The Anchoritic Diner

You know the guy we’re talking about, dear reader. And, boy, does he burn our collective britches. We’ll bet that he irks you too.

Allow us to set the scene. You and a few buddies have grabbed a table at a local restaurant, eager to take in some well-earned victuals after a hard day at the office. Soon you’ll be transported into prandial bliss, thanks to the folks at TGIF. Before you decide on your entrée—will it be the beef or the shrimp?—the table offers its drink orders to a waitress with the requisite flair.

Naturally, like a manly man, you tell the waitress that you want a diet root beer. A guilty pleasure, perhaps, but so darn frothy and good. IBC, we think, is one of the great rewards of civilization. That and the rule of Law. (Jude Law.)

And around the room it goes: Bill savors a Pabst Blue Ribbon; Donnie wants a Coke; Len orders a Heineken; &c.

But don’t you know it: Someone just had to ruin the fun. Tony, that miserable sod, steps up to the plate and orders…a water. No lemon, no lime, no nothing. Just a darn water.

Now if you are anything like us, dear reader, this iritating order will make your head spin. If not literally, then at least figuratively. It ruins everything. Even that George Mason Final Four Trip. Everything.

After all, you were content with your drink—a bit sugary, perhaps, but delightful nonetheless. And then Tony—that bastard—had to make everybody feel bad.

“Should I have ordered a water too?” you think to yourself. “Gosh, I really don’t need all that sugar. And it’s pretty much a waste of $2.50. Drinks are always so overpriced. Will I die fat and penniless?”

Thus went your enjoyable dinner with the fellahs, destroyed by one man’s anchoritic drink order. No longer can you lay back and talk smack with the boys. No, sir: It’s time to fret about the waistline and pocketbook. Man, that guy’s such a jerk!

If he orders a salad, we may just kill him.

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The Spectator’s Resident Anti-Semite

As we have mentioned before, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” very much enjoy The Spectator, the delightful London political and cultural weekly. The Speccie, as it is affectionately called, is truly a charming publication, and thus not to be confused with The American Spectator, which is a pile of garbage that features articles by such worthies as Ted Nugent.

If you ask us, The Speccie makes for a good read; The American Spectator makes for good kindling. (Albeit not as good as The Nation, which, like a feminist’s bra, really burns well. It must be that toilet-paper it’s printed on.)

We must temper our profuse praise of The Speccie in a few respects, however. First, we should note that its recent decision to give the inimitable Mark Steyn the boot was outrageous. The film reviewer who has replaced him—Deborah Ross, we believe—isn’t nearly as witty; she seems to believe lame Limey slang like “toodle-pip” is hysterical. Note to Ms. Ross: Sorry, luv, but that isn’t going to cut it.

The radio column, in addition, hasn’t been the same since the recent passing of Michael Vestey. We eagerly took in Mr. Vestey’s musings on all and sundry, and the new gal (Kate Chisholm) isn’t nearly as fun.

All of these criticisms, however, pale in comparison with what we deem the most odious feature of The Spectator. By this, of course, we mean Taki Theodoracopulos, the infamous author of the “High Life” column.

Perhaps you know Taki, as he calls himself. The heir to a Greek shipping fortune and a self-described anti-Semite, Taki is an old coot who spends his time snorting cocaine and attempting to bed young ladies. In between bouts of drink- and drug-besotted lechery, Taki writes a few articles for publications to which he contributed a sufficient amount of money to earn some column space.

Perhaps Taki is most famous in this country for floating the cash to establish The American Conservative, Pat Buchanan’s bastion of irrelevant and odious paleo-conservatism. Across the pond, however, Taki must be best known for his “High Life” column.

In the November 11 number of The Speccie, Taki offered one more reason to hate him. His column, “The neocon con,” presented yet another tired retread of Taki’s typical “blame the Jews” rhetoric.

Those insidious Hebrews, he fumes, have fooled American conservatives to unmoor their movement from “traditional conservatism” in favor of pro-Israel craziness. He writes:

…the conservative movement, both in America and Britain, has abandoned the basic items of the conservative agenda. When William Buckley drove Birchers, racists and assorted anarchists away from his conservative movement 50 years ago, he tried to shape conservativism into a party that drove away fewer people than it attracted. In this he succeeded, hence Reagan and Bush the First. Then the Fifth Columnists went to work, under the cute label of neocons. They are the real enemies of the conservatism of old, as well as that of the real civilisation of the West.

