Instapun*** Archive Listing

Archive Listing
December 9, 2008 - December 2, 2008

Tuesday, December 09, 2008

The Nitwit News

Nitwit Nellie, our favorite nano-ninny.

CAN YOU SMELL THE NONSENSE? Sometimes it really is this bad. Everything being reported on is just stupid beyond belief. It's as if now that Obama has been elected, the world as a whole feels obligated to dumb itself down to the result. Most of these don't require much comment beyond the links. A couple more don't either, but we couldn't resist saying something.

Amazon Twelve Days of Holiday.

GM recycles an apology to consumers.

Pretty in Mink. Actually, we approve the idea. It's the way-too-revealing lefty response that qualified for the nitwit listing. Like, who's "The Ugly" here? The original models or the fat, flaccid, acned slobs of the left who puke at the thought of attractive women dressed to the nines?

Arctic Blast in Southern California
. Have you ever noticed the genius timing the Global Warming hysterics have? Here's the latest alarmist bulletin they published today. Ha. Ha ha. And here's a newly announced conference scheduled in March for climate change skeptics. What we're given to understand is that Governor Schwarzenegger has issued emergency orders to the California Highway Patrol to find out exactly where Al Gore is roosting in the Golden State at the moment. Such drastically wintry events tend to correspond with sightings of that great human weather balloon. If they locate him, maybe he can explain this, too.

Cystic Fibrosis no longer a worthy charitable cause at Carleton College.

NBC to cut back prime-time programming. Like Nitwit Nellie above, we confess to not having noticed any NBC prime-time programming for quite some years. Thankfully, reminded us of the ancient Law & Order franchise with this video about SVU; without it, we'd have concluded that the whole thing went away sometime back in the Clinton administration. All we were consciously aware of was Sunday Night Football, which is the single worst sports telecast offered by any network, large or small. Not only is the show so larded with commercials that the amount of time spent by players on the field just standing around waiting for ads to run must equal or exceed actual playing time, but NBC also obviously can't figure out that there may be up to 50 percent of the potential audience who WILL NOT WATCH KEITH OLBERMANN even if he's doing halftime roundups. If they did, they'd at least order him not to sneak snide political jokes into his lightning summaries of Sunday afternoon games. One more thing we've noticed about the laggard entertainment networks NBC and ABC -- with as much trouble as they're having getting anyone to watch their TV shows, you'd think they'd make them available on-demand the way CBS does in various cable services. But no. They can't be bothered. Pretty much the same way the can't be bothered to cover the news objectively on the parent network or MSNBC. Pretty soon, they won't be bothering to attempt any prime-time programming because they'll be out of business. Good riddance.

TV Guide worth nothing. Speaking of good riddance, here's a failure story most of you probably haven't even heard about because you stopped subscribing to TV Guide a long long time ago. Again, what's interesting to us is that we've actually been reading TV Guide for the past couple of years, and you'd think they were in cahoots with NBC. Despite subscriptions that have plunged from 55 million to 3 million, they still can't bring themselves to refrain from openly cheering on their lefty favorites and slamming their conservative villains. Just in the past month, they've taken cheap shots at Sarah Palin (multiple) and Ann Coulter while lionizing Keith Olbermann (offering us his tips on "anger management") and lefty lesbian Air America alum Rachel Maddow ("a breath of fresh air"). Not to mention sinking ever lower in language standards for a supposedly "family-friendly" publication. In the most recent issue, they quoted a Dancing with the Stars competitor as saying that the female favorite in the competition "could go out and pee on stage and get 10s." Wonder why the magazine got sold for less than the price of a single issue? Why piss off (to use another term that's appeared recently in the pages of TVG) 50 percent of whatever audience you have left? I'm sure the editors just can't understand it at all.

Screenwriting guru says Hollywood is "finished". Hmmmm. Wonder why. It's the Christmas season now and what is Tinseltown offering moviegoers to fill them with holiday cheer? Try these on for size.

