Riley:

“I like you. I’m going to kill you last.”

And Moondoggie:

“My ear itches…Why?”

Wild Things | 3 Comments »

“Well I bet I can turn that Orange Julius head of yours the color of an eggplant if I squeeze your nuts hard enough.”

“Jesus — no wonder you pronounce it BAY-ner. I bet I could load these in a BB gun…”

For No Good Reason | 4 Comments »

Back in 2007, while filing one of her periodic scouting reports, s.z. flagged James Lewis as a Wingnut to Watch. Then, for reasons unknown — I suspect a rare eruption of the self-preservation instinct, or, more likely, the gag reflex — we promptly forgot about him. But as it happens, I was wandering around Pajamas Media today when James emerged from his burrow and saw his shadow, which means we’re in for at least six more paragraphs of stupid.

Why Sarah Palin May Save America

Politics is the art of the impossible

Bismarck is feeling a little pessimistic today.

…the last resort of fools, scam artists, prostitutes of all kinds, low-lifes, crooks, and fanatics. Look at Washington, D.C. It’s pretty damned obvious, right?

You may say it’s impossible to hire a hooker in Washington, James, but I say: David Vitter has dreamed the possible dream!

Which is why Sarah Palin is so important to America’s well-being now and maybe for decades to come. The fact is that Obama is going to hang around for a long time, even if he gets defeated in 2012 — like Jimmy Carter, another egregious bankrupt of the left who won’t walk off the stage. Jimmy turned out to be quite an evil man after he wiped off that big phony smile.

Remember when it was still possible for these people to be satirized by The Simpsons?

Obama is going to be hanging on like a bad case of mononucleosis for decades to come. He has just signaled his real position in the political world by telling us that corrupt old Harry Reid is “on the right side of history,” in spite of all the nasty stuff he routinely commits.

Evil men commit stuff. Choosy mothers choose Jif. You people would know this if you’d studied up on natural law.

That is a pure, leftist definition of goodness. In this way of reckoning, Stalin and Lenin are “on the right side of history” — except maybe for killing 100,000,000 innocent human beings.

Because if there’s one thing we remember Lenin for, it’s bailing out Wall Street. By the way, Mr. Lewis’s bio says he’s “a scientist by trade, and carps as a hobby about the passing parade of human fraud and folly,” so one would assume he’s pretty good with numbers. But 100,000,000 seems a bit high, at a time when even Robert Conquest has reduced Stalin’s estimated death toll to somewhere south of twenty million. And that seems more than sufficient for monsterhood — hell, twenty people makes for an unusually productive serial killer — so I remain a bit confused over why why these guys feel the need to inflate already genocidal numbers. But then, I think My Lai was horrifying, so when it comes to body count, I’m apparently easy to please.

You can get away with a lot of bad stuff if you are on Obama’s “right side of history.”

Well, Obama was specifically referring to Reid’s support of voting rights, and that’s not as easy to get away with since they started using those Diebold machines.

The good part is that in the coming years, Obama will haunt the Democrats most of all. No Democrat will be able to run without the emperor’s gracious nod. They’re all going to be like Hillary, begging for Obama’s favors, and they’re going to hate it.

So Obama will be a failed, one term president like Carter, and like Carter, he will continue to rule the Democratic Party for life? But that’s not fair — we only just escaped the iron-fisted dictatorship of Michael Dukakis!

That’s the fun part. On the other side, Obama is going to throw regular hatfuls of bat guano at the rest of us for decades to come.

It’ll take awhile for Obama to get to everybody, so just be patient, and when he finally does swing by with your stingy-brim fedora full of batshit, make sure you’re standing in the front yard so when the guano drips off your pants and shirt it’ll fertilize the St. Augustine.

We are all on Obama’s wrong side of history.

It’s like the climax of Spartacus, except we’re all yelling, “I’m Strom Thurmond!”.

So America will need a headliner to counter Obama’s famous brand of demagogy.

I suggest master magician Lance Burton.