What a bunch of vile, anti-Semitic trash! The—mostly Jewish—neoconservatives are “Fifth Columnists,” eh? What a clever way to offer the old canard about Jewish dual loyalties! Perhaps William F. Buckley, Jr. didn’t remove all the disgraceful racists from his conservative movement.

It is a real gas that Taki, who laments the “draconian and devastating economic embargo on the Palestinian population,” claims that neoconservatives are the enemies of Western civilization. Ah, yes: Taki’s unbending support for the Palestinians, who revel in anti-Western violence, who support violent jihads against Westerners, who oppose the rule of law, women’s rights, and political liberty—that’s support for the true pals of the West.

This begs the question: Taki, as an apologist for violent Islamism, could you tell us whether the Palestinians or the Israelis cheered in the streets on 9/11? Which group would a civilized West and a civilized Western conservatism support? You anti-Semitic clown.

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Jimmy Carter: Shut Up, Don’t Speak

One of the junior editors here at “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly”—let’s just call him “Chip”—recently headed to the local bookshop to take in the latest treasures from the land of darkened wood pulp. And—lo and behold!—amidst the other new tomes sat Palestine: Peace Not Apartheid.

Who, you may or may not be asking yourself, wrote such a monograph? Ralph “The One-Eyed Lebanese Lunatic” Nader? The Official Communications Collective at the Palestine Solidarity Movement? Or maybe, like an infamous anti-Semitic tract, it’s a Czarist forgery?

Well, dear reader, if you guessed any of these answers, we’re sorry to tell you that you’re wrong. The writer of this book, screamingly unfair title and all, is none other than former President Jimmy Carter. (Boy, we figured you could have guessed that from the title of our “post.” Go figure.)

Now, longtime reader(s) of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly” undoubtedly know that we despise this man. Sure: He built a couple of homes in his spare time to make up for the fact that he was the most incredibly incompetent political leader in American history. But this, we feel, can’t cut it: Jimmy Carter was such a horrid President that they had to invent words—like “stagflation”—to describe his preternatural failures.

As if this weren’t bad enough, the whilom peanut farmer wasn’t content building a few abodes for Habitat for Humanity and telling wistful stories about his Abbie Hoffman-wanna’-be daughter Amy. No, President Carter simply couldn’t bear to be this comparatively inoffensive.

Accordingly, he has routinely insinuated himself into contemporary American politics, as if anyone cares what this poltroon has to say about anything. Fidel Castro, Hugo Chavez—there’s nary a vicious left-wing dictator he won’t coddle for attention.

And don’t even get us started on Jimmy Carter’s poetry. If you ask us, his desire to publish his tin-eared, embarrassing verse demonstrates that he wasn’t psychologically fit to be President of the United States. Which may explain Carter’s botched attempts to end the Iranian hostage crisis, the oil embargo, and every other task he was assigned as President.

But now his new book—in all its coruscating obtuseness—has simply driven us over the edge. How dare this moron use the word “Apartheid” to describe Israel! What an embarrassment to the American people this man is! And this boob doesn’t even mention Israel in his title: Does he—like those loveable scamps in Hamas—hope for its destruction?

Upon spying some reader reviews of Palestine: Peace Not Apartheid on Amazon.com, “Chip” laughed at a fellow who loved the book and recommended fans of it also check out the scholarly works of…David Duke. Yep, that’s right: He’s a big booster of our 39th President and a former bigwig in the KKK. (For some reason, that review has been yanked from Amazon’s “website.” It seems someone was protecting Jimmy from guilt by association.)

Now, President Carter isn’t responsible for sordid folks who enjoy his wretched, three-words-per-page tome. But, with the disgusting misnomer “Apartheid” on the cover, is it any wonder that his vapid nonsense appeals to David Duke supporters?

Enraged as we are, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” have started our own book: Jimmy Carter: Shut Up, Don’t Talk. It will outline our plan to add a provision to the Patriot Act ensuring that Jimmy Carter keep his mouth duct taped at all times. And, of course, he won’t be allowed to write anything either.

Sure, that may not be terribly fair. But at least David Duke wouldn’t support it.