The Day the Earth Stood Still, which is all about how earth can only be saved by eradicating the evil race of human beings because of Global Warming, meat eating, and bias against gay marriages. And it's got Keanu! Should be good for lots of laughs with the kids.

The Frost/Nixon Interviews, which features the lamest, most cartoonish impression of Richard Nixon you've ever cringed away from in esthetic horror, if not disgust at the shallowness of the agenda-driven screenwriter, director, and cast. A surefire bet for the toddlers in your family who groove on clowns who don't actually wear clown makeup.

Milk, which is about a sibilantly gay politician played by Sean Penn who got shot to death in San Francisco a bunch of years ago, before San Francisco realized that its mission in life was to turn everybody in the United States gay. Probably shouldn't take the kiddies to this one, though, because it's rated "V" for violence and "L" for extended lisping, which most parents are trying to discourage at that age.

Is anybody else having trouble believing that our current reality is actually reality? You know. In the "real" sense? No? Then never mind.

MORE NITWIT NEWS. Sorry. Didn't anticipate the big bust in Chicago. Anybody notice how hard it was to determine from all the Drudge links what party the arrested Illinois governor belonged to. Uh, yeah, he's a Democrat. Was that so hard to say? Of course. For nitwits.

Also. Forgot to mention another big Christmas movie. The Spirit. Christmas colors are red and green. The Spirit gives one of those colors a big play, the other not so much. But we're not rushing to judgment in this case. We think Dads (or maybe Granddads) who grew up listening to The Shadow on radio and reading Mickey Spillane novels later on in life will find this a warmly emotional tribute to the Christmases of the past. You know. The kind of past where Christmas was a national, sort of religious holiday, not an incitation to make a total asshole of yourself by complaining bitterly about an utterly harmless saint of childhood. It's also got lots of other good stuff. Guns? Check. Beautiful women? Check. Another bizarre Samuel Jackson performance? Check. And... well... what else matters exactly? See the trailers here, here, and here:

Opens Christmas Day. Cool. For all us nitwits.

The Horror:

San Fran Paralyzed
By Gay Sick-Out

What will we ever do? Put Andrew Sullivan on speed-dial, somebody.

ANDREW? Well, gee. The gays aren't coming to work in San Francisco. Hope they can survive. Of course, the government has some power to mitigate the disaster. Governor Schwarzenegger is assigning units of the California National Guard to fill in at the city's advertising and public relations firms, restaurants, and hotels, where the troops have been ordered to dress beyond their means, leer concupisciently at strangers of the same sex, and utter loud catty remarks about out-of-town clients while making frequent allusions to their personal preferences regarding fellatio and sodomy. FEMA first responders have also been pressed into service, despite their relative lack of training in California cultural norms. Their mission is to frequent various establishments that would ordinarily be filled with the missing city workers and make huge scenes about the poor quality of the cuisine and the wine. They are also receiving emergency training in shrieking across crowded rooms at the shocking attire of obviously heterosexual women.

The crisis is expected to be so extreme that elements of the Indiana National Guard have also been called in for additional support. Since there is no time to provide them with specific training, they will be deployed to replace the general population of gays who ordinarily miss work for HIV treatments and romantic upsets.

"There's no room here for subtlety," said a spokesgay for the governor's office. "All we can really do is strip them, truss them in leather, and inflict them on the sidewalks. Just between thee and me, we're also considering an alert to the SFPD about a possible rape epidemic. These outlander troops are from Indiana after all, and who knows what they'll do when they're half naked and sporting cock rings in a city one-third full of women, at least some of whom might be frustrated heterosexuals. Part of it will be consensual, Gawd knows, but what of the other half percent? They're walking potential victims of violent forced sexuality. Ooh."