Sarah Palin can do it.

See Rich Lowry’s dream journal.

But why Palin and not any of the other candidates? Because Sarah Palin appeals in a more-than-rational way to all of us.

Her winking makes me feel extra rational!

You can make policy arguments for Palin as a GOP president. She is a solid, substantive, conservative thinker.

This is a bit off-topic, but for some reason I suddenly find myself wondering what James’ discipline is. Molecular mesmerism? Political chiromancy? Nuclear-phlogistonics?

She is open-minded about facts

Very. After all, there’s no point in closing the brain door after the facts have run away.

unlike the current president — who just blocks out any evidence that doesn’t fit his mental party line. The Democrats will never have an original thought. They can only switch from one demagogic cliche to another one.

“By the way, I’m going to be using the word ‘demagogue’ a lot…”

But like Ronald Reagan, Palin adds something rare and special to a substantive understanding of life and politics.

Nice ‘n Easy Medium Neutral Brown?

The left voted for Obama because he was black and looked cute on TV.

That certainly explains why Will Smith was President of the United States from 1990 to 1996. But I’m a little surprised to discover that “the left” comprises 52.7 percent of the country. I should have listened to Norbiz…

Their campaign was pure rock star; there was no substance at all. It might have been Michael Jackson up there and they would have gone gaga just the same.

They think in sociological categories: black (check!), male (check!), cute (check!).

That’s also how I order sushi.

Okay, so casting a vote for someone who looks good on TV is stupid, got it.

Well, Sarah Palin happens to be an articulate

You betcha!

…conservative woman who also looks good on TV, thereby defeating all of the left’s stereotypes at a single glance.

Unless the stereotype you happen to be thinking of is “conservative women who look good on TV,” in which case you should just switch over to Fox News, where, by a bizarre coincidence, you’ll find Sarah Palin.

Add her eloquence and Reaganesque sense of confidence in her principles…

Astro-graphology? Hollow Earth Geophysics? Quantum Dowsing?

After all, the left claims to own all the women, blacks, gays, and kids as a matter of entitlement.

Bush’s “ownership society” really kinda got out of hand, didn’t it?

Everybody else is a “traitor to their race,” as they said about Justice Thomas.

Clarence Thomas: Lawyer. Supreme Court Justice. And every conservative’s imaginary friend.

Or to their gender. On the left you can be a traitor to everything except your country.

I think James is loyal to his country, but a traitor to his species.

The feminist lynch mob went into screech mode when Palin hit the national headlines, and they haven’t stopped yet.

I’m glad right wing pundits have overcome their habit of trivializing the ineradicable shame of lynching, and now only use it as a demeaning rhetorical device on special occasions, like Thirsty Thursdays.

You have to go back to the “high-tech lynching” of Clarence Thomas to find them tearing off their smiley faces so blatantly.

Once Jimmy Carter taught liberals how to tear off their smiley masks for maximum effect, every Congressional hearing turned into the finale of Phantom of the Opera.

They really hate any of the designated victims if they dare to act as individuals.

Exactly! If you avail yourself of affirmative action programs, and then try to prevent anyone who follows you from doing the same, people should really respect your individuality.

Clarence Thomas coined the phrase “high-tech lynching” when he was viciously assaulted for being uppity — by being nominated for the Supreme Court as a conservative. It’s like “driving while conservative”: you’re automatically damned in the media.

Since being voted out of power is the moral equivalent of being denied the right to vote, it’s clear that no one better understands the struggle of Black folks than the Republican Party. If there was any justice in the world, they would have transferred John Mayer’s hood pass to James Lewis.

Justice Thomas knows what hatred looks like, having been born in the Deep South in the Jim Crow years. That’s what he saw during his nomination battle. It was a hard experience.

Clarence Thomas is Emmett Till with a better porn collection.

Personally I like Palin for her ideas, but then I’m a policy wonk.

And I just read Playboy for the indicia.

