week another news story features another fascist thug playing the from the Three Stooges to .

As you see, Ralph carefully links to explanations of “bitch-slap,” “Moe,” and “Shemp,” so I guess he thinks we’re all girls, too.

Last week Little Kim East and the Mighty Mahmoud were like tag-team midget wrestlers ganging up on the sputtering Obie One.

As a side note, I’ve known a total of three people who felt the need to call everything and everyone by cute little nicknames — my mother, my grandma, and a girl I briefly dated in college who still kept stuffed animals on her bed.  Anyway Ralph, you were saying…?

Down South, Raul and Fidel Castro played their own brand of good cop/bad cop on our Dear Sensitive Leader, while their fellow Latin-American banana-republicans took turns exhorting President BO to join the Great Marxist Books Club and channeling Dennis Miller’s rants of yore with mucho hammering of America.

With the arsenal of the world’s sole remaining superpower  available to him, Obama sounds more like the U.N. Secretary General scrambling for the best euphemism to downplay each situation than a serious statesman with the greatest military and economic might on the planet to back him up.

The guy’s been in office over four months and he hasn’t started even one war yet!  And that guy Chavez gave him a book!  Hel-LO?  What the hell does this wimp need for a casus belli?!

No matter what other qualities our belligerent enemies might have, they are definitely men of action.  And regardless of our neophyte President’s desire to chat and make friends, the leaders of North Korea, Syria, Iran and Cuba remain our enemies.  No matter how many “stern warnings” and U.N. resolutions you can cook up with the gals down at the U.N. coffee klatch, these busy thugs will keep upping the ante precisely until action is taken against them.

If your erection lasts longer than four years, see your doctor.

Unfortunately, any meaningful action by this administration is highly unlikely, as Obama understands that many Democratic and independent voters, especially women, were eager to move from hard-power locker-room tactics to a soft-power sewing circle approach.

Real men stitch their trouser hems with automatic weapons.  While they’re wearing them.

Less towel-snapping and more towel color coordinating, less steroids and more sensitivity.

Remember, if your presidency isn’t a world-historical catastrophe, it means you’re a homo.

In comments, Li’l Innocent says, “Call me genderist, but I always want to see what guys who carry on this way look like. Would I (or anyone) WANT to towel-snap his bottom? Granted, I am not myself either Beyonce or Marilyn Monroe, to choose two ends of a possible icon-spectrum, but I don’t see why snooty objectifying of the other sex should be the exclusive province of grumpy unappealing males.”

Ralph Alter
In Anime they call this “Fanservice,” except you can’t see his panties.

Smell the Man Musk | 19 Comments »

We haven’t checked in with Dr. Professor Mike Adams, Ph.D, for awhile; let’s see who he’s pointing his sanctified Super Soaker at today, and hosing down with the high-pressure, pump-action Blood of the Lamb…

Recently, I received a rare student complaint over an e-mail I had sent to all my classes. In the e-mail, which welcomed all of my students back for a new semester, I characterized myself as an “outspoken Christian professor.”

Well, what first year student taking an Introduction to Criminal Justice course wouldn’t be relieved to know his or her instructor was an “outspoken Christian?”  Really, what could be more germane?  Plus, when you answer Dr. Professor Mike’s curiously invasive questionnaire, it’ll seem more like confessing to a priest than handing over potential blackmail material to a man with a history of harassing students via email and exposing their private correspondence in his Townhall column.

Questions from Dr. Mike’s syllabus:

PLEASE GIVE ME A LIST OF ALL THE MATERIALS IN YOUR TRASH CAN(S) AT HOME.  (No, I’m not kidding.)

Tell me about the worst thing you have ever done.  This may have been a felony or just a misdemeanor.  Maybe it was just something really deviant.

As I say, the potentially discomfited freshman shouldn’t think of Dr. Mike simply as a professor, but as an outspoken religious nut with a large gun collection who asks strangely intimate questions of his captive audience and blurs the line between academic freedom and proselytizing in an effort to provoke yet another confrontation with his superiors, thus providing fodder for future columns, and an excuse to file another lawsuit.

