January 31, 2006

The Official “Hatemonger’s Quarterly” January Academic of the Month

Wait no longer, dear reader: Today’s the day we announce our glorious January Academic of the Month. This fortuitous scholar will be in very good company—a company of pernicious tenured (and untenured) radicals who are helping destroy higher education in these here United States. We can’t think of a greater honor. And we’ve given it an awful lot of thought.

Without further ado, then, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” are pleased as piggies to announce the luminous winner of Academic of the Month accolades: Augustus Richard Norton. Mr. Norton, a professor of anthropology and international relations at Boston University, caught our collective attention with his fatuous review of Robert Fisk’s new piece of anti-American, anti-Israeli propaganda.

Mr. Norton, whose self-important nomenclature makes it seem as if he’s a minor character in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, penned his piece of arrant nonsense for The Nation, a rag with a healthy disdain for the truth. Accordingly, it may not surprise you that this purported expert on Middle Eastern politics proves to be a real twit.

About the conspiracy-mongering ravings of Mr. Fisk, Mr. Norton has the following to say:

It is tempting to compare [Fisk] to Howard Stern or Rush Limbaugh for the exclamations of fierce loyalty or disdain that his pugnacious columns inspire. But Fisk is more serious than either man and, as The Great War for Civilization exhaustively demonstrates, he has a command of his subject worthy of a historian.

We know what you are thinking: Wow, Robert Fisk is more serious than Howard Stern and Rush Limbaugh? Gee, then he’s got to be really great. Perhaps he’s even more serious than Oprah and Carrot Top.

But what we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” found particularly interesting is the even loftier praise that follows these more-earnest-than-Howard-Stern kudos. To Mr. Norton, an expert in Middle Eastern politics, Mr. Fisk’s The Great War for Civilization shows that its author “has a command of his subject worthy of a historian.” Not faint praise, that.

So let’s see what another Middle East expert has to say about the selfsame tome. In the latest number of Commentary, professor Efraim Karsh has this to report:

First there is the problem of simple accuracy. It is difficult to turn a page of The Great War for Civilization without encountering some basic error. Jesus was born in Bethlehem, not, as Fisk has it, in Jerusalem. The Caliph Ali, the Prophet Muhammad’s cousin and son-in-law, was murdered in the year 661, not in the 8th century. Emir Abdullah became king of Transjordan in 1946, not 1921, and both he and his younger brother, King Faisal I of Iraq, hailed not from a “Gulf tribe” but rather from the Hashemites on the other side of the Arabian peninsula. The Iraqi monarchy was overthrown in 1958, not 1962; Hajj Amin al-Husseini, the mufti of Jerusalem, was appointed by the British authorities, not elected; Ayatollah Khomeini transferred his exile from Turkey to the holy Shiite city of Najaf not during Saddam Hussein’s rule but fourteen years before Saddam seized power. Security Council resolution 242 was passed in November 1967, not 1968; Anwar Sadat of Egypt signed a peace treaty with Israel in 1979, not 1977, and was assassinated in October 1981, not 1979. Yitzhak Rabin was minister of defense, not prime minister, during the first Palestinian intifada, and al Qaeda was established not in 1998 but a decade earlier. And so on and so forth.

Hmmm: It appears as if Mr. Karsh has offered ample reason to conclude that Mr. Fisk is not in particularly strong command of his subject. He may be like an historian—a lousy historian.

Admittedly, Mr. Karsh is no fan of Robert Fisk. But we’re not even talking about matters of interpretation; we’re talking about matters of fact. So why did Mr. Norton—who makes a few light criticisms of Mr. Fisk’s book—fail to mention all these screaming errors? Did he want to pull one over on his readers, or is he also as factually challenged when it comes to the Middle East?

Naturally, Mr. Norton’s review heralds Mr. Fisk as someone who does not offer a Manichean picture of the Middle East—as if the anti-Israeli, anti-American carping of Fisk demonstrates great nuance. And then, of course, Mr. Norton makes it clear that, whatever the problem, he thinks Israel and America are ineluctably to blame. Even Yasir Arafat’s failures in the Oslo peace process are seen as essentially Israeli and American failings.

Well, gee, Mr. Norton: Thanks for the extremely nuanced view. You chucklehead. For this, you most assuredly deserve our prestigious January Academic of the Month Award.

Do you know another professorial nitwit who well deserves a drubbing? If so, drop us a line by clicking the “Contact Us” “link” at the top right-hand corner of our humble “weblog.” There are so many academic panjandrums, and so little time.

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January 30, 2006

Those Peaceable Palestinians

As pretty much all sentient beings—and a few college students—well know, Hamas was the big winner of the recent Palestinian legislative elections. We can imagine that the lovable scamps in Hamas are celebrating their triumph with all manner of fireworks. Perhaps they’ll find some interesting way of painting the town red. (We wonder what they’ll use in place of red paint.) As the infidels in Kool & the Gang once warbled, it’s time to celebrate good times, come on.

For many pundits who don’t write for The Guardian, however, Hamas’ electoral victory is hardly worthy of plaudits. After all, this is a group that Reuters, when at its most flagrantly un-PC, calls “militant.” Which, for those of you who don’t speak Reuters, means “terrorist.”

To give you some perspective on the evil that is Hamas, need we remind you that its more “moderate” rival, Fatah, is run by a guy who’s doctoral dissertation is devoted to Holocaust denial? Palestinian politics is clearly more dysfunctional than Liza Minelli and David Guest’s “marriage.” (Or than Liza Minelli, for that matter.) Indeed, Hamas offers a brand of Islamofascist politics so reactionary that it seems only to appeal to Western progressives.

Interestingly, as far as we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” can intuit, a number of intellectuals are rather surprised by this recent turn of events in the Middle East. After all, who in their right mind would have thought that the peaceable Palestinians, when given the opportunity, would choose a terrorist group as their political representatives?

Not us, we can tell you; surely not us. In fact, we can’t think of one thing that would have offered the slightest clue. The 1948 War, the Six Day War, the Yom Kippur War, sundry suicide bombings, the failed Oslo Peace Process, the intifadas, the cheering on 9/11—nothing at all leads us to believe that the Palestinians would prove so gosh-darn violent.

Actually, Palestinian support for Hamas has left us reflecting upon a handful of other age-old brainteasers:

1) Women appear to prefer men who make an awful lot of money.
2) As a group, Arabs are not big Woody Allen fans.
3) Tom Cruise is gay.

So who, you may or may not be asking yourself, is to blame for Hamas’ triumph? Why don’t we ask the Paper of Record? The January 27 number of the Gray Lady offers a staff editorial that addresses this very question. Entitled “In the Mideast, a Giant Step Back,” the piece excoriates Mahmoud Abbas for his ineptitude and “Israeli hard-liners” for their irksome insistence on the existence of Israel.

Are we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” the only ones who note that The New York Times left some people out? How about those peaceable Palestinians, who seem to adore terrorism even more than Ray Nagin likes dark chocolate?

Ah, but we wouldn’t want to commit a cardinal sin among our left-wing pals. No, not “blaming the victim.” We’re referring to “treating Arabs like human beings.”

After all, what’s more progressive than infantilizing Palestinians? There, there, little Achmed: We know you can’t help yourself. Did the big bad hyper-power upset you again?

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January 27, 2006

The SUV: Twenty-First Century Answer to Penis Envy

Every once in a great while, something we loathe is also detested by such an odious group that we have to think twice about the object of our uncontrollable scorn. A perfect example of this is surely the Sport Utility Vehicle, better known in these here United States as the SUV.