The left fears her for her looks, charm, and eloquence. She leaves them sputtering in helpless rage.

Actually, that was just a spit take, but go on…

You can watch it happen. It’s sort of fun if you can handle the sight of real, unvarnished hatred. It’s easier to laugh at it if you keep in mind that she can handle a shotgun.

Because Governor Palin’s ideas are best delivered at 1200 feet per second.

Sarah Palin is America’s anti-Obama is so many ways

James, when you’re right, you’re right.

and the libs feel this emotionally long before their brains get into gear. We have a new crop of promising conservative candidates, but we don’t seem to have any other charismatic conservatives today. They tend to come along only once in a generation.

Much like the Black Plague used to.

Governor Palin may need to learn more before running for the top position in the country. I don’t have any strong views on that. She learns fast, as we can see from the liberal obsession with her. They can’t stop giving her headlines.

We’re going to be cutting basic reading and math classes in elementary schools, but we’ll make up for it by giving the kids more headlines.

What’s the bottom line? She has to be on the GOP national ticket in 2012, because people instinctively recognize her as one of us.

Gooble, gobble, gooble, gobble!

Can I Peek Under Your Hood? | 34 Comments »

RenewAmerica seems to attract more than its share of conspiracy theorists, which is why I love it so, but even I have to admit that regular contributor Chuck Baldwin is a principled, fair-minded man who is careful to degrade neither himself nor his audience with such moonstruck ramblings. Instead, Chuck uses his expertise as a perennial Constitution Party candidate for Vice President and President, the pastor of a self-founded church, and a man who once thought about being a cop, to thoroughly debunk anti-conspiracy theorists, such as Glenn Beck. This week, Chuck examines the case of an Austin, Texas man who deliberately crashed a private plane into an office building, and points out that the real tragedy is the loss of a potential Chuck Baldwin voter.

I wish Joe Stack had not killed himself!

All of us are now aware of the Texas man who yesterday flew his private plane into a 7-story Austin office building. Apparently, he intentionally crashed his plane into the building to target the IRS offices that were housed inside the facility.

As I am writing this column just hours after the event took place, there has not yet been a lot of time for the major news media talking heads to spin the story. By the time this column is released on Friday, however, I’m sure we will all have been inundated with copious references to this man, Joe Stack, as being “off his rocker,” or similar assertions. Perhaps our friends at DHS will label Stack a “right-wing domestic terrorist.”

Chuck, employing the kind of keen deductive logic you’d expect from a man with two honorary degrees, has proven that FEMA is busy constructing a sprawling network of concentration camps, by looking out the window of an airplane: “I was aboard a cross-country flight when the passenger I was sitting next to (a total stranger) asked me to take a look out the window. He asked, ‘Do those look like internment camps to you?’” Q.E.D.

However, Mr. Stack apparently left behind a “suicide manifesto” explaining his actions. After carefully reading Stack’s manifesto, I am quite convinced that he was not crazy, and he was not a “terrorist.”

He just tried to make a political point by flying an airplane into a building.

However, he was angry.

Good thing he wasn’t driving.

“Don’t drive angry!”

A lot of us are angry — and for many of the same reasons that Mr. Stack was angry! While I would certainly take exception to some of the things Stack says in his manifesto, he said things that many of us are feeling.

Thing such as, “Banzai!“

According to Stack’s manifesto, he earned an engineering degree with the goal of becoming an “independent engineer.” He said this about working his way through college: “I was living on peanut butter and bread (or Ritz crackers when I could afford to splurge) for months at a time.”

I know that feeling! My wife and I married between my sophomore and junior years of college, and for months we had a grand total of $15 a week to spend on groceries. And believe me: that did not go very far — not even in 1974. How many politicians on Capitol Hill do you think could even remotely relate to Mr. Stack?

Well, if Mr. Stack wasn’t spending all that money on aviation fuel and a private aircraft he probably could have afforded the crunchy kind of peanut butter.

