A “Hatemonger’s Quarterly” Two-for-One Special:

A “Hatemonger’s Quarterly” Two-for-One Special: PDA

That’s right, dear reader: We, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” are dedicating this installment of our publication to the vilification of two noxious targets that bear the same acronym: PDA. In fact, we at “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly” are tempted to argue that PDA is the most foreboding acronym that has ever existed. Well, with the obvious exceptions of SS, USSR, and NOW. Without further ado, then, let’s start today’s drubbing.

“The Hatemonger’s Quarterly” PDA Two-for-One Special: (Part the First) Public Displays of Affection

Do you remember, dear reader, the enchanting time when PDA only referred to one pernicious phenomenon? Indeed, it was a more innocent juncture: Children laughed and played; picket fences abounded; Michael Jackson had only been charged with pedophilia on eight separate occasions. Ah, yes: We, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” are getting teary-eyed just pondering those salad days.

But, still, all was not well in the world: The situation in Bosnia was troubling, and, to make matters worse, humanity was plagued with the seemingly omnipresent blight known as “Public Displays of Affection,” or PDA for short.

In general, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” are as forgiving as the average member of the Baader-Meinhof Gang, but Public Displays of Affection are where we collectively draw the line. Every time we see two star-crossed lovers fondling one another on the subway, it acts as an automatic emetic. In fact, if the Atkins Diet proves to be a flash in the pan, we suggest that people switch to the Public Displays of Affection Diet: A few quotidian sightings of PDA should have you thin faster than you can say “Stop the Insanity.”

In recent years, Public Displays of Affection have grown so tawdry that we have collectively yearned for a society in which everyone was sealed in his own private bubble. A kind of real-life John Travolta movie, if you will.

It is, we think, precisely on the subject of Public Displays of Affection that the movement that Alan Keyes delightfully dubbed “the radical homosexual agenda” has gone astray. To many gays (or, as Gore Vidal prefers, homosexualists), a distasteful reaction to same-sex couples showing their affection in public is tantamount to heterosexism, homophobia, and kindred intellectual misdemeanors.

Nothing could be further from the truth. You’re here, you’re queer, and, as the saying goes, we have grown accustomed to it. In reality, Public Displays of Affection are offensive on a strictly equal opportunity basis: We don’t care if it’s a man kissing a woman, a man hugging a man, or Gene Simmons biting a rottweiler; we just don’t want to see it. If we ran the government, we’d make sure that special task forces, armed with fire hoses (the kinds that have enough water pressure to strip the bark off of trees), were unleashed upon the public with strict orders to put a stop to the frightening menace known as PDA.

Sure, it may sound harsh to some. But believe us: When you see two fiftysomethings sloppily caressing in a public park, you’ll be hankering for the fire-hose squad.

“The Hatemonger’s Quarterly” Two-for-One Special (Part the Second): Personal Digital Assistants

Just when you thought that PDA was a fearsome enough menace, our friends in Japan have added to the offense. In the last few years, Personal Digital Assistants have been all the rage: They’re the electronic equivalent of a frappuccino. Indeed, it seems that almost everyone—no matter how low he may be on the occupational and social food-chain—possesses one of these useless gizmos.

Don’t get us wrong: We can certainly understand why someone might need a Personal Digital Assistant—provided he’s Secretary of State. But what collectively irks us so thoroughly is the fulsome praise of these contraptions from people who require them about as much as Steven Hawking needs an exercise outfit.

“What would I ever do without my PDA?” coo sundry suburban soccer moms. Um, perhaps you’d miss a couple of aerobics classes? Other than that, the course of Western history should be roughly the same.