It’s been awhile since we’ve heard from professional Young Conservative Christian Hartsock. A quick glance at the archives shows he last bubbled to the surface of Wingnuttia back in 2006, when he was seen here, denouncing sluts, and here, complaining about “infanticidal whores” defiling his otherwise pristine (and now defunct) website, christianhartsock.com. In the interim, Young Master Hartsock has shot to fame as a film school graduate, writing and directing such pictures as They Eyes Was Watchin’ Gawd (technically not a film, but a “mock adaptation of Zora Neal[sic] Hurston’s novel Their Eyes Were Watching God“). But even though he’s been reduced to panning the tainted sluice of Tinsel Town like the rest of us glory-seekers, he hasn’t succumbed to the anti-American values so common to the industry, as one can plainly see from his resume photo:
Christian Hartsock demonstrates his immunity to the sexual importunings of a typical Hollywood skank.
And fans of Christian’s punditry will be pleased to hear that he’s keeping his rapier wit sharp on the whetstone of RenewAmerica, just in case his masterful command of Negro dialect doesn’t translate into a career as the pasty white Tyler Perry.
MSNBC’s Chris Matthews once vented to Don Imus his cumulative frustration with presidents who own ranches, huffing: “I want a guy to run for President who doesn’t have a f**king — I’m sorry, a ranch. Wouldn’t that be good, Don, a guy who wasn’t on the ranch during Katrina, he was on the street corner answering questions?” To which Imus replied, “Why are you swearing?”
To Matthews’ credit, virtually every modern president has laid claim to a ranch — even including the current guy who was on the street corner begging for “change.”
This is a good example of what separates your average barstool philosopher from a professional online opinion columnist — a gimlet-eyed perspective that penetrates the dull patina of quotidian life. Whereas you and I may look at Barack Obama and see the prospect of a modest improvement over the previous eight years, Master Hartsock looks at the president and sees Wino Bob, the homeless guy who lives in the oleander bush behind the 7-Eleven.
There was the Reagan Ranch in Santa Barbara, Bush’s Crawford Ranch in West Texas, and Barack Obama’s relatively new, more sprawling cattle ranch — most commonly referred to as the “mainstream media.”
One would think Matthews’ irritations would have doubled rather than subsided — if only he weren’t himself one of the ranch hands delivering the Kool-Aid-flavored milk to a mouth-watered public via the airwaves of the establishment news media. Moreover, Obama’s ranch bears less resemblance to the aforementioned presidential ranches, and is more reminiscent of the Jonestown farm or the Spahn Movie Ranch.
That’s the great thing about a bad metaphor — you can pretty much take it anywhere.
In addition, the winged creatures of Obama’s farm are mostly tropical — bearing stark resemblance to the exotic parrot what with their impulsive, redundant utterances of rhetorical talking points that are conveniently proportionate to the standard 3.5′ x 11″ bumper sticker format.
For a transcript of this metaphor, write to Department of Aphasia, Pueblo, Colorado.
It doesn’t matter that the recent incessant battle cries of the left the past few years (i.e. “Change,” “Hope,” “Progress,” “Bush Lied, People Died!”, “War for Oil,” etc.) were groundless, meaningless axioms tossed like breadcrumbs to a swarming, starving, pigeon-like public—
–pigeons who are also parrots. And cows. And the Manson Family. Oh, and they’re mouth-watered, too.
the fact that they were repeated ad nauseaum was enough to sustain merit. When it comes to liberal political rhetoric, repetition outrivals reality.
While I’m sure English is Christian’s mother tongue, it’s plain to see he’s no mama’s boy. Anyway, to be fair, I think we should pause here to note that Christian has gone 5 paragraphs without calling us Nazis. That, along with his smiling rebuff of the Smoochy Skank, represents a remarkable display of gentlemanly restraint.
Contemporary liberals are not to be credited with the pioneering of this brilliant reductive propaganda tactic, but rather their ideological ancestors. Indeed, the Nazis were remarkably skillful in reinventing conventional wisdom to accommodate the national agenda; loudening and repeating the rhetorical drumbeat in fierce competition with the human cognitive receptivity span so as to leave zero leftover capacity therein for logical deductive evaluation.
Okay, so he didn’t call us Nazis, he just accused us of stealing the Nazis’ intellectual property. And personally, I’m offended. He thinks his cognitive receptivity span has zero leftover capacity now, just wait till the rest of the liberals hear about this. Then there’ll be a loudening.
Within eight years the liberal folk tales about how George W. Bush stole the 2000 election, used 9/11 as an excuse to hold the nation hostage and erect an imperialist, colonialist empire, et cetera, were so securely stapled in the common mind by the liberal noise machine that few had the energy to actually think for themselves.
“But how can I staple minds without my noise machine…”
Hegemonic liberal mythology has frighteningly become to America what Scientology is to Hollywood: So pervasively practiced and casually embraced that its practitioners never seem to work up the incentive to register that they are worshiping an alien galactic ruler named Xenu.
So Obama has gone from homeless panhandler to homicidal galactic overlord? Jay & the Americans were right! This is the land of opportunity!
Were it not for the science fiction fantasy that’s been thrust upon us in the wake of Obama, George W. Bush would be written in history books as a hero who successfully spared his nation any sequels to 9/11, resurrected an image of national strength unseen since the Reagan years (systematically undone by Bill Clinton and usurped by an image of “paper tigers” — to quote Osama bin Laden’s description of Americans in 1993), and liberated Iraq from a mass-murdering, terrorist-funding serial rapist with a perennial grudge against our nation. But this is only if liberals weren’t the ones, well, writing the history books.