I admitted that I had been critical of some aspects of Darwinism and that I saw my students as more than mere “random mutations.” Finally, I said my Christian views would cause me to treat them differently – namely, by holding them all to a high standard that would help them find their purpose in life: a Divine purpose given to them by their Creator.

And revealed unto them by God’s Only Begotten Associate Professor of Sociology and Criminology.

The remarks in this e-mail were all couched within the context of the story of a former student of mine.

Remember, aspiring professors, it’s okay to foist your religious beliefs on the class so long as you soften it by publicly humiliating and betraying the confidence of a former student.  It breaks the ice, and puts everyone at ease.

Speaking of men who think they’re Catholic school nuns, Liberty University faculty member Stuart H. Schwartz believes the cure for homosexuality is country music and a trip to Mount Pilot:

God, Gays and Mayberry

The same-sex marriage push is not about sex, culture or, especially, loving relationships. It is about power, pure and simple, another front in the war of our elites on Judeo-Christian traditions.

Allowing gays access to marriage licenses is like handing fissile material to North Korea!

They view themselves as competing with God, who established marriage as a committed relationship between a man and a woman.

All those millions of pre-monotheism pagan marriages?  Just practice.

As laughable as that statement is to our elites, it is truth in a world where some of our most respected scientists have concluded that we seem “hard-wired for God.”

Belly buttons are just the Lord’s USB port.

Judeo-Christian traditions rest on a foundation of right and wrong, accompanied by many shades of gray addressed with the aid of generalized scriptural principles.

So you can get away with pretty much anything.

Rascal Flatts, the country group with a strong Christian foundation, summed up the real issue in plaintive lyrics reflecting on the direction in which our elites are pushing us, “I miss Mayberry… where everything is black and white.”

Except for the 1965-68 color episodes, with Emmett the Handyman and Howard Sprague.

Both God and Rascal Flatts agree: there is truth.

But beware, for Rascal is a jealous Flatts, and thou must have no other country music act before thee.

And, in the marriage debate, this is truth: by any standard, heterosexual relationships tend to work better than the alternatives.

Update:  That might not actually be the Gospel according to Rascal Flatts.  As our friend Bill S. pointed out in comments, they recently released a song that’s been interpreted as supportive of gay relationships, something the band encourages:

Rascal Flatts will release a new tune on iTunes Tuesday (March 24) called “Love Who You Love,” which was written as a reminder to show affection to the people closest to you. However, if you want to interpret it as a message of acceptance toward the gay community, that’s OK, too, according to the band.

“We actually have some gay people that work with us, and we have a lot of friends that are gay, too, and I know that this song has inspired them,” said singer Gary LeVox during an interview at CMT earlier this month. “I know that coming out was tough on their parents and on them and the whole entire family. For a long time, some of them didn’t get to hear ‘I love you’ from their dads or be accepted in that way. … It’s helped a lot of our friends.”

“That’s what’s cool about our music,” says guitarist Joe Don Rooney. “You can interpret (it like) that. If you get that — it’s perfect. If you are someone who’s gay or someone who’s straight, you still feel something from the song, and that’s what we want.”

“We don’t judge anybody’s lives,” says bassist Jay DeMarcus.

Meanwhile, back at Dr. Schwartz’s Mote Removal Service…

In the Judeo-Christian tradition, God is not simply a transcendental homophobe who gets his kicks from zapping the satellite feed for cable’s “Queer Eye for the Straight Guy.” Rather, he’s the guy who — having designed this place — helps us live a life that works. Homosexuality — like other behaviors, attitudes or values contrary to his guide to living, the Bible — generally does not work.

Maybe you’re just not doing it right.  Try more lube.

Blame God or Charles Darwin (if you believe the latter got us to this point)

I believe Darwin observed evidence of natural selection, I don’t actually believe he’s responsible for it. But go ahead…

…but that is the conclusion of decades of scientific and medical research.  Life expectancy for “gay and bisexual men is 8 to 20 years less than for all men,” conclude Canadian medical researchers.