After all, nothing irks the chuckleheaded terrorists at the Earth Liberation Front quite like a gas-guzzling SUV. (Well, maybe the logging industry does. Or showering. But we digress.) And that, it seems to us, is nearly reason to like SUVs.

Nearly. Yet the SUV is such an irksome piece of machinery that we simply can’t pretend to esteem it.

Now, don’t get us wrong, dear reader: We aren’t particularly troubled by the fact that SUVs use up a horrid amount of fuel. We don’t think it’s particularly wonderful to drive a vehicle that’s less efficient than a teenager with ADHD, especially given the unsavory nature of those OPECers. But this isn’t what really gets our dander up.

We, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” couldn’t help but notice that the majority of these SUVs are driven by women. In fact, the female members of the crack young staff—who make up nearly 47 percent of us—were the first to mention this. And, like card-carrying postmodernists, we feel as if this has something to do with power. Let’s be trendy and call it a “discourse of power.” (It makes you feel as if you have tenure, doesn’t it?)

Now, come on: How many ladies spend a sufficient amount of time off-roading to warrant the purchase of an SUV? If we were betting men and women—and, unlike morality czar Bill Bennett, we’re not—we’d say not many.

Some may say that the typical soccer mom (Latin name: Mater pilea) fancies an SUV for reasons of safety. But this makes no sense: Volvos are plenty safe, and yet those appear to have gone out of style along with “Baby on Board” stickers.

No, if you ask us, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” women favor SUVs because they’re big and offer the illusion of power. In short, it’s because they have penis envy. Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar, but other times an SUV is a substitute for a penis.

A number of you may be wondering: “What about the male drivers of SUVs?” They have penis envy too.

It’s so bloody obvious. Given the choice between an SUV and a Hummer, what man—gay, straight, or Tom Cruise—wouldn’t want a Hummer?

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January 26, 2006

Canada, You’re Still Not Off the Hook

By now, dear reader, you undoubtedly recognize that the odious Canadian Prime Minister Paul Martin has lost his reelection bid, and his Conservative Party rival, Stephen Harper, will soon replace him as the top man up north. Naturally, this is a cause for celebration: Canadians and Americans will be well served by Martin’s exit from political life. After all, Martin fostered distinctly anti-American positions, and made much of his well-publicized hatred for the United States.

Frankly, dear reader, this election officially marks the first time that we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” have cared one iota about Canadian politics. We know, we know: It’s always important to keep up with world affairs. But it never seemed to matter to us whether the Prime Minister was named Cretin or not (or was that Chretien?).

In our defense, we have never cared much about the elections for other posts of similar power and influence. Like dogcatcher in Dubuque. So you can’t chalk up our un-studied indifference to Canadian politics to some sort of anti-Canuck sentiment.

To put it in analogy form, American politics is to Canadian politics what the NFL is to the Canadian Football League. And who the heck cares about the Winnipeg Blue Bombers, for crying out loud?

All the same, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” are delighted that Mr. Harper has won, and we hope that his victory ushers in a new age of cooperation among these North American nations. And we must heartily applaud Canadians for voting in Mr. Harper, and ignoring the repellent nonsense pitched by Paul Martin.

But this does not mean that we are completely willing to let bygones be bygones. No sir, Canada: We still trust you about as much as a drunk uncle from West Virginia.

It is in this spirit, dear reader, that we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” have crafted the following open letter to our pals up north. As university administrators are wont to say, we hope this will begin a glorious dialogue between the United States and Canada. Perhaps we’ll even send it along to some of our Canadian “weblogging” pals, so that they can get enraged and compose stinging retorts.

An Open Letter To Canada by The Crack Young Staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly”

Okay, Canada—so you did pretty good, for once. But let’s not let this get to your head, eh? (As you might say.) There are still plenty of things about you that irk the heck out of us, your neighbors to the South. In fact, we were hoping that you could take care of them, now that you have done one thing to please the good ole’ USA.

First, you have a French part. Now, to be sure, you don’t much esteem the French part of Canada either. But, man, it really bugs Americans. We mean, come on: The French are already mega-irritating, and they are at least European. French-Canadians offer all of the snootiness of the French without any of the culture associated with Europe. Does it get worse than this? These people simply must be stopped.

Also, we Americans greatly dislike the cavalcade of aesthetic mediocrities you have sent our way. Bryan Adams, Celine Dione, Loverboy—doesn’t America have a sufficient number of horrid stars on its own? Do we really need Rick Moranis?

Third—and most importantly—the renaming of Northwest Territories was entirely unnecessary and ridiculous. How many people live there anyway? Three? It is this kind of pansy capitulation to multiculturalism that makes you look bad in the first place.

And why all the finger-wagging about Kyoto? You guys could really profit from global warming. Haven’t you ever been to Northwest Territories? It’s as cold as a bitch.

Warm Wishes and Maple Leafs,
The Crack Young Staff of THMQ

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January 25, 2006

If Dr. King Were Alive Today, He’d Say “Shut Up, You Idiot”

As everyone outside of Arizona well knows, another Martin Luther King Day has come and gone. And this has allowed us, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” time to reflect on the legacy of Dr. King, and the great things he accomplished in his life.

Naturally, we certainly consider ourselves fans of the Good Doctor. Even so, dear reader, we would be fibbing if we told you that Martin Luther King Day were entirely un-irksome.

Now, before you get all bent out of shape, allow us to tell you what we mean. We’re not talking about strange references to Parliament’s Chocolate City record, although apparently it’s been in the news of late. And we don’t mean a certain thick-legged and thick-headed politician’s references to “plantations.”

Rather, dear reader, we are referring to the myriad columnists, essayists, and television commentators who offer variations on the following phrase: “If Dr. King were alive today, he’d….” This sentiment, or various approximations thereof, bothers the heck out of us. Darn near every one who discusses racial issues near Martin Luther King Day—regardless of political views—invokes this tired phrase.

Are we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” the only ones who find this a pathetic gambit? After all, how do these morons know what Dr. King would support if he were alive today? Who’s to say that he wouldn’t have undergone a radical political transformation, and become a card-carrying member of the Christian Falangist Party? It’s unlikely, we’ll admit, but it’s a possibility all the same.

We mean, come on: If you watch the chat shows around MLK Day, you are constantly flooded with talking heads assured that the late Civil Rights leader would be a stalwart defender of their positions. As far as they’re concerned, Dr. King would support everything from protests against the Iraq War to aluminum siding. He’d be for welfare reform, affirmative action, school choice, euthanasia, knickers, Cadbury Crème Eggs, rap music, female circumcision, midget Jell-O wrestling, &c.

Would it be too much for us to assert that Dr. King, were he alive today, would be a humungous fan of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly”? We’re darn sure that he’d glory in our luminous animadversions and chortle at our wry observations. In fact, we’ll go so far as to suggest that Dr. King would consider “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly” the very best “website” on Al Gore’s World-Wide Web.

As such, it’s particularly unfortunate that Dr. King could not be alive today. Not only would he have been able to continue with his important Civil Rights work, he would have really aided our “weblog’s” popularity.

Oh, well. We suppose we’ll have to shoot for Louis Farrakhan’s endorsement instead. (What was that Billy Joel said about only the good dying young? We suppose that’s why he’s still with us.)

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January 24, 2006

A Million Little Lies

It appears as if these here United States of America have been all abuzz about A Million Little Pieces by James Frey. Said tome was a selection for the book club of that consummate highbrow, Oprah Winfrey, and, as such, sold like hotcakes.

As pretty much all of America knows, however, many portions of Mr. Frey’s supposed memoir have been deemed a bit factually challenged. Whereas Mr. Frey claims to have spent months doing hard time in prison, it seems as if he was actually doing hard time as a male stripper. Or some such: We’re not entirely sure we got the facts straight. Perhaps he was a rodeo clown?