Yes, we're all holding our breath about the possibly dire consequences in San Francisco. Worst case, some press releases might not get written, a truly huge number of hysterical catfights might not occur, and the lunchtime business at city bathhouses might plummet to Depression levels. We can only hope that all be well and that no permanent harm will be done to the city's economy.

Or not.

P.S. Something rather more serious. Our Eloise -- a.k.a. Rachel Lucas -- needs a foster home for her two big dogs in the Dallas-Fort Worth area. Read about it here. If you have any ideas, you can comment at her website.

Monday, December 08, 2008

More Obama Appointments:

Fantasy Administration

The Obama Miracle. Can't help it. We're HUGE fans.

CLOCK FUN. We understand that the lefty netroots are starting to get antsy about the upcoming Obama administration. We'd like to allay their fears. The Obama Revolution has always been about turning the clock back to simpler times when the standard Democrat nostrum of piling on more federal government programs still seemed like it might work. The truth is, nobody in Washington really believes that anymore, and the rare occasion of a Democrat presidency is more like a Time Out than any serious attempt to resolve the nation's problems. The wisdom of scheduling a Time Out at this particular juncture may be questionable but it's moot. We have opted for it in an electoral landslide, and that's what we're going to have.

The good news is that the Obama Administration also perceives that it can't hope to accomplish anything productive, ameliorative, or even positive in the next four years. All they can do is indulge a wave of nostalgia that will make all the time-displaced persons in America -- Viagra-dependent Clintonites, Alzheimer hippies, fossilized union activists, decrepit anti-war radicals, Civil Rights era relics, post-post-menopausal feminists, retro-psychotic Watergate obsessives, wheelchair-bound Great Society lampreys, two-foot-in-the-grave New Dealers, and mummified Soviet Communist apologists -- as happy as possible in a new world they can't possibly begin to comprehend. It's too bad for the young'uns who bought all the hope'n'change hokum, of course, but it might ultimately prove a history lesson for them. If they can't learn to bury themselves in the long defunct past, they're just not going to have much of a place in the Democrat Party. Call it a Coming of Age experience for them. Their best bet would be to research their elders at Nickolofeon, where they might gain a glimpse of the future in old episodes of "The Love Boat" and "Love American Style"-- where they'll learn that fame means the hopelessly old and obsolete keep coming back in ever duller roles.

At any rate, the appointment strategy of the Obama Administration will, in fact, be a new American political phenomenon. It will be modelled on the smash hit television series called "Fantasy Island" (with an assist from "Survivor"). The political appointees nominated and confirmed by the Democrat Congress (led by septuagenarians Reid and Pelosi, lest we forget) will not be intended as long-term office holders so much as Guest Stars, each flourishing for a brief time in the admiring cataractic eye of the blue-haired MSM. (Barbara Walters and Andy Rooney will have what passes with them as an orgasm.) Each will have his or her own little story behind their selection for renascent adulation, and they will bask for days or weeks on the pre-yellowed covers of Time, Newsweek, and the New York Times Magazine before being tactfully retired and replaced by another before they can do serious harm. It's going to be great. And much much easier than trying to find any Democrat who has actual competent and relevant experience at running anything, unless you count running various enterprises wholly into the ground.

Herewith, the projected list of Obama Administration appointees They'll all take their turn as cabinet secretaries, ambassadors, presidential commission chairmen, 'czars' of this, that, and the other momentary cause of the instant, and eternal spokesmen for the permanently inept... BUT we'll be able to vote them off the island every week by calling (or texting)  the numbers posted at the end of "Democrat Idol," as hosted by the brilliant young androgynist Ryan Seacrest. Sound cool? Of course it does.

The Guest Stars

Warren, Madeleine, and Teresa

Mike, Jimmy, and Walter

Ron, Susan, and Vince

Ramsey, Jesse, and George

Wilbur, Tipp, and Richard

Eugene, Lyndon, and Adlai

Bobby, Jack and Franklin

The one, the only, MLK Jr.