Stack later said, “I decided that I didn’t trust big business to take care of me, and that I would take responsibility for my own future and myself.”

I know how he feels. It’s late afternoon already and Exxon Mobil still hasn’t brought me a juice box.

Wow! What a revolutionary idea: taking responsibility for yourself!

It’s exactly like those school programs where children spend a week treating an egg as though it were an infant in order to learn about parental responsibility, except with more murder and suicide.

Now I know that practically no one on Capitol Hill can relate to Mr. Stack!

If the Republican leadership replaced the filibuster with kamikaze attacks on the Capitol, we might have a little more accountability in Congress. So Vote Constitution Party! Our ideas are nutty and unworkable, but our frequent suicide attacks on our colleagues makes term limits kind of moot!

In what was obviously a reference to what he was about to do, he wrote, “Nothing changes unless there is a body count.” … Stack wrapped up his manifesto by saying, “Well, Mr. Big Brother IRS man, let’s try something different; take my pound of flesh and sleep well.”

My heart goes out to Joe Stack! … We all share Joe Stack’s pain!

The fact that Chuck doesn’t seem to be sharing the pain of the the thirteen people who were injured — two critically — or the family of the victim who died in the attack leads me to conclude that those people are just being really selfish with their pain.

I really wish Joe Stack had not killed himself, however. We need each other. By taking his life, he reduced our strength. The global elites delight in our demise. As we grow weaker, they grow stronger.

Not to go all Jonah Goldberg, but this lament sounds vaguely reminiscent of that Star Trek episode where William Windom hijacked a shuttlecraft and launched a suicide attack on that planet-killing machine that looked like a giant Bugles corn snack, while Kirk tried to talk him down…

“Matt, you’re a star ship commander, that makes you a valuable commodity. We need you. Your experience, your judgment. Matt — We’re stronger with you than without you!”

Except he was a bit of a wuss and only killed himself.

But the fight is not over; the battle is not lost! Rumblings of freedom’s revival can be felt across the length and breadth of this nation.

Oh, wait — that was just the impact. “It felt like a bomb blew off,” said Peggy Walker, an IRS revenue officer who was sitting at her desk. “The ceiling caved in and windows blew in. We got up and ran.”

The clanging of liberty’s resolve can be heard in hamlets and villages from Montana to South Carolina. There are still millions of us — from virtually every walk of life — who will not surrender our liberties without a fight! And we have not yet begun to fight!

Well, that’s good. Because if you only begin to fight after you’ve died in a fireball of your own devising, then even if they can prop you up in a convertible for the victory parade, all that ticker tape and confetti will probably just stick to your burns.

So, to the rest of us Joe Stacks out there: let’s not fly our planes into buildings. Let’s not end our lives prematurely. Instead, get mad; get organized; get educated; start equipping your heart, mind, and body for the battle ahead. Let’s fight; let’s study; let’s prepare; let’s make every would-be tyrant on Capitol Hill and Wall Street know that we are not going to sit back and let them steal our country. Let’s send a message, in no uncertain terms, that if they want our pound of flesh, they are going to have to come and get it —

Joe’s mistake was that he delivered his pound of flesh, which just made his victims lazy and spoiled.

and if they do, it’s going to cost them a whole lot more than a pound of theirs!

“Dr. Baldwin is Founder-Pastor of Crossroads Baptist Church in Pensacola, Florida, and holds the Charles Whitman Chair at Holy Crosshairs Seminary.”

Oh, Joe! I wish you had not killed yourself.

Why is it we seem to tell the terrorists in our lives how much they mean to us only when it’s too late?

My Country Right, Wrong or Decline to State | 44 Comments »

Wo’C Cultural Correspondent Bill S. takes us down to Funky Town by way of Electric Avenue, because the inbound I-94 is usually a mess this time of day…

Hey Folks!

If you think CPAC is nothing but a bunch of old, white bigots, lemme drop some knowledge on you:

Here’s a vision for this year’s Conservative Political Action Conference: outside, Lou Dobbs is waxing cranky on the country’s economic decline. Inside, the hip crowd will be playing video games, watching movies, eating snacks, and listening to rap music.