Anyway, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” are not big Oprah fans, and thus we seldom read her book club selections. We tend to favor the finer things—like stock car racing and intercourse with first cousins. As such, we must admit that we haven’t even taken a gander at Mr. Frey’s book. Still, we are fully prepared to believe that it’s a beautiful, moving story of a man’s triumph over a completely made up drug addiction.

Still, dear reader, this doesn’t appear to be enough for the American public, which is buying Mr. Frey’s work in such massive amounts that we may have to revise our theory that all Americans are illiterate. The more this guy lies, it seems, the more people head to their local chain bookstore and lay down their hard-earned money for his book.

Naturally, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” are always in the mood to make a buck or two. Except, dear reader, when we—in proper soft rock form—feel like makin’ love. But that seldom happens these days.

Accordingly, we came up with a brilliant idea: Why not write a completely dubious memoir chock-a-block with fibs? We’ll tell such tall tales that you’d think James Frey were George Washington. Provided our lies were sufficiently ridiculous, our “memoir” will make all kinds of cash. We’ll be greener than Kermit the Frog on a dingy with Anna Nicole Smith, Roseanne Barr, and a seesaw. (Man, that was a long way to go for a gag.)

It is in this spirit, dear reader, that one of our senior editors here at “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly”—let’s just call him “Chip”—composed the following few paragraphs. We figured that it would set the tone for his salaciously fabricated work, and thus garner the attention of all kinds of literary agents. Fame, fortune, and infamy, here we come!

Without further ado then, we proudly present:

The Winter of Our Incontinence a Memoir by “Chip”

Chapter the Fourth: “I Can’t Believe That’s Oregano!”

…Reagan was always doing that sort of thing. “End the Cold War for me,” he whimpered. Clearly, he was going to need my help.

“Show a little backbone, will you?” I responded. But it never seemed to get through to him. A few days later, I told Gorbachev once and for all: “Tear down this wall.” And the rest, as Dexy’s Midnight Runner’s agent says, is history.

This kind of confidence naturally made me a big hit with the ladies. Of course it didn’t hurt that I’m hotter than a Rolex in Winona Ryder’s pocket. As I got off the ‘phone with the Gipper, one of my sundry supermodel girlfriends said “Gee, ‘Chip,’ you’re hotter than a Rolex in Winona Ryder’s pocket.”

“Ah, shut up and make me a chicken salad sandwich,” I retorted. She did, but only after making remarks about my impressive calf muscles.

It was then that it finally hit me: Maybe it had been a mistake to sleep with Angelina Jolie….

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January 23, 2006

Our Lovely Lady “Posts”

We, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” like to think of ourselves as really, really hip. Not, we dare say, as cool as, say, Pat Boone, but pretty with-it nonetheless.

Every once in a great while, however, something from the world of popular culture strikes us as so calamitously pernicious that we perceive ourselves as getting into prime Jerry Falwell mode to excoriate it. Frankly, this makes us feel like a passel of superannuated curmudgeons. But sometimes we simply can’t help ourselves.

And such was surely the case when one of the junior editors here at “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly”—let’s just call him “Chip”—took in a music video of “My Humps,” a ditty by a pop group called the Black Eyed Peas. Naturally, “Chip” was just passing by the MTV, in search of finer cultural fare. Yet this song and its appallingly lascivious video were so upsetting that “Chip” found himself glued to the set. To be downright honest, “Chip” immediately thought that, if this is what Osama bin Laden means by “decadent Western culture,” he’s got a darn good point.

Don’t believe us, dear reader? Well, just take a gander at the lyrics for the first few verses of this inane romp:

What you gon’ do with all that junk?
All that junk inside your trunk?
I’ma get, get, get, get, you drunk,
Get you love drunk off my hump.
My hump, my hump, my hump, my hump, my hump,
My hump, my hump, my hump, my lovely little lumps. (Check it out)

I drive these brothers crazy,
I do it on the daily,
They treat me really nicely,
They buy me all these icies.
Dolce & Gabbana,
Fendi and NaDonna
Karan, they be sharin’
All their money got me wearin' fly
But I ain’t askin,
They say they love my ass ‘n,
Seven Jeans, True Religion's,
I say no, but they keep givin’
So I keep on takin’
And no I ain’t taken
We can keep on datin’
I keep on demonstrating.

My love, my love, my love, my love
You love my lady lumps,
My hump, my hump, my hump,
My humps they got u,
She’s got me spending.
(Oh) Spendin’ all your money on me and spending time on me.
She’s got me spendin’.

And on and on it goes. Now, is it just us, or does these lyrics appear to be the work of a seriously retarded person? We mean a real Call-the-Neurologist kind of guy? We’ve heard better rhymes in instrumental tunes. And for crying out loud: “Humps?” “Lovely lady lumps?” Dear, oh, dear.

Unfortunately, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” found that this vapid tune and its accompanying randy video are all the rage among the pre-teen thong-wearing set. Never mind Bartok—bring on the lovely lady lumps!

This all made us wonder: How can we capitalize on the arrant stupidity of such children? Why not make our own version of “My Humps,” but fit the lyrics to our “weblog”? This, surely, will make “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly” all the rage.

Accordingly, the Official Lyrics Department here at “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly” has fashioned its own verse, which should be sung to the mind-blowingly horrid tune “My Humps”:

What you gon’ do with all that “post”?
All that “post” inside your “web-host”?
I’ma make, make, make, make, you toast,
Make you love boast off my “post.”
My “post,” my “post,” my “post,” my “post,” my “post,”
My “post,” my “post,” my “post,” my lovely little “posts.” (Check ‘em out)

Pretty darn good, if we must say so ourselves. Next thing you know, we’ll be bigger than Elvis (in more ways than one).

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January 20, 2006

Absolute Peace Has Never Been So Easy

We, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” love to spend part of our Sundays reading The New York Times Book Review. Where else can you read snotty dismissals by Wonkette, a young woman who appears to have excelled merely at picking her nose and eating it? Alas, the answer to that question appears to be Nowhere.

As a result, you will be thoroughly unsurprised to learn that one of the junior staffers here at “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly”—let’s just call him “Chip”—was blithely perusing the most recent number of the Book Review. Whilst flipping through the pages, “Chip” came upon a rather curious advertisement.

Directing readers to a “website,” in part it read:

FREE BOOKLETS ON “Four Steps to Absolute Peace” Project Now Available from JAPAN

“The Selected Works of Prof. Dr. Hisatoki Komaki—Four Steps to Absolute Peace” (With 300 Nobel Prize winners and University Presidents all over the world) may be summarize as follows:- [sic]

Goal I: Global Disarmament under Federal World Government (by 2015)
Goal II: Total Abolition of meat-diet, animal experiments, and insecticides (RIGHT NOW, or by 2050)
Goal III: Abolition of mutual killing of wild animals, fishes, or insects through their population control (by 2090)
Goal IV: Complete Salvation (smooth spiritual growth) of all the spiritual beings of the Whole Universe, of all dimensions: Fulfillment of Ultimate Creator’s purpose of “The Creation of the Universe”.

Now, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” are as dedicated as anyone to the “Complete Salvation (smooth spiritual growth) of all spiritual beings of the Whole Universe, of all dimensions.” But, regarding the Good Doctor Komaki’s goals, color us skeptical.