Are you happy yet? Are they "Hope and Change"-ey enough for you? No? Well, wait till the Fox Fantasy Administration series starts airing twice a week. You'll love it. LOVE IT. Even rotting dinosaur carcasses look good with enough makeup on. Ask Tom Brokaw.

We can get back to trying to run the country in four years or so. Let's hope you're all still with us then.

Saturday, December 06, 2008

General Cultural Stuff:
I Got the (Reincarnation) Blues

Ramses II. He lived into his nineties. Before the "miracles" of modern medicine.

OLD OF DAYS. Of course it doesn't matter in the grand scheme of things, but last week we saw a History Channel program about the most spectacular Egyptian tomb find since King Tut. It's called KV5, and it represents the answer to one of the most enduring mysteries in ancient Egyptian history. Ramses the Great, purportedly the pharaoh defied by Moses in the Bible, lived for so long that he survived twenty-some sons, and no one has ever been sure what became of the men who would have succeeded him if he weren't -- as the priests of his time declared him -- a living, in fact deathless, god. This status was so official that many of his sons served as pharaohs themselves, carrying out all the traditional pharaonic duties under the remote, celestial authority of their father, who watched them, guided them, and ultimately buried them.

But where? Where did he bury his sons? Thanks to the work of Kent Weeks, an American archeologist, we now know that he buried them all together in the single largest tomb ever constructed in the Valley of the Kings.

It contains over 150 rooms and is so extensive that most of the underground chambers still haven't been cleared -- even after more than 10 years of digging -- of the three millennia of debris that fills them to the ceiling. But the excavations completed to date have turned up nine mummies, all of them identifiable as sons of the greatest pharaoh who ever lived.

The mummies of KV5. Can you see the resemblance?

Scholars say they know who the mummies are, but do they? Really? They think they know that Ramses II is dead for certain, too. But where else have we seen an instance of a larger-than-life icon who miraculously outlives all who would follow and presume to outlast him? No less a judge than Martin Scorsese chronicled one such exemplar of seemingly impossible longevity.

It begins to look as if he'll even outlive the city in the song if
 Wall Street's Dow Jones Industrial Average is any measure.

Funny thing, though. When we went through that footage frame by frame, we found something odd. See if it strikes you the way it did us.

Still don't see it? Take a look at this. Do we have a 3,000 year-old-pharaoh strutting and prancing among us? How would Richard Dawkins explain that away?

Obviously, we can't prove a thing. (Though there is precedent for this kind of analysis...) But it's damn suspicious, don't you think?

Thursday, December 04, 2008

What to Do:

The 'When' Question

WHEN IS ALWAYS THE QUESTION. We all like to think we'd have been heroes if we'd been put into that one precious place in time which never corresponds with our own humdrum experience of life. We'd have died with the Spartans at Thermopylae. We'd have stood with Arthur against Mordred. We'd have charged Napoleon's troops at Waterloo. We'd have attacked from the heights of Little Roundtop with Joshua Chamberlain at Gettysburg, We'd have gone over the top at Verdun. We'd have protectd the Jews and joined the Resistance against Hitler in occupied Europe.

It's a fallacy. The hard part isn't being a hero. It's recognizing the historical moment when heroes are required, which is always just before the shit really hits the fan. When you finally know for sure how huge the stakes are, it's easy to go the extra mile and lay down your life if necessary. But when you're still in doubt, you might be risking everything for nothing, and that's when good men go weak in the knees.

Here's the good news. The time for heroes is right now. You need have no doubt about that. Everything that's going bad is going to get worse. The economic situation will continue to deteriorate. The Democrats will make every possible attempt to increase federal power in every arena of life. The world itself will keep getting more dangerous. We are now less than four years away from a nuclear war of some kind -- in India, Pakistan, and/or Israel and Iran.

Everything we have always taken for granted is going to be gone. Prosperity. Peace. Predictability. We have entered a time when men will be judged not by how much stuff they have, but by how they conducted themselves in a series of dire crises, some of which will be catastrophic beyond belief.