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When Conservatives Are and Are Not Conservatives

We, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” must sheepishly admit that we seldom read The American Prospect, a dullish left-wing rag. Neither as insightful as The New Republic nor as loony as The Nation, The American Prospect doesn’t really clamor for attention.

Yet a recent gander at its “website” suggests that we should check out this ho-hum publication more often. For, as far as we can intuit, its editorial staff is blessed with a complete lack of concern for intellectual coherence.

Allow us to explain what we mean. Among the articles “posted” on The American Prospect’s “website” a few Thursdays ago are the following:

Cruisin' With Miltie by Eric Alterman A personal memory of Milton Friedman, whose legacy modern-day "conservatives" have left in tatters.

The Right's Denial by Harold Meyerson
So George Bush isn't a real conservative, and conservatism was vindicated in this election? Right-wingers, get real.

Does anyone else see a problem with consistency here? In the former piece, Eric Alterman, The Nation’s incessantly enraged media critic, argues that the “conservatives” in power are not true conservatives like the late Milton Friedman. In the latter piece, Harold Meyerson claims that today’s conservatives are full of it when they say that the “conservatives” in power are not true conservatives.

Gee: Maybe Messrs. Alterman and Meyerson would care to get their talking points together before the folks at The American Prospect lay it on all of us. It’s hard to figure out what the party line is.

Now, we suppose it’s possible that the folks at The American Prospect like to offer disparate views in order to make their readers think. You know, like The Spectator includes both pro- and anti-Iraq War voices.

But we think that’s giving them way too much credit. It’s more likely that they’re just throwing as much they can at the proverbial barn, and seeing what sticks. No wonder no one reads this also-ran lefty magazine.

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Happy Turkey Day, Folks

Well, dear reader, it’s Thanksgiving—the holiday that, according to American high school students, marks the US victory in the Vietnam War. All throughout these here United States of America—even the parts controlled by Mexicans—Americans are gathered with loved ones, enjoying savory victuals and contemplating the memory of Myles Standish. Or, failing that, Miles Davis.

It’s a lovely time, of course, and we here at “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly” pray that you enjoy it to its fullest. Soon the next holiday will be upon us, and we’ll be compelled to endure Paul McCartney’s feculent tune “Simply Having a Wonderful Christmas Time.” If you ask us, that ditty is so horrid that it justifies stripping Sir Paul of his knighthood and handing it to Yoko.

So, whilst we all feast on turkey and stuffing, we should remind you that we’ll be back to our usual “posting” schedule on Monday. And, of course, you can always check out our Sunday essays on the wondrous Wizbang.

Till then, we hope you have a happy holiday. Except for the Canadians, of course. Those royalist stooges.

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You Can’t Drive Until You’re 55

Ever once in a while, dear reader, one hears a variation of the following grumble: In this country, 18-year-olds are deemed old enough to die in war but can’t be trusted with a drink. It’s just not fair. Wah, wah, wah.

To which we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” respond: Yeah, that’s about right. After all, if you possess the requisite courage and magnanimity to defend the United States of America, do you really need a Zima? We collectively think not.

Naturally, most of the youths who complain about the “manifest injustice” of the “draconian” American drinking age haven’t the even the slightest desire to enlist in the armed forces. But heck, they must think, if it gets them closer to a can of Budweiser, it’s officially worth a shot.

To be downright honest, dear reader, we like our nation’s drinking age just fine. Call us a bunch of inveterate teetotalers, but we’re quite happy with Americans getting their first legal taste of firewater in their twenties. Sure, Liza Minelli and Drew Barrymore started in on the booze a bit earlier, and they turned out wonderful. But others, we fear, may not have such an easy go of it.

And, if any argument might sway us in favor of lenience, may we humbly suggest that the old “The French Drink at a Young Age” line ain’t going to cut it? The French do lots of things: Surrender to the Germans after a few hours of fighting; fail to stop Muslim youths from destroying their country; complain; and surrender to the Germans after a few hours of fighting. This doesn’t mean that any of these actions are necessarily peachy keen for Americans, now does it?

In fact, in a spirit of blue-blooded puritanical Americanism, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” believe that the young in this country should be compelled to endure more depredations, not fewer. It’s hunky dory with us that teenagers can’t legally drink, but why should they have so many other rights? We can’t think of a reason either.