We don’t mean to quibble here, but we find it somewhat unlikely that we shall all live under a Federal Word Government by 2015. Further, the fact that Dr. Komaki’s “website” dates the completion of Goal I to 2010 doesn’t inspire us with much confidence. Why did he have to backdate his original goal? Can’t the FWG (as we call it) be up and running in 2010? What’s the snag?

As if this weren’t sufficiently troublesome, we noted that Dr. Komaki’s ad refers approvingly to “Rev. and Mrs. Sun Myung MOON.” We don’t mean to cast aspersions at the Moonies (or at the Moon, for that matter), but we tend to be wary of their work. And yes, this includes The Washington Times.

Yet perhaps the most uninspiring element of Dr. Komaki’s advert is its appallingly poor grasp of English grammar. Is this the kind of prose we can expect from the FWG? If so, we don’t think it’ll prove very effective.

Accordingly, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” hereby offer our own list of goals for Dr. Komaki. They may not be as grandiose as those put forth in his advertisement, but we think they’re far more obtainable.

FREE BOOKLETS ON “Four Steps to Not Being a Complete Laughingstock” Project Now Available from AMERICA

“The Selected Works of the Crack Young STAFF—Four Steps to Not Being a Complete Laughingstock” (With No Nobel Prize Winners or University Presidents from all over the world) may be summarized as follows:

Goal I: Learn how to craft sentences in English (by 2015)
Goal II: Stop capitalizing unnecessary words (Right NOW, or by 2050)
Goal III: Don’t refer to the Moonies in your footnotes
Goal IV: Complete salvation (smooth spiritual growth), or, failing that, retirement (by 2075)

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January 19, 2006

“Link” It Up

Devotees of this humble “website” undoubtedly realize that it is a mite different from other “weblogs.” Sure, it’s written by a bunch of lamebrain technophobes who still haven’t mastered the art of “posting” pictures. But that’s not exactly what we mean. Rather, we are referring to content.

That is to say, dear reader, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” aim to please with five—count ‘em, five—luminous mini-essays a week. Each weekday, you can glory in the veritable laugh riot that is “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly.” It’s like The Nation, only intentionally funny. Or, if you prefer, unintentionally unfunny.

Naturally, this is a somewhat peculiar format for today’s “weblog.” Or, for that matter, the “weblog” of tomorrow. As you undoubtedly recognize, dear reader, the typical “weblogger”—clad in indelicately stained pajamas—spends his time offering a festival of “links” to other pieces, sometimes with a smattering of added commentary. This allows said “weblogger” to proffer numerous “posts” a day (at least in theory), but the “posts” in question are shorter and less involved than the dunderheaded monstrosities that we present here. As Cleopatra might have said, pick your poison. (Or did Robert Downey Jr. say that? We can’t recall.)

Yet today, dear reader, we’re trying something different. We, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” have long envied “normal” “webloggers”—the kinds of folks who offer lots of “links” and little sermonizing. Their modus scribendi just seems so attractive!

Accordingly, in today’s humble “post,” we shall drop all our pretenses to crafting bone-chilling jeremiads, and focus on presenting some “link” love instead. This will also allow us to test another meta-“weblogging” theory we’ve long held. We firmly believe that obsequious “links” to other “websites” makes you very e-popular.

So, without much in the way of further ado, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” proudly present:

“Link” Love: An Official Pathetic Attempt at “Weblogging” Like Normal Human Beings

-A naked teacher accosting police officers with a plastic toy trumpet? We wonder which was the bigger bugle.

-We’re not clairvoyant or anything, but we have the distinct impression that this “weblog” is going to be really popular.

-We’re not clairvoyant or anything, but we have the distinct impression that this “weblog” is not really popular. No offense meant; we think it may be a language thing.

-Sadie’s new “website” is up and running, and it’s called Agent Bedhead. Interestingly, whereas her old “weblog” was far more visually appealing than ours, her new “weblog” is far more visually appealing than ours. Under such circumstances, does this really count as a change? Man, that was a really Zen observation. Or stupid.

-Sullywatch still sucks.

Well, dear reader, we don’t know about you, but that made us feel really, really good. We wonder how many “normal” “webloggers” will take our queue and try their hands at a few shortish essays.

In the meantime, since we’re so regular and all, we thought we ought finally to figure out what the heck SCOTUS means. We’ve seen that neologism more times than “the” in the past few months, and we keep on thinking “scrotum.” But, then again, in general we keep on thinking “scrotum.”

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January 18, 2006

Pat Robertson’s Future Meae Culpae

Those who follow the ins and outs of American politics undoubtedly recognize that Pat Robertson has gotten into some hot water of late. Reverend Robertson, of course, is the face behind the quasi-news program “The 700 Club,” presumably named for the number of Americans Mr. Robertson has failed to alienate over the years.

Naturally, the foolish slips of Mr. Robertson are only newsworthy because the mainstream media incorrectly label Mr. Robertson a man of talismanic power among the much-maligned Christian Right. Such media outlets appear not to have noticed that Christian conservatives are actually capable of thinking for themselves, and do not hang upon Mr. Robertson’s every word.

Still, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” must admit that Mr. Robertson has recently uttered some rather unfortunate things. First, he heartily recommended that the United States of America assassinate Hugo Chavez. Even for those itching for the murder of this tin-pot Castro, this must have seemed like a bad strategic move. After all, why announce that you would like someone killed? Won’t that help the enemy a bit?

As if this weren’t moronic enough, more recently Mr. Robertson opined that God may have smote Ariel Sharon because Prime Minister Sharon gave up the Gaza Strip to those peaceable Palestinians. Thankfully, Mr. Robertson apologized for this odious remark, which seemed eerily similar to those of Palestinian terrorists—excuse us, militants—who praised God for Sharon’s stroke.

This pattern of unfortunate pronouncements may have led you to wonder, dear reader, what repellent remarks will Mr. Robertson utter in the future. And, since Mr. Robertson has already apologized for his previous transgressions, you may also wonder for which future remarks will he apologize.

Well, dear reader, wonder no longer. The Official Prognostications Department here at “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly” has all the answers. Below you’ll find a list of utterly awful utterances Mr. Robertson will utter. Attached you will also find Mr. Robertson’s profuse apologies, so that he can officially take back his words even before he’s offered them.

Without too much in the way of further ado, then, the Official Prognostications Department is pleased as lil’ piggies to present:

Apologies for Pat Robertson’s Future Remarks:

1) Mr. Robertson would like to apologize for suggesting that Joe Biden is “the spawn of Satan.” Of course, Senator Biden is only distantly related to Satan, on his mother’s side.

2) Mr. Robertson would like to apologize for inferring that the Ronco Food Dehydrator is a perfect gift for your favorite fellow Christian. The Food Dehydrator, of course, is a poorly wrought piece of garbage, and the gift-giving value of a machine that makes sub-par “Turkey Jerky” is limited at best.

3) Mr. Robertson apologizes profusely for stating that “Osama bin Laden is the Irish Ted Kennedy.” It is Senator Kennedy, of course, who is Irish.

4) Mr. Robertson would like to apologize for suggesting that America should take over Mexico by force. That, of course, would not be worth it.

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January 17, 2006

“Don’t Hate Me Because I’m Fat”

Like the late art critic Clement Greenberg, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” are highbrows. As you may very well imagine, this entails watching numerous episodes of the VH-1 masterpiece “Celebrity Fit Club,” a program so stupid that you might even cringe when you find out that Gary Busey was involved with it.

After all, thanks to Susan Sontag’s “Notes on Camp” article, a budding intellectual can eschew Proust and Stravinsky, and take in all manner of crap. Thanks, Susan: The life of the mind has never been so easy.