Will we be up to it? I like to think so. America has never been only or even mostly about money. It's been about liberty, the right to life, and the pursuit of -- no, not 401Ks -- but happiness.

The whole world, including the U.S. government, is preparing to descend into chaos, one result of which will be the annihilation of Israel. The day after it happens, what will you say to yourself?

What will you say? I was too busy... I didn't know... I didn't realize... I believed in the hope and change spiel... I really thought we could all just get along...

No. Those are nothing but excuses. It's 1933. It's 1860. It's 1776. Right now. Time to decide where you stand and what you're prepared to do about it.

Not to put any pressure on you or anything. Are you Spartans, and is this Sparta? No. Unless we're really really lucky.

A Third Clinton Term?

    Well, maybe when it comes to the boytoys...

THE FUTURE AWAITS. The answer is no. We're not looking at a third Bill Clinton term. (Even Media Matters* agrees with me on this.) The only real restraining factor in Bill Clinton's administration was Bill Clinton himself.  He's the one who chose a relatively moderate course after the disaster of his first 100 days. The people he surrounded himself with weren't political philosophers, moderates by education or inclination. They were political assassins, skilled at destroying all who opposed or threatened the president. Bill himself had no real political convictions. He was just gifted at gauging public opinion and moving swiftly to positions he thought would be popular. After HillaryCare failed, he never again took any big risks for any cause but his own survival in office.

Which is why the various Clintonian appointments make such great sense for an Obama administration. As a tyro in every discipline he will now be called on to demonstrate in office, he's going to need the very best political liars, stonewallers, parsers, apologists, mudslingers, and weaselling toadies available to cover his screwups. TA DA. He has them. The one thing they don't care a rat's ass about is his political principles. Whatever he wants to do, no matter how insane or destructive, they will be happy to do. Except for Hillary, of course. She has her own agenda, obviously, and her own unique skill set.

Let's face it. This is the single most interesting appointment so far. Why would Obama need a cabinet secretary whose only verified talent is quashing sex scandals? Isn't Michelle up to that job? Or is it that the greatest danger lies overseas, where all those people of variegated colors and snazzy dictator uniforms and aphrodisiacal anti-Americanism are to be found?

But that's a side issue. (Hopefully.) The main point is that the hard lefties needn't worry. Obama will stll be able to pursue whatever legislative program he wants to, and the talking points will go out to the talking heads like clockwork, and everything he dreams up will be reported and explained as the smartest idea anyone ever had, even if he wants to knock down the Washington Monument and put up a statue of Lenin instead. Or install a marble icon of himself in Lincoln's chair at you know where. or whatever else he wants. Rahm Emmanuel and Eric Holder and Bill Richardson and Jamie Gorelick and Paul Begala and Lannie Davis will be drooling in very public admiration the whole way. They don't care. They really don't. They. Just. Want. To be. At the White House. Again. Of course, these folks do have a habit of getting into messes of their own, Hillary included, and that part of the deal may begin to seem like deja vue, but on policy there's going to be absolutely, positively (and did we mention absolutely?) no problemo.

Does that make it clear to everyone? Good.

*Don't know Media Matters? They're the guys who ferret out all the right-wing bias in the mainstream media. They're very very talented.

Wednesday, December 03, 2008

What to Do:

What Is 'Local'?

Where is that exactly? You tell us. Or, more helpfully, yourself.

PNOTE 34. In a previous post I suggested that the right answers to the question "What to Do?" are to be found in local efforts. But what does that mean? Is everything really a matter of geographical location?

There's an old truism among fiction writers that "If you would be universal, first be local." It doesn't mean that we all have to be like William Faulkner, who wrote almost exclusively about Oxford, Mississippi. It means start with what you know. What you know and what you are interested in. Obviously, this can be a function of geography, particularly if you want to take action in the real world and not on the internet. For example, if you're disposed to get involved with party politics, your home town, city, or county are the places to start.