We mention this, dear reader, because one of the junior editors here at “The Hatemonger’s Quartelry”—let’s just call him “Chip”—recently endured a scary passing of a busy street that made him think long and hard about another suitable prohibition. A few short days ago, “Chip” attempted to amble his way across a crosswalk whilst he had the right of way. And lo and behold: Two cars came whizzing by at un-Godly speeds.

The drivers in both, need we mention, were youthful fellows. And this forced “Chip” to think: Aren’t a large majority of reckless speedsters young? Aren’t drivers in their teens and twenties liable to make all manner of boneheaded decisions at the wheel?

And so here’s our lovely proposition: American citizens can be drafted at 18, can drink at 21, and can drive at 30. That may hurt Sammy Hagar’s record sales, but if it saves a few lives—and irritates a few youths—it’ll be more than worth it.

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Don’t Make Us Beg, People

Perhaps you have yet to hear the news, dear reader. Yeah, maybe that’s your excuse. Well, whatever it is, it ain’t gonna’ fly any longer.

We speak, of course, about the “2006 Weblog Awards,” nominations for which are still being accepted. As far as we can intuit, dear reader, as of the writing of this humble “post,” you can count all of our nominations on no fingers.

You read that right: Not only have we failed to secure a nomination for, say, “Best Humor Blog,” or, say, “Best Blog That Uses the Word ‘Enema’ with Curious Frequency,” we’ve actually been blanked entirely. You name the category, we haven’t been nominated.

Now, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” can fully understand our readers’ reticence in regard to this year’s “Weblog Awards.” As many may know, last year we were finalists in the “Humor” category, and we lost. In fact, we lost, as Peter Gabriel might say it, big time. Big, big, big, big, big, big, big, big.

In short, we were the Jamaican bobsled team of the bunch. Only not terribly cute, and bereft of charming accents.

Yet maybe, just maybe, this is our year. After all, we’ve jumped up in popularity of late, thanks to some mentions on a few fancy-pants “websites.” Further, we could always do with a nomination for a slightly less weighty category. You know, like “Best of the Top 2501-3500 Blogs.”

Sure, winning that lowly ecosystem category is kind of like beating out Della Reese in a marathon. Even so, a win’s a win.

So, come on, people: Don’t make us beg. Please, please, please, please, please don’t make us beg. We beg of you not to make us beg. &c.

As if it’s not lame enough to pine to compete in the “Best of the Top 2501-3500 Blogs” loser category, it’s even worse to nominate one’s own “weblog” for that pathetic competition. Don’t make us into a bunch of Lee Siegels, for crying out loud.

Man, the “2006 Weblog Awards” have only just begun, and already we’re ashamed of ourselves. We thought that “webloggers” didn’t care about the blandishments with which the mainstream media are obsessed. We thought that the “pajama brigade” was above this kind of narcissistic tomfoolery. But throw a hypothetical award for “Best Hat Design” at us, and we’ll jump all over ourselves to secure a nomination. How pathetic.

Oh, and by the way: Don’t forget to nominate us.

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Solemn Reflections on the American Police State

A good sign of an unhinged left-wing nutter, we think, is his use of the phrase “President Bush and his cronies.” As far as we’re concerned, anyone who describes the Bush administration in this unnecessarily partisan manner is already verging on loopy.

It came as no surprise to us, then, to find that one Jonathan D. Edelfelt, who employs this lame phrase, turns out to be a moron. Mr. Edelfelt penned the following letter to The New York Times, which, for some bizarre reason, saw fit to print it in its November 19 issue:

To the Editor:

Re: “We Won, Now What?,” by Leon E. Panetta (Op-Ed, Nov. 12):

It’s difficult for Democrats to be magnanimous when for the last six years President Bush and his cronies have squelched all dissent (even to the extent of calling dissenters unpatriotic and treasonous). The clear message from the midterm elections is not an intolerance for gridlock, as Mr. Panetta suggests, but a rejection of the entire Bush agenda, including his ill-advised invasion of Iraq, profligate spending and sullying of America’s reputation by the use of torture, secret prisons and so in an indeterminable war on terror.

Why should Democrats compromise until Mr. Bush’s swagger and smirk are replaced with some hint of contrition and humility? Failing to extract at least a pound of flesh would be to squander the victory.

True, Democrats should work to foster trust between themselves and Republicans, but should be wary of being too accommodating. Had the election gone the other way, there’d be no compromising.