We mention all this, dear reader, not to make you envious of our elitist tastes. Indeed, “Celebrity Fit Club” is the Finnegans Wake of the boob tube, but we don’t want to lord that over you.

Rather, we offer this little tidbit because we have recently discovered that one Kelly LeBrock is one of the overweight participants on the program. For those of you blissfully unaware of Ms. LeBrock, allow us to jog your memory.

Ms. LeBrock is a vaguely talentless actress-cum-model who was featured decades ago in a bevy of Pantene shampoo commercials. The then-fetching Ms. LeBrock, who boasted a darn fine hairdo, archly uttered the irksome line “Don’t hate me because I’m beautiful” to the camera, whilst her locks swayed in the studio-created breeze. This, apparently, sent the ladies to the shampoo aisle in droves.

To which we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” replied: Don’t worry, Ms. LeBrock, that was never the reason. We’ve hated you, of course, but your “beauty” never even factored into the equation.

In fact, these shampoo spots were so successful that they even landed Ms. LeBrock a starring role in the resplendent 1980s epic Weird Science. Said pic, also starring Anthony Michael Hall, firmly enshrined Ms. LeBrock as an honest-to-goodness vixen, a pre-pubescent boy’s vision of pulchritude.

Imagine our collective shock, then, upon witnessing a dumpy Ms. LeBrock slumming it up on “Celebrity Fit Club.” First, the show is so horrid that participating in it is as close as you’ll get to a sure-fire sign your career is over. Just ask Victoria Jackson, whose irritatingly squeaky voice hasn’t even been vaguely unfunny on television for a while.

Worse yet, the previously beauteous Ms. LeBrock is advertising her gut for all to see. (Well, for all who watch VH-1 to see, which we hope is actually a small number of viewers.)

So the gorgeous Ms. LeBrock has become the television equivalent of the bearded woman. Oh, how the mighty have fallen! We wonder if the fellow who played Wyatt is similarly disappointed.

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January 16, 2006

Happy Martin Luther King Jr. Day

Well, dear reader, perhaps “Happy Martin Luther King Jr. Day” isn’t exactly the best way to put it. After all, the holiday celebrates the life of one of the great figures in American history, who was, of course, tragically murdered. Still, most of us have the day off of work, and, whether we reflect on the legacy of Dr. King or not, that’s a reason for happiness.

Far be it for us, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” to offer up a typical “post” on this holiest of days in the civil rights calendar. No, sir: We too have a dream, and not “posting” is it. (It’s not a very ambitious dream, but it has the benefit of being eminently obtainable.)

So, dear reader, we promise to hit you with a clever animadversion tomorrow. Until then, we’ll be busy listening to Barry White albums and munching on collared greens. (We wonder where you can get the kind without the collar; they’re less formal.)

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January 13, 2006

A Theory Confirmed

As devoted reader(s) of this humble “weblog” well know, “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly” is something of an acquired taste. Not in the illicit way in which, say, beer or, say, amphetamines are acquired tastes. Rather, what we mean is that this “weblog” is not terribly popular.

Unfortunately, we have dilated on this topic numerous times, and we don’t mean to belabor you with our typical pathetic rants about our own dismal little place on Al Gore’s World-Wide Web. The clever reader may note that this pitiably self-obsessed e-kvetching has likely aided our un-popularity.

But we do bring up this topic for a reason. For a good long while, dear reader, we have had the sneaking suspicion that the way to become a “weblogging” superstar was to avoid “posting” altogether. Well, not altogether, exactly, just most of the time.

It may sound like a foolish theory, but stick with us. After all, the “weblogger” who offers daily musings on this, that, and the other thing soon becomes tiresome. Who wants to read more arrant piffle about Judge Alito composed by an ignoramus with an eerie crush on Andrew Sullivan? Not us, not us.

Yet the clever “weblogger” who goes on extended “weblogging” vacations is often rewarded for his e-laziness. Unlike quotidian scribblers, this “weblogger” gets all kinds of attention when he briefly returns to his “weblog.” All manner of “webloggers” offer their huzzahs, and the lethargic “weblogger’s” “website” gets bigger than Tom Cruise’s desire for homosexual intercourse.

Right about now, the doubters among you are saying: “Oh, yeah—that’s total garbage. You can’t really get popular by failing to ‘post.’” Or words to that effect.

Well, dear reader, allow us to offer slightly indirect proof of our point. Our old pal John of the luminous “weblog” Texas Best Grok has been a Lazy Larry of late. Instead of presenting his typical animadversions on all and sundry, he’s been content to let his “weblog” stew in its collective juices.

The result? As John himself reports, his “hits” went through the roof, and he is now an impressive Large Mammal in the deeply problematic Truth-Never-Got-Laid-Bare Echo System. Rather intriguing, is it not?

Meanwhile, this humble “weblog”—humble as it is—has nosedived of late, even though it has seen a recent spate of e-traffic. As the bottom of our “website” un-proudly declares, we are a Flappy Bird, which is roughly speaking the Scott Baio of the Internet. (You know what we mean, dear reader: A laughingstock with great hair.)

Does this mean that we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” in a desperate attempt to become e-famous, will cease “posting”? No, you couldn’t get that lucky.

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January 12, 2006

Typically Nuanced Views from Egypt

As of this writing, dear reader, Israeli Prime Minister Ariel Sharon is making a mild recovery from his serious stroke, thanks to the work of Israeli doctors. (Yasir “She’s My Baby” Arafat, by contrast, was flown to France upon becoming gravely ill. Perhaps Palestinian hospitals aren’t up to the standards of their Israeli counterparts? Who would have thunk it?)

Although Mr. Sharon’s situation has improved of late, he is still in rough shape, and his political life seems over. Under such delicate circumstances, what kind of commentary do you suppose a reputable news source would offer on the ailing Mr. Sharon?

Well, how about making an explicit comparison between Sharon and Hitler? Sounds reasonable to us.

And it surely sounded reasonable enough to the folks at Al-Ahram, a state-controlled Egyptian daily. Just recently, Al-Ahram, the rag notable for publishing the late Edward Said’s pernicious ramblings, printed a staff editorial loftily called “Sharon’s End and the Law of Life.”

If that title leads you to believe that the piece presents kindly ruminations on the nature of human frailty, think again. For Al-Ahram is so nuts that it makes the unhinged nutters at The Nation seem positively hinged.

Don’t believe us? Well, take a gander at a choice selection from the editorial in question:

Adolf Hitler used to say that his entire life was not enough for the things he had in mind for Germany. Hitler believed that his plans for Germany would need hundreds of years to be completed, whereas he had less than 100 years to live. Because he had so little trust in the abilities of his aides, the Nazi leader had to race against time to accomplish his dreams and make the future, as he saw it, come true.

Ariel Sharon felt the same way.

Well, gee: That’s certainly reasonable. Surely the most apt figure to compare with Mr. Sharon is Adolf Hitler. We can’t think of anyone more suitable. And we can’t think of any reason why such a comparison may be the slightest bit morally objectionable.

Further on in the repellent piece, Al-Ahram posits: “Sharon had the same problem as Hitler.” Um, not the exact same problem: Didn’t Hitler have some sort of “Jewish Problem” that he thought required a rather final solution? Apparently the subtleties of all this are beyond the anti-Semitic cretins at Al-Ahram.

In the course of the editorial, Israel is referred to as merely possessing the “trappings of democracy”—as if the thuggish tyranny in Egypt were somehow superior to Israel’s parliamentary system. And this brings to mind an important question: Al-Ahram is nothing more than an Egyptian state propaganda outfit. If this is the kind of noxious political sermonizing it produces, why exactly does Egypt deserve billions of dollars in US aid?