Geography can also be a productive focus on the internet. Patterico watchdogs the LA Times from his home in the Los Angeles area. There's a small mafia of bloggers who watchdog the Minneapolis Star-Tribune in Minnesota. During the 2002 election campaign, there was a blog called Cornfield Commentary, which made life miserable for the Des Moines Register in the same way. (I'm not going to discuss the value of such media-centered activity here, but I will get to it in a future post.)

But you can also be local without being tied to any particular place. David Hogberg, the author of Cornfield Commentary, subsequently moved on to produce a blog focused on health care issues, and he now writes for some national publications as well. One of our favorite bloggers (and a frequent commenter here), David Hardy has two specialized blogs, one dealing with the journalistic corruptions of Michael Moore and one that meticulously analyzes Second Amendment issues, including specific legislation and lawsuits. These are particular subjects he is interested in and has acquired encyclopedic knowledge of.

Another 'local' blog that has suddenly acquired definite national relevance is EagleSpeak, which has quietly tracked the facts and issues surrounding international piracy for years now. If you want to understand what's really going on behind all the news stories, go there and bring yourself up to date.

This isn't meant to be a definitive list of the things individual people can do if they're resolved to "make a difference." It's just a teaser, a way to prod the action-oriented into taking the right first steps. Begin where you are, based on who you are, and start looking for opportunities where you have or can define a unique competitive edge. That's why our definition of the internet as a 'bulletin board' is so crucial. It's such a huge board that any notice pinned to it must offer something that speaks to particular interests of passersby. Identify such a particular interest, make yourself very good at serving it, and you may very well find yourself making a difference.

Clearly, that's not the direction we have chosen here at InstaPunk. We belong to the vast, relatively undifferentiated throng of blogs whose only mission is to speak to anything and everything that pricks our interest in the human parade. Maybe that doesn't make much difference in the scheme of things, but it makes a difference to us. Which is something else we'll discuss in future posts.

That's all for now. There are many ways to jump into the rat race of national thought, advocacy, and action. We'll try to flesh out various opportunities in more detail as we continue pondering the question of "What to Do."

But we'll keep on doing all the usual goofy, pointless stuff, too. If you don't mind.

P.S. Speaking of goofy, pointless stuff, for those of you wondering where the strange audio file comes from, it's from Follow the Fleet, and the singer is Harriet Hilliard, who later became the Harriet of Ozzie and Harriet. She gives a heartbreaking little performance in the movie as a jilted wallflower, which you can see here if you're feeling a bit like a jilted wallflower yourself these days. Not that I'm intimating anything about you personally... What to do.

What to Do:

Why Do.

Smarter, better, cooler.

WILTED DICKS. We don't ordinarily spend much time studying Technorati because, as we've made abundantly clear, we're not running for Blog of the Year. But I did look today, aware that that the 'local efforts' message might seem to some like a gentle letdown -- don't feel obligated to act because there's not really much you can do and why try anyway?

When I looked, I found a lot of links I hadn't known about (our traffic has been increasing of late btw), including some bouquets like this one from Mending Wall:

I refer the reader to this splendid bit of analysis of the character Gregory House in House as portrayed by Hugh Laurie (whose piercing blue eyes and raw talent have mesmerized me) by CountryPunk @ Instapunk, an exquisite penman whose precision and skill with the written word, along with depth of knowledge and understanding of the human condition is--well, to be savored as one would a fine wine.

I won't put Mending Wall down by citing traffic figures or comment volumes, just as I won't minimize the import of this post* by  The Department of Hate, a blog authored by one Snotty McShot (pictured above).

September 11, 2008

Anniversary Hate

You know what I hate? I hate 9/11.