To prove this, Stu links to a Canadian study designed to “assess how HIV infection and AIDS (HIV/AIDS) impacts on mortality rates for gay and bisexual men. METHODS: Vital statistics data were obtained for a large Canadian urban centre from 1987 to 1992.“  Twenty year old statistics, focusing on a five year period, and studying the effects of a terminal illness on mortality, doesn’t seem to have a lot to say about the general life expectancy of the average gay men, but then I was never very good at math.

Lifestyle makes a difference

Well, really any condom does, but we all have our favorites (I can personally recommend “Dual Pleasure” and “Kiss of Mint”).

…as homosexual men, are more involved in “rape, incest…sexual sadism and masochism” and are prone to “dehumanized sexual activity, sexual dysfunctions; (and) depressive disorders and panic attacks.”

That seems like a pretty strong accusation, but Stu backs it up by linking to an book chapter, and then lying about what it says because he figures you’re too lazy to click through and read it for yourself.  (For the record, this is the part he left out:  “Both heterosexual and homosexual borderline obsessive men manifest antisocial sexual behavior including rape, incest, and paraphilias such as sexual sadism and masochism.  Both experience driven, dehumanized sexual activity; sexual dysfunctions; and other psychiatric symptoms, syndromes, and disorders, such as depressive disorders and panic attacks.”  So, yeah, both straight and gay men who are mentally ill may be driven to do crazy or bad things.  Advantage: Bible!)

They are significantly less healthy, both mentally and physically, than heterosexuals and more likely to experience personality disorders.

For instance, they’re more likely to seek validation by joining the staff of a right wing website and making up defamatory shit about men who make them feel funny deep down in their Fruit of the Looms.  Poor, sick bastards…

Gay is not happy, to paraphrase the t-shirt  by a suburban Chicago public school district during its celebration of homosexuality. A University of Minnesota medical school study showed that 28% of bisexual/homosexual males reported suicide attempts compared to 4% of heterosexual males, concluding there is “a strong association between suicide risk and bisexuality or homosexuality in males.”

Or a strong association between suicide risk and being shamed, harassed, dehumanized, and assaulted.

American Thinker’s Kyle-Anne Shiver compares the behavior of gay activists in the public arena to “Bull Conner on a rampage with his fire hoses.”

Kyle-Anne’s symbolic dreams about gay sex aren’t really relevant to the discussion, but they are amusing, so we’ll let that pass.  We should, however, point out that Kyle Anne is well known around Wo’C (see here and here), so citing her as an authority on anything may not be your quickest route to credibility.

But the fire hoses are not only manned by gays. The mainstream left delights in hosing down traditionalists.

Yeah, um, Dr. Schwartz?  Meet Dr. Freud.

If it were about compassion, traditional marriage advocates would not be consistently ridiculed in the mainstream media.

If only gays didn’t want to get married, husbands on sitcoms would be smarter.

It is about power…and the rhetorical fire hose is the chief weapon.

All right, come on, now!  I’ve tried to be nice about the bukkake thing, but this is getting a bit much…!

In Mayberry, results count and compassion dominates.

I thought conservatives wanted strict constructionist Justices of the Peace, and were opposed to results-oriented Mayberrys.

The gay issue is a microcosm of a larger set of issues. It is not about solving problems, or individual peace and fulfillment. It is about control…achieved by destroying Mayberry.

I thought it was only the sanctity of marriage and the traditional family that was in danger — now I’ve gotta worry about queers rhetorically firehosing Goober and Aunt Bea?  I say we draw a line in the sand, and defend Mayberry unto our dying breath!  This far, and no farther!  No Pasaran!

But the gays can have Mayberry RFD. That really blew.

Smell the Man Musk | 31 Comments »

Lars Larson. Erik Erickson. Douchebag Douchebageson. It’s a thing now.
–Jay B.