Organizers say the conference, which kicks off Thursday in Washington, has had a large college contingent for years now.

…who get bored very easily, which is understandable. And hungry too.

But they are making an extra push to to attract that crowd with youth oriented talks and the addition of something called the XPAC lounge-a room one organizer dubbed, “the hub of fun.”

That’s where the video games and junk food will be.

The XPAC lounge is the brainchild of Kevin McCullough (’nuff said) and actor Stephen Baldwin, who ceased to be interesting or useful the day he stopped baring his ass in movies. Just the sort of guys who can relate to our nation’s youth. In that they have the combined mental age of a 12 year old. But that’s not all…

There’ll be a distinct conservative component, no doubt. Icons of the right like Ann Coulter and Republican National Comittee chairman Michael Steele are expected to speak there and work the room.

Well, if that doesn’t draw the youngsters, nothing will. I’ve never thought of Coulter as an “icon” — she’s more like a hood ornament. Still, it should be exciting; I’ll bet when she stands in the glow of the video games, you can see her internal organs. And if Michael Steele plays “Dance Revolution,” please, please let there be video footage.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if somebody of Joe the Plumber stature came in three times a day to come in and rally the kids,” CPAC spokesman Ian Walters said.

Oh, neither would I.

But organizers are putting a premium on the fun factor…It will be the scene of a late-night “rap/jam session” on Thursday and a conservative comedy lineup on Friday.

Something tells me the “rap/jam” session will be funnier than the comedy lineup.

[CPAC director] Lisa De Pesquale said conservatives in general are starting to get back in the game of attracting young people-and suggested they make up a vibrant counterculture on college campuses…”To be a rebel on campus, you have to be a conservative”

Ben Shapiro’s a rebel and he’ll never ever be any good. Really. Never. Ever.

McCullough said young conservatives are plenty capable of being active in the movement, particularly with new media. He said they just need to be “empowered.”

Instead of merely entitled.

He cited James O’Keefe and Hannah Giles, activists both in their 20′s known for their ACORN sting operation last year.

‘Nuff…said.

If those are the kind of assholes they want to attract, then I say, keep ‘em distracted with video games and rap music for as long as possible.

But these attempts to appeal to youth culture are nothing new. Back in 1965, when Barry McGuire topped the charts with , a song that touched on troubling events of the day like the threat of nuclear war, the War Over Water, Bloody Sunday and the Kennedy assassination. a trio called The Spokesmen felt the need to offer an alternative point of view. The result was “The Dawn of Correction,” and answer record to “Eve of Destruction.” To fully appreciate depth of their accomplishment, you have to watch this video from Hollywood A-Go-Go:

I especially like the trio of improv dancers in the background. For those who didn’t follow them, here are the lyrics:

The western world has a common dedication
To keep people free from Red domination
And maybe you can’t vote boy, but man your battle stations
Or there’ll be no need for votin’ in future generations.

Sure, you could get your head blown off just a few months out of high school. But that’s the sacrifice you should be willing to make for your grandki — oh. never mind.

So over and over again you keep sayin’ it’s the end.
But I say you’re wrong, we’re just on the dawn of correction.

In “Eve of Destruction,” the refrain is “over and over again, my friend.” But these guys know who they’re addressing and wisely leave the “friend” part out.

There are buttons to push in two mighty nations
But who’s crazy enough to risk annihilation?
The buttons are there to ensure negotiation
So don’t be afraid boy, it’s our only salvation.

I think the Holy Hand Grenade is more effective. And I’m confused: in the first verse you were saying the Russkies are threatening us with world domination, and now you’re saying we really shouldn’t worry about it, because they’re not crazy enough to actually nuke us?

So over and over again you keep sayin’ it’s the end
But I say you’re wrong, we’re just on the dawn of correction.