Not the event, you understand; the event was far too interesting to be subject to the simple gnawing monotony of hate. It was spectacular and horrifying and amazing and awful and everything else between and beyond. It was a colossal crime and a heartbreaking tragedy, sure, but it was also totally exhilarating, especially for the billions of us who were mere spectators, who didn’t lose anyone in the glorious Technicolor collapse. Stockhausen was right.

Nah, what I hate about 9/11 is all the pampered little shits that keep pissing on about it every fucking year, without fail, like they have suffered uniquely for having watched people die on TV that one time. I’m being slightly disingenuous, of course, for the victims were not just any people. No, these were people with whom our emotionally wounded chums shared naught but a vast landmass, an accident of birth or circumstance, and a vague subscription to an abstract concept called “America”. If it were otherwise – if these had been the citizens of, say, Iraq – we surely would not still be stumbling unawares across these unreasonably tedious festivals of boo-hooing all these years later, these little narcissistic landmines strewn across an internet that already has its fair share of poisonous hazards.

One such hazard is InstaPunk, a group blog written by a big bag of wilted dicks and named for its founder, of whom the word “punk” only applies in the sense that Harry Callahan meant it. It’s no surprise to find that they have milked their precious little tear ducts to produce this classic example of the Remembering Where I Was On 9/11 genre – an utterly contemptible yawn-factory every bit as dull as the Twin Tower collapse wasn’t.

Like practically all of these rambling, self-indulgent snoozefests, it is 6 million words long, yet inevitably amounts to scarcely more than: “We watched it on TV, it reminded me of some movie or other, our phones didn’t work for a while, and we had a bit of trouble getting home”. Well, you know something? Me too, and so fucking what. It’s like those couples you meet who tell those long and skullfuckingly boring stories about how they met, and they’re telling it in that allegedly cute tag-team fashion, and your fucking blood is boiling and there’s just the ripped red and ragged frayed fibre of your last fucking nerve standing between their cooing pusses and the soon-to-be-broken fat end of your beer bottle and they can’t tell that behind your quivering grimace you are silently screaming: “YOU MET AT FUCKING WORK LIKE EVERYONE ELSE, YOU GODAWFUL PRICKS”.

You know what I mean? That’s how I feel about these 9/11 bores.

Go ahead. Read it and tell me I’m wrong. And while you’re at it, think about what an incredible fucking luxury it is to be able to piss and moan about 9/11 for seven years as if it was the only thing that ever happened on the goddamn planet, while the people of Iraq and Afghanistan, made to pay for the Worst Event Ever a thousand times over by a different accident of birth, suffer a new atrocity practically every other day, with barely a moment in between to update their blogs or their Facebooks with mawkish, sentimental bullshit, and without the luxury of thousands of miles of television cable separating them from the horror.

Despite receiving zero comments, Snotty still feels compelled to subdivide them into categories like "Mewling Pricks" and "Awful Cunts." He's an angry man.

This is the new reality we are facing. People who have been raised to be self-satisfied and superficially self-righteous sociopaths. The source of their superiority is that they don't care. About anyone. And they've convinced themselves their emotional deadness is a virtue. It is beyond the scope of their stillborn empathy that citizens of this country can feel pain for people who are not like them in certain demographic ways, can feel the historical ignominy of being attacked on our own soil for the first time in fifty years, can feel revulsion for the barbarism that irrationally targets the one great force for good in the world, can remember and experience the event as a personal blow which must never be forgotten because to forget is to consent in our own eventual subjugation and enslavement.

What to do? Every voice that speaks out against the enraged but numb solipsism of some 'Department of Hate' is a cancellation, a repudiation of the worst in us. Your expressed desire to build and believe rather than curse and contemn becomes part of a record which says, even if we ultimately fail or lose or die, that there were people here who knew better, people who preferred civilization to a pornography of sado-masochistic anarchy.

There's more than that to do, of course. But this is the minimum everyone can do. Even if it consists of no more than writing a blog that says, "I got up this morning, and I still love my family, my country, and life itself."

No more for now. But do check out the asterisk above.