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January 11, 2006

Urgent! Your Attention Needed!

We, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” like any other sentient beings, strongly dislike so called spam—the unwanted mass mailings that clutter our e-boxes. Whether it’s a message for penile enlargement or a message for penile enlargement, these e-mails can become downright irksome and repetitive.

To make matters worse, dear reader, they’re often so stupid. We mean, come on: If you earnestly buy stocks because of what you read in a spam mailing, you are officially an idiot. In fact, you are such a dolt that we hereby crown you an Official Idiot.

Nothing gets our dander up, however, quite like those deeply irritating e-epistles from some purportedly wealthy exiled potentate from Dubai. All this chucklehead needs, it seems, is our confidential banking information, and then he’ll happily fork over $18 million. Gosh, doesn’t that sound grand?

Naturally, such a ploy is manifestly absurd. Shouldn’t the “needing your confidential banking information” be a bit of a telltale sign of dubiousness? We’d surely think so. In addition, if so many people from Dubai have $18 million, why is their local economy in the crapper? It doesn’t make much sense.

After (literally) seconds of consternation brought on from the receipt of the umpteenth such e-letter, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” decided to do more than stew in our own collective and figurative juices. No simple stewing for us. Oh, no: We aimed to get even.

Accordingly, we wrote the following e-missive of our own, which we hope to send as replies to any address sending us this odious Dubai scam spam.

To: Odious Dubai Spam Scammers

From: The Crack Young Staff of THMQ

Re: Urgent! Your Attention Needed

We apologize if you were not expecting a message from us. We are in a very difficult situation right now, and we figured that you could offer us some help, and make a goodly amount of money in the process.

We, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” run a popular “weblog” on Al Gore’s World-Wide Web. Although we are loved and esteemed by literally dozens of readers worldwide, we are unfortunately having increasing problems regarding our personnel.

Recently, one of the junior editors on staff—let’s just call him “Chip”—has gone a bit batty. He’s flown into a rage about the strangest things: Regarding those who send Internet spam mail, for example. But you wouldn’t know anything about that.

Anyway, he has threatened to pilfer our treasured savings of $18 million. Apparently, he’s going to waste it all on some dubious business proposition from Dubai. We, then, require a safe place where we can store our “weblog’s” funds, so that “Chip” doesn’t get his hands on them. And we’d gladly pay you a handsome sum for your aid—say, $12 million.

All we require from you is your confidential banking identification: Passwords, credit card numbers, &c. Within a few days, we’ll transfer our funds to your account.

Thank you again for all of your concern and support. If we may say so, it’s very Christian of you.


The Crack Young Staff of THMQ

Now, let’s see if we get any takers.

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January 10, 2006

Save “Tookie,” and Kill the “MF’s”!

As you might well imagine, dear reader, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” are avid readers of The Amsterdam News, a ragingly left-wing rag aimed at black Americans (whom it calls Black Americans). Anyone who has been sufficiently fortunate to take a gander at this paper on the well-stocked newsstand knows that its graphic design and overall appearance are slightly less impressive than that of a middle school newsletter. Circa 1982. That is to say, it’s a real winner.

It is with the greatest of shame, then, that we admit that we have not kept up with The Amsterdam News of late. Think of all the impressive journalistic work we are missing. Or, at least, all the I-hate-whitey race-baiting.

Upon reading a mention of The Amsterdam News on our pal Rachel’s “weblog,” therefore, we excitedly perused the rag’s “website.” Our reuniting with The Amsterdam News was much like Odysseus’ reuniting with Penelope. Only neither Odysseus nor Penelope was black (or Black, for that matter). Admittedly, though, we have not kept abreast of Afrocentric scholarship of late, and maybe someone has argued that they are both black, much like Beethoven, Jesus, Henry Kissinger, Pat Boone, and a cavalcade of other supposed Caucasians.

So, you are undoubtedly wondering what treasures we have been missing by skipping our typical fix of The Amsterdam News. Well, one such oversight has been neglecting the sagacious and clear-headed political analysis of Wilbert A. Tatum. Mr. Tatum is the distinguished Editor Emeritus and Chairman of the Board at The Amsterdam News, a post that called to mind T. Herman Zweibel, the distinguished Editor Emeritus at The Onion.

Given his lofty position at The Amsterdam News, we expected particularly clever commentary from Mr. Tatum. After all, this isn’t some ordinary hack; this is the Editor Emeritus, for crying out loud.

Upon turning to Mr. Tatum’s delicate opinion piece “Tookie, how soon they forget,” we realized that we would not be disappointed. If we may put this in the form of an analogy, Mr. Tatum is to smarts what Hitler was to philo-Semitism. Sounds good, eh?

The piece in question, as you might well imagine, dilates on the recent execution of Stanley “Tookie” Williams, the brutal thug and Crips-founder who was convicted of killing four people. Numerous “well-intentioned” paleo-liberals argued that Mr. Willimas did not deserve his sentence, because he had written a couple of children’s books with anti-violent messages. You’ll get no argument from us on that. (We wonder, however, how many children’s books with anti-violent messages his four victims have penned since he killed them.)

Mr. Tatum, naturally, was in the Free Tookie camp. Here is a choice bit from his outstanding editorial:

Tookie's gone. Yes, Tookie's gone one more round. Tookie's gone.

How much he meant or should have meant to you, me, or Black America will never be certain, but this is certain: Tookie is gone.

It is so interesting, his mood when he died, as he tried to guide the technicians to the right place on his arm in which to insert the needle. He was helpful, even to the last.

But more than that, angry; even in his final hour the authorities could not get it right.

We do not believe for a moment that Tookie Williams killed those he was accused of killing. They cannot say, ''Tookie did not kill me''; therefore, he is fodder.

To be used for such purposes has no real value, and Tookie died as he pretty much lived - as something to be set upon and discarded. The state of California, through an idiot named Arnold Schwarzenegger, killed a human being because he was told by legal authorities that Williams had killed others, and as result, the law of our land dictated that he should die.

This idiot of a governor who had authority, but could not say, ''I saw him do it, or I couldn't prove he did it,'' chose not to exercise his authority like a human being might, and took Tookie Williams into that great getting-up morning.

Now, let’s see if we can get this impeccable logic straight. We must home in on this particularly impressive sentence: “The state of California, through an idiot named Arnold Schwarzenegger, killed a human being because he was told by legal authorities that Williams had killed others….”

First, we suppose we should note that Mr. Tatum, in this expert locution, has mistakenly referred to California as “he.” Perhaps this is a blunder that even the “idiot” Governor Schwarzenegger wouldn’t make?

But we were far more appalled by the moronic reasoning implied in the passage as a whole. Mr. Tatum appears to be arguing that a governor should not allow a criminal to be executed unless he himself witnesses the criminal’s actions. So, according to Mr. Tatum, criminals should only face the death penalty if the governor catches them in the act. How eminently reasonable.

We should note, however, that Mr. Tatum is not some sort of pacifist. He doesn’t seem to object to the killing of the noble (or is that Nobel) “Tookie” Williams as the result of some sort of anti-violence crusade. Rather, he wants hardened black criminals spared and all white people killed. As he lovingly puts it at the end of his piece: “we should kill all those MF’s.” Again, how eminently reasonable.

Is there any way that we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” can nominate Wilbert A. Tatum for governor of California? That way, the state would finally have an elected representative who isn’t an “idiot.”

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January 09, 2006

Another Great Marketing Idea

We, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” feel as if we are experts in the world of marketing and advertising. Sure, we don’t have much in the way of experience—a few mediocre garage sales, a few mediocre visits to a sperm bank, &c. And yet, if given the chance, we feel as if we could make a bundle. Or even money.