You tell me that marches won’t bring integration
But look what it’s done for voter registration
Be thankful our country allows demonstrations

In another country, you’d go to jail for going out in public and peacefully protesting. So shut the fuck up and go home.

Instead of condemnin’, make some recommendations

Here’s one: burn your guitar.

I don’t understand the cause of your aggravation

Selma, Alabama. It’s right in the lyrics, dumbass.

You mean to tell me, Boy, it’s not a better situation?

I could explain why “boy” in this context is insulting, but I don’t want to step on Bob Roberts’ toes here.

So over and over again you keep sayin’ it’s the–

Ah, you know the rest.

You missed all the good in your evaluation
What about the things that deserve commendation?

Someone explain the concept of a “protest song” to this guy.

Where there once was no cure, there’s vaccination
Where there once was a desert, there’s vegetation
Self-government’s replacing colonization
What about the Peace Corp. organizations?
Don’t forget the work of the United Nations

Or National Lampoon’s European Vacation
And the joy of sexual liberation
Even if you’re single, there’s still mastur–

So over and over again you keep sayin’ it’s the end
But I say you’re wrong, we’re just on the dawn of correction.

And there you have it. The single entered the charts in September of 1965, rocketed all the way to #36, and then vanished like the Titanic two weeks later.

As for the band that propelled that song to the middle of the charts, well, I have no idea what happened to them. Anyone care to venture a guess?

–Bill S.

Guest Column | 15 Comments »

We haven’t checked in with Pastor Swank for awhile, but it appears he’s still busy expanding the Urban Dictionary.

Reps: learn from tea baggers

It’s official: we now have a pastoral dispensation for scrotum-dipping.

The Tea Party Nation represents healthy-raw, committed patriotism. What a breath of fresh air.

It is, in fact, a naked breath of unpasteurized air-raw!

So the Reps had better keep their mitts off the Nation.

However, the Nation is still free to molest Mitt, although it’s kind of labor-intensive because you have to work a hand into his magic underwear before you can cop a decent feel.

Let the Nation form itself according to its own basic moorings. Trust the formation.

Says Knute Swank, All American.

America is hungry for true-blue citizens who don’t give a rip about political correctness, personal opportunism or blowing steamy air.

I always thought “ripping one” and “blowing steamy air” were the same thing, but I guess it’s all very different on Pandora.

Tea Party enthusiasts are the down the block Americans who have had it with Marxist Muslim Barack Hussein Obama and like clones hatched to his right and left. They cannot stomach Obama’s shadow government. They are ready to ax the pro-Islamic czars.

Sounds like a cross between Invasion of the Body Snatchers and Friday the 13th. Let’s call it Texas Chainsaw Tea Party.

Would not thinking, righteously angry, flag-waving human beings want to turn upside down the damnable bunk load in DC?

Oh, so it’s bukkake porn?

And so they are doing it. Then Reps had better let them carry on!

In the delightful British romp, Carry On Teabagging!

Therefore, today’s reality teaching that reveals Reps splicing and dicing for their own posterior protection, thus betraying common sense grassroots, means Tea baggers had better keep trucking down the right trail.

Okay, sorry, it appears the pastor’s opus is actually a slasher film with a refreshing splash of anal sex involving Mr. Natural and Mark Trail.

And they are on the right trail. They know it. Their heads think it. Their hearts beat it. Their souls confirm it.

Their steely man-lances sodomize it.

That’s saying a lot more for the so-called common men and women than many Reps straddling fences looking out for themselves. Enough straddling in the name of “Republican.”

The pastor recommends you start straddling in the name of “Sybian.”

Isn’t it thrilling to see these Tea Bag zealots lifting loftily the virtues America was known for decades ago? These are the ethics that have been swept away by Obama leftists beheading the country. These are the absolutes debunked even by some chancey Reps.

I assume from this passage that God caught Pastor Swank in Babylon, attempting to build a tower to heaven.

What Reps need to do is go to the Tea Bag committed, ask them how they do it, what they have faith in, and then side up to their genuine postulates.