*Uh, yeah. The same post also drew this response from the Old Fart's Blog.

One of the web sites I read often is Today’s post on that site was prefaced by this video. The clip is from the movie Terminator 2, and portrays one of the greatest fears which we as a country should have – a nuclear explosion within one of our major cities. Watching that video clip, you almost get sick to your stomach thinking about what such an explosion would mean. That such a thing has not happened yet is a tribute to the hard work of our country’s intelligence operations, and in no small part to good luck and a lack of courage on the part of our enemy.

We live in a market of ideas. Start doing your own bidding and bargaining. (And, yes, I know, we're giving DOH more traffic than he's ever had before. Make it worth our while.)

NOTE. It's also possible that we have in DOH is another Canadian posing as an American. Either that or a plain poseur. Consider this quote from his post:  "there’s just the ripped red and ragged frayed fibre of your last fucking nerve..." Hardly the kind of spelling we're used to from Air America. Well, he could also be a Brit living in the United States, because if you're a Brit, living in the United States is the smartest fucking thing you can apply the whole fibre of your being to doing. Sorry for the language. I'm just saying. If ICE ever figures out how to deport people, I'm in favor of starting with the Canadians and Brits. How about you?

Tuesday, December 02, 2008

Another Failure of "Abstinence-
Only" Education Programs

Plaxico is just the latest victim of do-gooder dim-wittedness.

MORE UNNECESSARY JOCK DISGRACE  It's long past time for the NFL to give up trying to convince professional football players not to carry concealed handguns into after-hours nightclubs and strip joints. How long have we heard about the League's "pro-active" efforts to prevent gun crimes by bringing in police, lawyers, and government officials to lecture players about the need to leave guns alone? Right. Like we all don't know that's just not going to happen. Professional athletes can no more stay away from guns than they can stay away from exoticars, groupies, hookers, outlandishly idiotic clothes, and recreational drugs. Only a fool would think otherwise.

What's urgently needed now is more realistic education programs that teach safe illegal gun ownership. Every pro athlete must be given hands-on training in fitting a silencer to his weapon so that those inevitable late-night drunken shootings won't wake the whole neighborhood and bring the cops in bunches. There must be courses in the most effective, high-tech ways to conceal handguns in Lamborghinis and on their persons, because no run-of-the-mill DUI stop should ever end with a slam-dunk five-year prison sentence for just doing what comes naturally.

After that, they and their entourages should also receive the most up-to-date possible counseling in methods of arrest-control. There's no point in pretending that accidents won't happen. They will. That's why all player posses must be as highly trained as SWAT teams in their tactical reactions to gun emergencies. They must learn how to dispose of discharged weapons clandestinely, bribe club-owners and spectators subtly, baffle law enforcement personnel with the kind of bullshit they just can't see through, and disappear the occasional bystander casualties without a trace. The players themselves must know when to shut up, sit still, and speed-dial an attorney, no matter how much PCP they've consumed. There's no excuse for the kind of clumsy bungling of pedestrian gun incidents we have seen time and time again on ESPN. It has to stop.

The current abstinence-only approach to gun education in the NFL, NBA, and Major League Baseball has resulted in a tragic victimization of some of the nation's most beloved and vulnerable stupid people. The problem will only get worse until we start remembering that our first duty is to the victims of boneheaded policy, not to the maintenance of a ridiculously impossible standard of behavior none of us would observe either if we had a 90 IQ, no father, and a $30 million annual income.

The most unbelievable aspect of this whole crisis is that I'm the first one to have started talking sense about what must be done. What are all you people smoking, anyway? Pollyanna crack? Have you given any thought whatsoever to the price we're all going to pay emotionally when Tony Kornheiser starts bleating about Plaxico Burress and doesn't stop for week after week after week (after week) of Monday Night Football? Have you? Well, use your head. And get behind my proposals before another MNF season gets underway.

Thank you.

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