Why, just a few days ago, in fact, we collectively came up with yet another brilliant idea. A longtime pal of a few staffers sent us word about The Boston Globe Store’s Autograph Series, which offers “prints signed by Boston’s sports superstars.” Prospective purchasers can pick up, for example, a fancy image of Johnny Damon as a member of the Red Sox, complete with Mr. Damon’s own John Hancock. (Boy, that’ll sell like hotcakes, eh?)

So, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” figured that a slight tweaking of this concept could make us very, very wealthy. Our Official Marketing Department has been working on our scheme for the better part of an hour, and we think it’s pretty dandy. Get your checkbooks out, dear reader, and prepare to spend Jim Cramer’s Mad Money on the following quality items:

“The Hatemonger’s Quarterly” Official Marketing Department Proudly Presents:


Have you, dear reader, always pined to demonstrate your undying love for your favorite public intellectual? We neither. Still, think of how you could impress your friends with exclusive items signed by the world’s most famous talking heads? (Well, actually it’s their hands that will sign them. But we digress.)

In this special one-time offer, we are selling the following items. You will not see them in stores, so pick them up today!

A Rock Signed by the late Edward Said

Make yourself the envy of every New York Review of Books reader in the neighborhood with this rock, which Egyptian-born charlatan Edward Said hurled at the IDF. And, unlike Israel’s existence, this signed rock is officially endorsed by Edward Said’s family.

A Copy of Profit Over People: Neoliberalism and Global Order Signed by its Marxist author, Noam Chomsky

Nothing says “authenticity” quite like a signed copy of a polemic written by a Marxist who got rich from its sales! Take that, capitalism!

Doris Kearns Goodwin Signs Someone Else’s Book

For a limited time, Doris Kearns Goodwin, everyone’s favorite plagiarist, will sign copies of other people’s works. That might not sound so special, but come on: She probably spent about as much time on these books as she did on her own. And, if we can’t get Dr. Goodwin to sign her own work, we’ll simply get one of her graduate student toadies to fake her signature for her!

So, dear reader, we suggest that you order now. Our first two hundred customers get a free copy of Mein Kampf signed by Pat Buchanan. Or you can select a complimentary copy of an official Susan Estrich Pacifyer. Finally something will shut her up!

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January 06, 2006

Calling All Feminists

As everyone in the tolerant, civilized West knows, nothing smacks of intolerance and incivility quite like judging other cultures. Admittedly, devotees of the cult of multiculturalism don’t believe that militant jihadis are guilty of the grave sin of judgmentalism—after all, how could a Westerner say such a thing? But anyone from these here United States who lets fly a negative estimation of another culture has surely committed a crime worse than armed robbery.

And our pals, the “diversity” cultists, have a point: Who’s to say that forced marriages, brutal beatings, de facto lifelong prison terms inside the house, burqas, and grave threats of violence to those who transgress brutal societal norms are bad? If you ask many of our friends on the political Left, the answer is: Not them.

The above, naturally, are some of the wonderful aspects of Muslim culture, and, to our lefty comrades, they are as beautiful as apple pie, habeas corpus, and the First Amendment. Whilst Muslims flock to the West en masse, multiculturalists still cling to their enlightened beliefs.

As Peter Schneider’s recent article in a recent number of The New York Times Magazine demonstrates, however, some Germans are beginning to have some unfortunate doubts about the virtue of the glories of multiculturalism. Mr. Schneider reports:

…the books of three Muslim dissidents now tell us what Germans like me didn’t care to know. What they report seems almost unbelievable. They describe an everyday life of oppression, isolation, imprisonment and brutal corporal punishment for Muslim women and girls in Germany, a situation for which there is only one word: slavery.

To which we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” ever sensitive to the views of our multiculti pals, reply: Hold on there, Herr Judgmentalism. Just because you Krauts don’t esteem honor killings doesn’t mean you can force your noxious “Western values” down the throats of these cheerful Muslims. Just because such Muslims came to your country in order to escape the pathological sewer that is the Muslim political world doesn’t mean that they have to live by your stringent laws.

If this kind of thinking strikes you as a tad retrograde, dear reader, we are happy to inform you that it is the mainstream view of our feminist friends. As Phyllis Chesler reports in her admirable—though flawed—book, The Death of Feminism, contemporary feminists are so enraptured by a malignant, foolish Third-Worldism that they refuse to stand up against real gender oppression.

To our feminist pals, Muslim women may have to endure regular violence and degrading treatment and fear for their lives, but that doesn’t mean things are so hunky dory for Western women. For instance, in the West, women’s jeans cost more than men’s jeans. What’s that all about?

And so, dear reader, our feminist pals have decided that their animus against the West is so potent that they will stand firm with the proponents of Sharia provided they are suitably opposed to George W. Bush. Pretty laudable, isn’t it? Why is it that so many American women don’t consider themselves feminists?

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January 05, 2006

A Primer on Self-Respect

If you’re even remotely like us, dear reader, you get well-nigh all of your intellectual sustenance from Newsweek magazine, the mercilessly highbrow publication that prints some of the most important lucubrations in American history. We, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” like to think of Newsweek as the 21st century’s answer to T.S. Eliot’s defunct Criterion, only a tad more cosmopolitan.

Why, just think of all the fantastic morsels you get in an issue of Newsweek: Fun facts about rappers-cum-rapists in the “culture” pages; an insipid Soccer-Mom gripe from Anna Quindlen; short puff-pieces on Billy Joel. Move over, Lionel Trilling; Newsweek is our official arbiter of taste. We’d flush a Koran down a toilet just to get our hands on an issue.

Allow us to offer you a splendid example of the intellectual seriousness on display in each number of Newsweek. For the December 12 issue, one Steve Friess—obviously the Dwight Macdonald of his generation—penned an article entitled “Betting on the Studs.”

No, it isn’t about John Steinbeck. That would be so demotic. The kicker to the piece informs us that it focuses on a far more learned topic: “Madam Heidi Fleiss is back—and building an all-male bordello in the desert. Is even Nevada ready for this?”

We know what you are thinking, dear reader: That’s a darned good question. And a mighty intellectual one, too.

In the course of his lengthy thought-piece, Mr. Friess offers one sentence that is simply hysterical. It provided us, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” with yet another Thank God We Read Newsweek Moment. So take that, Robert Hughes and you other nincompoops at Time.

The sentence, which pertains to the fact that Ms. Fleiss’ male bordello is located “an hour-and-a-half from the Las Vegas Strip,” reads as follows:

“What self-respecting woman would drive that far for sex when it’s so easy to find here in Vegas?” asks Jessica Martini, 28, of Houston, standing in line last week to buy tickets to “Thunder from Down Under,” a male-stripper review.

Oh, that’s simply delicious. A woman lined up to see male strippers is expatiating on self-respect. To which we respond: What self-respecting woman lined up at a strip club would cast aspersions at women who would head to a bordello out of town? If you ask us, that’s also a darn fine query.

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January 04, 2006

The Ten Things We Hate About Heath Ledger, or Heath Takes Off His Chaps

By now, dear reader, you have likely heard of Brokeback Mountain, perhaps the world’s first cowboy film dedicated to propagandizing for Alan Keyes’ much-touted radical homosexual agenda. It sounds like a charming picture, if you ask us. Leather, branding, cattle prods, sodomy—what’s not to enjoy?

Quite frankly, though, our Official Film Critic gave the movie a pass. He figured that he already knows that You’re Here and You’re Queer, and, to be honest, He’s Used To It. So there’s no reason to waste one’s time watching a Clint Eastwood meets Richard Simmons film. (What’s next: Dirty Harry Is Sweating To the Oldies?)

