September 01, 2005

Notes on Camp Casey Fanatical

Notes on Camp Casey

Fanatical readers of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly” know that we have remained suspiciously silent about the trials and tribulations of Cindy Sheehan. Whilst the rest of the “weblogosphere” blithely pontificates about this grieving radical, we haven’t so much as typed a word about her.

Until, that is to say, now. We, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” originally decided to keep quiet about this grieving radical, and let the likes of Maureen Dowd have their journalistic orgasms over her.

And yet, dear reader, we have simply had enough. A few days ago, we opened the latest number of The New Republic, and found a staff editorial on Ms. Sheehan so fatuous that we simply needed to respond. In the table of contents, the editors at TNR advertised their ruminations about the matter with the query “What do we owe Cindy Sheehan?”

Naturally, the staff of TNR is demonstrating some pronoun problems. By “we,” of course, this moderate left-wing rag means “President Bush.” Marty Peretz and Leon Wieseltier don’t owe Ms. Sheehan a darn thing, of course.

The president most assuredly does, however. As TNR puts it, Sheehan “deserves the opportunity to meet with our commander-in-chief (yes, it would be her second meeting, but a president who has time for a two-hour bike ride with Lance Armstrong during a five-week vacation has time to meet again with the mother of a man he sent to war and, ultimately, death).”

Let’s see if we get this straight: If your son dies in Iraq, you deserve two meetings with the president of the United States. In the first one, you are entitled to be gracious. And, in the second session, you are free to browbeat him with noxious radical palaver about “American imperialism” and “blood for oil.”

As far as we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” can determine, this is very much like the deal touted by your local Subway sandwich outfit. At participating stores, for 10 delicious Subway subs, you can get one free. Perhaps you can even berate the cashier about “Zionist aggression” whilst you pick up your freebee grinder.

We don’t mean to sound heartless, but we find this whole media-induced brouhaha rebarbative. Yes, Cindy Sheehan came to prominence during a slow news month. With JFK Jr. in the drink, there’s not much to cover these days.

Even so, we can’t stomach any more of this. Why in the good Lord’s name should President Bush be forced to endure the insane carping of an unhinged radical leftist? Cindy Sheehan claims that she wants to hear President Bush’s rationale for war in Afghanistan and Iraq. Does she really need to meet him in person for this? Why doesn’t she just get a copy of his speeches? Or how about picking up a newspaper, you stupid dolt!

Okay, okay, okay. We need to calm down a bit. After all, this woman—crazy as she is—has recently lost her son. We ought not to get intemperate.

Instead, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” are happy to announce our latest stupid idea: Camp Shut the F Up. We plan on camping outside Ms. Sheehan’s house, until this woman has the guts to tell us why she won’t shut the f up.

It’ll be interesting to see whether The New York Times offers fawning profiles about us, as we wave our “Shut the F Up, Cindy” flags outside the Sheehan residence. We won’t hold our collective breath.

Posted at September 1, 2005 12:01 AM | TrackBack