I was up all night with a bad cold, so it’s possible my reading skills have been impaired by sleeplessness and the ghost of a NyQuil hangover, but it seems that over at Red State, Erick the Pantomime Viking has just appointed Rush Limbaugh the new Son of Man, and dismissed Simon Peter as a pussy.  Also, we must never forget that David Frum is a carrion bird, while Erick himself is a beautiful swan.

Peter, under pressure and fear, denied Christ not just once, but three times. Peter, though, feared death. The strain on Peter was great. The rest of us, though, typically fear the opinions of others.

There are those who like it when we feel guilty for associating with someone. More troubling, in the conservative movement and in the greater right-of-center coalition, there are many, many fellow traveller who would rather spend their time throwing their own under the bus than fighting the left.

Guilt is for Christian martyrs, not manly commanders of virtual Strike Forces.

Their typical means of ostracism is to condemn the rest of us for daring to say nice things about them. Reasons abound for this. Many of these weak minded fools are not really fellow travelers. Like a vulture flying in flock with swans, they benefit from the work the rest of us are doing to gain themselves credibility. The media plays along calling the vultures swans so others, they hope, see ugly ducklings around the vultures instead of swans.

I’m not exactly sure what Erick is trying to say here, but I’m fairly certain that if you exhumed Hans Christian Anderson right now, you could use his corpse as an industrial lathe.

The incidents of late with Rush Limbaugh, Mark Levin, Dick Cheney, and others is why I raise this. Putting it bluntly, were these guys on the left, their fellow leftists would at best be cheering them on and at worst silently nodding along. There wouldn’t be any on that side rushing to the nearest microphone to condemn them.

Yeah, remember when constant pressure from the media finally forced Obama to denounce Reverend Wright?  Of course you don’t — because it didn’t happen!

Compare that to the right, where they actually are. A large number of us are standing up to express our support for them and we’re met by derision from our own side. “Are you supporting what Mark Levin said to that woman?” one might ask derisively. Whether I am or not is not the point. The point is Mark Levin does a hell of a lot more for the cause than pretty much anyone asking the question, so shut the hell up and leave him alone.

Well, every Brittany needs a .

As an aside, perhaps an even greater bother are the high minded types on our side who condemn any level of aggressive activism because it is icky, mean, or beneath us. There is a war going on. We fight. Suck it up.

You know, I never thought of it that way.  But I guess this really is a war.  And writing bum-sucking apologias about talk radio celebrities qualifies as combat in pretty much the same way that finishing the last level of Medel of Honor: European Assault entitles me to take a salute from a general officer.

“All have sinned and fall short of the glory of God,” Romans 3:23 reminds us. We are all apt to say something or do something on occasion we may later regret. Those who deny this are the ones we should not listen to. That there are those on the right willing to ignore this for personal gain by pushing aside faithful warriors in the fight for freedom should make us all cringe. That we ourselves are sometimes apt to do it should make us shudder.

I guess I’d be more inclined to think of you guys as “warriors” if you weren’t always cringing and shuddering like Don Knotts in The Ghost and Mr. Chickenhawk.

Peter denied Christ three times. Our goal should be to not deny Christ and also to not deny the valuable members of our own movement.

For as we read in John 7:53:

And the scribes and Pharisees brought unto him a woman taken in adultery; and when they had set her in the midst, They say unto him, Master, this woman was taken in adultery, in the very act.  Now Moses in the law commanded us, that such should be stoned: but what sayest thou?

And Jesus said, Answer me this, are you a married woman? Yes or no?

And the woman said Yes, Lord.

And Jesus said unto the Woman, Well I don’t know why your husband doesn’t put a gun to his temple. Get the hell out of here.

The vultures in our mist are typically the ones squawking loudest about other conservatives instead of the leftists out to destroy the country.

Even Dian Fossey, who studied and loved the Vultures in the Mist, was irritated by their willingness to throw Mark Levin under the bus.

Smell the Man Musk | 14 Comments »