All the same, dear reader, our failure to take in this picture hasn’t stopped us from griping about it. In general, our lack of knowledge about a given topic will never stop our pontificating. In this respect, we’re kind of like Bill O’Reilly, only with less hair and less money. And no sexual harassment charges. (You win some, you lose some.)

Actually, we haven’t any bad words to say about the film itself. Rather, we were bothered by the recent career moves of one of the stars of Brokeback Mountain, the pseudo-hunky Heath Ledger. This fellow, the most fetching actor from Down Under since Mel Gibson's Holocaust-denying father, has officially irked us. Not content to play mildly retarded dipsticks in teen films such as The Ten Things I Hate About You, Mr. Ledger seems to be in everyone’s pants of late. For not only is he a randy homosexual cowboy in Brokeback Mountain, he is also the eponymous star in the upcoming film Casanova.

So what, you may be asking yourself, is so outrageously upsetting about that? Who cares about the libido of a middling Australian thespian? Aren’t there more nettlesome problems in Hollywood these days—like Julia Stiles?

Well, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” have the sneaking suspicion that Mr. Ledger compelled his agent to land him a hetero-heartthrob role in a movie to appear soon after Brokeback Mountain. That way, he wouldn’t ruin his enormous straight-boy street cred’ by deigning to play an effete cowboy.

How pathetic! This glitzy star can’t fully handle playing a gay guy, and so he has to run to his Casanova act right afterward! Come on! Perhaps someone’s not so secure in his sexuality, Heath?

After enduring umpteen hours of purportedly anti-homophobic propaganda from gay activists and liberal film critics thanks to the appearance of Brokeback Mountain, it’s a tad humorous to realize that this propaganda would be better directed at Mr. Ledger instead. We get it, Heath: You can play a gay character and not be gay yourself.

Unfortunately for you, you can play a gay character and a straight character, and still be a bad actor. Why don’t you try to think through that brain-teaser?

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January 03, 2006

“That’s Not Liberal Racism,” Cries Liberal Racist

We, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” have oft remarked on the moronic letters to the editor that appear in the storied New York Times. In fact, we have discussed this with such regularity that regular readers of this humble “weblog” may have inferred that some nefarious additive in New York water has rendered its inhabitants mentally incapacitated. If there’s a stupid point to be made, you can bet a member of the public will express it in the Gray Lady.

Although we firmly believe this to be true, we would be remiss if we did not also mention that sundry other newspapers print insipid letters to the editor. In fact, rebarbative epistles in sundry papers appear with such frequency that we are beginning to suppose that most Americans are stupid. Naturally, such a sentiment does not live up to the great traditions of populism associated with the crack young staff, but it has the unfortunate benefit of being true.

Take, for example, a recent letter from The Boston Globe, the slightly-more-northern man’s New York Times. Said missive was a response to a column by Jeff Jacoby, which detailed the disgraceful calumnies directed at Maryland Lieutenant Governor Michael Steele. Penned by Don Coolidge, who resides in the tony precincts of Palo Alto, California, in part it reads as follows:

The first item—and it’s the main point of Jeff Jacoby’s “Slurs fly from the left” (op ed, Dec. 28) asserts that “liberals” are issuing racial slurs against Michael Steele because he’s black. A simple reading of the facts puts the lie to this assertion: Steele is not being damned because of the color of his skin; he’s being vilified because he routinely supports and advocates policies that attack the African-American community politically, economically, and socially. In short, Steele’s policies reek of hypocrisy as he acts much like an oldtime minstrel, selling out his heritage in order to advance himself in the eyes of people who look down on persons of color. It would be an abdication of moral responsibility for Steele’s opponents to fail to point this out to the electorate. The truth, however unpleasant, is never a slur.

Rather impressive, is it not? Thus does a Palo Alto resident cast malignant taunts of “Uncle Tom” at a black conservative as a demonstration of deep regard for the truth. Sure, Michael Steele deserves to be pilloried with offensive racial epithets because he’s conservative. No liberal racism here. Not to mention Democratic Party operatives illegally obtaining a copy of his credit report. All’s fair for this “Uncle Tom.”

What’s particularly humorous about Mr. Coolidge’s obtuse epistle is the fact that it argues all black conservatives deserve to be called “old-time minstrels” because of their political views. To the dunderheaded Mr. Coolidge, only those who favor preferential treatment for blacks are authentically black. All others are “Uncle Toms.” How charming.

But we particularly savored this bit: “A simple reading of the facts puts the lie to this assertion: Steele is not being damned because of the color of his skin; he’s being vilified because he routinely supports and advocates policies that attack the African-American community politically, economically, and socially.”

Now, let’s see if we can get this straight. It’s merely due to Michael Steele’s views that he is being labeled a modern-day minstrel act? It has nothing to do with his black skin?

Well, then, we suppose that numerous “truth-telling” liberals of Mr. Coolidge’s ilk are busy labeling white conservatives “old-time minstrels.” Where can one find all the charges of “Uncle Tom” hurled at Bill Frist? Does “a simple reading of the facts” put the lie to Mr. Coolidge’s assumptions? We think so.

In short, dear reader, Don Coolidge is a genuine half-wit. His pathetic letter perfectly proves Jeff Jacoby’s original point. And to think: J. S. Mill called the Conservative Party the stupid one.

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January 02, 2006

Not-So-Top Gun

Well, dear reader, it’s officially 2006 AD (or CE, if you prefer). Although we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” will still sign our checks 2005 for about three months, the New Year has arrived.

And, if you are anything like us, dear reader, you are wondering one thing: Will 2006 treat Tom Cruise better than did 2005? You may not admit it, but you’re stuck pondering that brain-teaser. That’s one of the things that makes you, like Clement Greenberg, a highbrow.

We, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” hate to say it, but we have the sneaking suspicion that 2006 will not be any kinder to our beloved diminutive homosexual film star than 2005. In fact, Mr. Cruise, upon hearing the following news, may very well jump on a couch out of anger.

A dutiful reader of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly” who may or may not have preferred to remain nameless sent us word of an Associated Press report regarding the Most Irritating Star of All Time. As the AP informs us, the British magazine Empire conducted a survey of ten thousand film fans, and they overwhelmingly ranked Mr. Cruise the most annoying.

Yep, that’s right: Moviegoers found Mr. Cruise the most irksome actor ever. Which, if we recall correctly, is a long, long time. That, we feel, is an insult.

Ponder, if you will, the myriad film stars who have bothered you in the past: Queen Latifah, Hugh Grant, Peter Lorre, Eric Roberts, Al Jolson, et al. It’s a pretty irritating parade of people, isn’t it? And, if the undoubtedly deeply intellectual readers of Empire magazine are to be trusted, Mr. Cruise outflanks all of them in irksomeness. We bet L. Ron Hubbard didn’t see this coming.

We must note, however, that moviegoers—even moviegoers as cosmopolitan as Empire magazine’s readership base—tend to be a little “presentist” in their choices, if we may employ a recent academic coinage. That is to say, asked to name the best singer of all time, contemporary audiences are likely to choose Diddy. This, quite naturally, demonstrates an appalling lack of historical knowledge: Don’t these buffoons know that he was previously Puff Daddy and P-Diddy?

So, our words of consolation to Mr. Cruise are the following: You may not, in fact, be the most irritating film star of all time. That may be Martin Lawrence. Rather, you are merely the most irritating film star of recent memory, which, quite frankly, isn’t very long.

There, there, Mr. Cruise, don’t you feel better? Or perhaps the news will drive you to take some prescription medication?

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