Yeah, but History is written by the winners. Sorry, Christian.
Indeed, it will be and has been the liberal revisionist machine that writes the history books, teaches the history classes, makes the “historical” movies and reports the news that any leader who candidly and unflinchingly recognizes the clear and present threats relevant to those given times are and were the black-hat-sporting cowboys on the dark horses of history.
Wait, I’m lost. Are we still Nazi Scientologist historians with mind-control staplers, or are we in a western now?
Senator Joe McCarthy recognized the horrifically real Soviet spy infestation within the highest levels of American government and is now literally written in textbooks as a reckless drunk who ruined lives and destroyed reputations —
But anyway, it’s good to have a role model.
As in McCarthy’s day, using the term “communist,” “socialist,” or “Marxist” is pervasively ridiculed and dismissed as “extremist” and “antiquated” by the same people who casually employ terms like “racist,” “theocrat,” and “fascist” to describe Republicans.
Yes, turns out the Blacklist was off-white, at most, and the “Red Scare,” was really more like a Jaycees haunted house.
When local WFTV Florida anchor Barbara West gave Joe Biden his first and only opportunity to explain to a perplexed public how Obama’s Marxist-Socialist tax plan was not really a Marxist-Socialist tax plan (as opposed to posing questions like “How does it feel to know you are going to win this election?”), Biden laughed in her face for using the term “Marxist,” indignantly stormed off the set and subsequently sent a snobbish, cowardly letter to WFTV relieving them of their precious privileges to be graced with the Obama/Biden ticket’s presence. (WFTV should have responded by sending Biden a “Get Well Soon” card from Hallmark.)
Yes, imagine how that would have stung.
While George W. Bush moved mountains to fulfill his 2000 campaign promises to “change the tone” in Washington amongst an obstinate liberal elite — liberals’ approach to “changing the tone” in Washington is amplifying their noise volume and dismissively muffling any audible dissent as inconvenient obstacles to “hope.”
They objected to moving the mountains by a process of extraordinary rendition.
But there is no hope for a nation that would be as fiendishly disrespectful to its leader for eight years during a time of war.
Speaking of the Nazis, they remained respectful to their leader right up until the moment he shot his mistress then blew his brains out. I trust you liberals are suitably abashed.
There is no hope for a people that would so nakedly and vulnerably throw themselves at a political candidacy such as Obama’s like an emotionally wounded, sexually frustrated harlot on the rebound spreading her knees for some seductive, womanizing prowler on a blind date.
I’m not sure, but I believe Christian thinks he just had sex with us.
To those who derisively snickered about Bush’s 2000 campaign promise to “change the tone” in Washington and to be a “uniter — not a divider”: I blame you.
This essay is sort of like Zola’s J’accuse if it were written by the doll from Child’s Play.
Bush’s unappreciated across-the-aisle diplomacy the past eight years was met with zero cooperation on your part, but with a sinister urge to exploit his inalterable graciousness that became is ultimate weakness, so much so that by his second term he was literally issuing humiliating apologies to you people for “mistakes” such as hurting our terrorist enemies’ feelings by saying “bring ‘em on.” I blame you for tyrannically exploiting the kind, diplomatic nature of a strong, heroic leader by manipulatively coercing him into replacing his cowboy hat with a kitchen apron.
So if I’m still following Master Hartsock correctly, at this point in the narrative, he’s James Dean from Rebel Without A Cause, we’re his castrating bitch of a mother, and George W. Bush is a more effeminate Thurston Howell. Oh, and we’re tearing…him…APART….!
I blame the people who stubbornly refused to concede defeat in the 2000 election yet were jumping at the bit to concede defeat in Iraq within the first few weeks of the invasion; exhausting every resource available to undermine our troops’ morale and our commander-in-chief’s credibility during a time of war. [...] But the instant a Republican entered office insisting that he was “tired of swatting flies” and pressed for a competent response to Iraq, liberals decided that was a no-no, and would do whatever they could to upstage his efforts; innocently and cluelessly asking: “What WMDs?”
This kind of reminds me of the scene in What’s Up Tiger Lily where Shepard Wong, attempting to rally the band of Japanese spies, shouts “Banzai!” while everyone else groans, and Lovable Phil Moscowitz sighs wearily, “Banzai…Will someone please tell him…?”
Any “divisiveness” suffered by this country was liberals’ fault. Not Bush’s. But now that the media have made up their minds as to the “disgraced” mark Bush will have left on American history for standing up for us and keeping us safe for seven years following 9/11, the rest of us are left to wonder where the Uniting Savior Obama will leave his mark — on our right hands or our foreheads?
So Obama is either Hitler or the God of the Old Testament. Choose wisely.
And as serious students of crappy cinema know, this is the exact plot of the 1957 B-movie Untamed Youth, which was featured in the first season of Mystery Science Theater 3000. The only difference seems to be that the teens involved were not forced to pick cotton, and did not respond by dancing around the plantation bunkhouse singing “Oobala Baby” in their underwear, like Mamie Van Doren. Mores the pity.
Rick Moran, the proprietor of Right Wing Nuthouse, is a swinging stag straight out of Playboy After Dark; cool, confident, debonair, desired by women and respected by men. An alpha male with his pick of the pride; a smooth, seductive, irresistible Casanova who won’t abide the company of any dame who fails to meet his exacting standards of pulchritude, even if her presence in his home is brief, and due solely to her guest starring role in a TV action show he obsessively summarizes for his 