Wow — a committed Tea Bagging and postulate-stimulation? We’re gonna have to hose this place down.

Everybody is saying the Reps don’t have a common base, a moral foundation, a solid ethical contract. There’s wishy-washy this and wishy-washy that.

So if that is true, Reps need to learn virtuous catechism from the Tea Bag Nation. The baggers know what that’s all about and are living it.

And who are we to criticize their lifestyle choices? Lift loftily your bunkload, Baggers, as you blow the steamy air with your healthy-raw Nation mitts!

Swank Bank | 24 Comments »

Because I don’t have enough aggravation in my life, I followed an Instaputz link to Media Matters and watched that clip of Tom Tancredo at the Teabag Conclave, in which he basically called for restricting the franchise to those who can pass a Jim Crow-era literacy test:

And then, something really odd happened, mostly because I think that we do not have a civics literacy test before people can vote in this country. People who could not even spell the word “vote,” or say it in English, put a committed socialist idealogue in the White House, name is Barack Hussein Obama.

And while the soundbite is brazen and obnoxious, even for Tancredo, I think we owe it to posterity to note that Jonah Goldberg called for the same thing back in 2007.

Revenge of the Nerds | 6 Comments »

Dennis Prager, scourge of name rape and inventor of the pro-torture SAT has joined R. Emmett Tyrrell (who, now that I really look at the way he spells his name, is apparently a character from one of the Star Wars prequels) in seeing the decline and fall of Western Civilization in a snack food commercial.

The Doritos Ad Was Not Funny

By far, the most popular ad shown during the latest Super Bowl (trademarked name “Super Bowl” not used with the expressed written consent of the National Football League)…

Dude, you’re such a rebel.

…was the Doritos “House Rules” ad. Tens of millions of Americans saw it as hilarious.

…while Dennis saw it a sign of masculine decay, and sat grim and silent, like Death in a medieval woodcut, except with more bitchface.

That is unfortunate. Anyone aware of the manifold social pathologies the ad depicted did not find much to laugh about.

Because no matter how fervent our dreams, desires, or ambitions may be, the sad fact of the matter is, some of us simply can’t be a Pepper.

Here is the ad:

A man knocks on a door. A pretty woman answers it. He hands her flowers and she thanks him. He has presumably come to take her out on a date. She introduces her young son to the man and excuses herself. She walks back to her room. The camera focuses on her shapely legs, quite visible given that she is wearing a miniskirt. The man stares, indeed leers, at her legs and makes a facial gesture suggesting, shall we say, sexual interest. The boy, who appears to be about 5 years old, sees this and drops his toy. The man sits on the couch and helps himself to a Dorito. The boy walks up to the man, smacks him hard across the face and says, “Keep your hands off my mama. Keep your hands off my Doritos.”

If Doritos is going to base its new sales pitch around scenes of grown men being slapped in the face, then all I can say is, it’s a pity these commercials no longer involve Jay Leno.

Here are the major elements of dysfunction this ad depicts:

In the interest of full disclosure, I spent a good chunk of today in the Jury Assembly Room of the Superior Court, in and for the County of Los Angeles. In a moment, the results of that trial…

As a result, my back is killing me and I’ve got a blistering headache from caffeine withdrawal, so it’s possible I’m overreacting to what appears to be Dennis’ overreaction. Still, I can’t believe that we’re really so short of genuine social problems nowadays that scolds like Prager are reduced to psychoanalyzing corn chip copy.

First, a child smacking an adult across the face is not funny. It is, in fact, one of the last things society should tolerate.

Even though our country is bitterly fractured between left and right, we should rise as one to stamp out the menace of violent, fictitious tykes.

In real life, a child who hits an adult needs to be disciplined. If a child did that to me, I would grab his offending arm and apply enough force to make it clear that he will never do that again.

Say what you want about Dennis’ mental and emotional stability, at least his response to the ad was unique. While I doubt “tens of millions of Americans saw it as hilarious” (most probably found it mildly amusing, or a good excuse to pee), I’m fairly certain he was the only viewer who was inspired to plot revenge.

After I mentioned this on my radio show, some psychotherapists sent me e-mails disagreeing with these views. They noted, for example, that “violence breeds violence.”

Some cliches are true; I find this one meaningless. The truth is the opposite: Immoral violence breeds violence; moral violence (such as just wars, police work and appropriate parental discipline) reduces violence.

And yet, if you happen to be, say, attending a wedding in Iraq which is inadvertently reduced to a paste by U.S. cluster bombs, you’re probably not going to be especially soothed by the morality of the violence. Still, Dennis has a point; Lizzie Borden’s parents should have gone after her with a knitting needle while she was still in the womb, because sometimes preemptive war is the only way.

I am well aware that vast numbers of Americans (and Europeans) believe that engaging in any physical discipline of a child is wrong. I, too, held this belief for most of my life, and I never hit or spanked either of my sons. I have changed my mind because of all the fine people who have called my show or written to me about how they were spanked and now believe that they are better adults because of it. It is a given that I do not defend physical — or any other form of — abuse against a child. Of all the world’s evils, child abuse may rank as the greatest. But a properly administered spanking is not abuse

And it’s apparently killing you that you missed the chance to slap your kids around while they were still too small to fight back. By the way, I take it you’ve also changed your views on adolescent sexuality because of all the fine ephebophiliacs who’ve called in to your show.

The Doritos kid deserved a physical response from this man — as in pressure on the offending arm.

…as in, above the sleeve, so the contusions aren’t as obvious to his mother or the cops.

“Using the thumb and forefinger, begin by pinching the tender skin just above the elbow, and gradually increase the pain. You’ll find a diagram of the most excruciating pressure points on a child’s body in your hand-out…”

With regard to the argument that this man was not the boy’s parent — and the terrible fact that there is far too much hitting and abuse of children by stepfathers and boyfriends — I do not believe that only parents may physically respond to a child.

It Takes a Village to Beat a Child.

Teachers, for example, should be permitted to do so — I was physically dealt with by a number of teachers, and in every case, I deserved it.

I knew if I just read enough Dennis Prager columns, eventually he would write something accurate. This either demonstrates something about probability, or proves that he’s dictating his output to an infinite number of simian amanuenses.

I also did so as a camp counselor — to great effect.

“I dealt with this problem child named Jason Voorhees, and I think I really straightened him out.”

And so should the man whom the child in the ad smacked. In an ideal world, all adults raise all children in some way.

I’ll take care of picking them up from soccer practice, and you can be in charge of the morally violent arm-squeezing.

Those who argue that the boy was just defending his mom may well be right. But that only further reinforces the point of what a dysfunctional scene the ad was portraying: a leering man, a sexually provocatively dressed mother and sexually aware child who essentially serves as man of the house at the age of 5.

And try our Doritos Collisions® Pizza Cravers and Ranch.

Finally, people only find funny that which has some truth in it. Would this ad have worked as well if the characters depicted were all, let us say, Asian-American? Would it have been as effective if it portrayed whites acting this way?

Well, if the kid was Asian, it probably would have led to a better choreographed action sequence.

Tragically, it worked in part because the characters were African-American. The unimpressive sex-on-the-mind male, the sexually provocative single mother and the prematurely sexually aware and violent boy who is man of the house were familiar — either as an inaccurate white stereotype of much of urban black life, or as an accurate stereotype of much of urban black life.

Guess which Dennis believes. A bag of Doritos Flavor Shots Blazin’ Buffalo Rush to the first correct answer.

No Country For Old Men | 30 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 »

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

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

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

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

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

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

Cards

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

Here are a couple of sample cards:

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

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

Food

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

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

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

Flowers

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

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

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

Bitterest Day Holiday Specials

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

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

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

Happy Holidays, Reruns | 4 Comments »