Jonathan D. Edelfelt
El Paso, Nov. 12, 2006

We suppose we first ought to suggest to Mr. Edelfelt that he re-read Shakespeare’s The Merchant of Venice. We think he’ll find that demanding “at least a pound of flesh” isn’t that pleasant an expression.

But that is neither here nor there. Rather, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” found Mr. Edelfelt’s missive interesting because it is another example of a strange left-wing phenomenon: The dubious argument claiming that America under the Bush administration—or, we suppose, “Bush and his cronies”—is tantamount to a police state.

Read this bit of the epistle again: “It’s difficult for Democrats to be magnanimous when for the last six years President Bush and his cronies have squelched all dissent (even to the extent of calling dissenters unpatriotic and treasonous).” Wow, Bush and his horrible minions sure are nasty.

But this made us think: If the current President of the United States has worked so tirelessly to “squelch all dissent,” how in the good Lord’s name did Jonathan D. Edelfelt manage to have his criticisms of Bush published? We mean, come on: Isn’t this one example of “dissent” that hasn’t been “squelched”? Maybe, just maybe, Mr. Edelfelt could find a few other examples of such daring criticism of our Totalitarian-Fascist-Leader-in-Chief?

For starters, perhaps Mr. Edelfelt would like to check out the following underground, samizdat, or otherwise banned American publications: The New York Times; The Boston Globe; The New York Review of Books; The Nation; The Progressive; The Utne Reader; The Washington Post; The Los Angeles Times; The New Republic; The New Yorker; The New York Observer; Z; Dissent; The San Francisco Chronicle; The American Prospect; The Boston Review; &c.

Boy, the Bush junta’s crusade to “squelch all dissent” sure is going well, isn’t it? We applaud the courage of Jonathan Edelfelt to be the lone voice of criticism against the evil Bush minions.

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Useless Idiots

It never ceases to amaze us how stupid some people are. As much as we’d like to think man is the most intelligent being on planet earth, specific examples of homo sapiens often do such pinheaded things that we wind up thinking platypuses are far wiser. And don’t even get us started on Tony Danza.

One can easily find instances of human imbecility. Take, for example, the “website” of a California organization called the Peace and Justice Center of Sonoma County. Thanks to James Taranto’s mention on “The Best of the Web,” we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” decided to find out more about this outfit.

And—lo and behold!—it’s a group made up of complete ninnies. We’re talking Grade-A chumps here. People whose intellect can’t match Jessica Simpson’s.

As a perusal of their low-budget digs demonstrates, the nitwits at the Peace and Justice Center of Sonoma County have taken it upon themselves to urge all American soldiers to leave the military. You read that right: All American soldiers to defect, go AWOL, or otherwise resign from the US military.

This, think the folks at the Peace and Justice Center of Sonoma County, will bring us closer to world peace. Not the dismantlement of al Qaeda, but the end of America’s self-defense. Now, if you ask us, this stance positively begs this little multiple-choice question:

If the United States had no military at all, the following would be more likely to occur:

(B) A hellish nightmare in which brutal dictators scheme to destroy the prosperous West and steal its riches unimpeded, bringing untold misery to billions of people.

Now, that should be a simple question to answer, we think. And, if you answered (A), congratulations: You’re officially a complete imbecile. You’re so dumb you ought to ride the short bus to school and never take off your helmet, even though you’re not on the team.

If you ask us, then, anyone signed up with the Peace and Justice Center of Sonoma Country—whether a permanent resident of Sonoma County or not—is a complete nincompoop. We’re talking Paris Hilton dumb.

But it gets even better. Right above their “website’s” clarion call for US soldiers to get out of the military, the Peace and Justice “website” offers the following message: “Act to stop the Genocide in Darfur.”

Uh, wouldn’t we need a military to do that? A couple of troops might come in handy. After all, we have a hard time believing the Sudanese government will cave in to the demands of a hippie enclave with a low-fi “website.”

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“Fearful Voices”

Like all honest, God-fearing people, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” detest Arianna Huffington. Ms. Huffington, the ostentatious, smarmy, loud-mouthed Greek pseudo-pundit who apparently believes that marrying money entitles you to share your opinions with all and sundry, is the proprietor of the reflexively left-wing Huffington Post.

Now, dear reader, let us inform you that we despised Arianna Huffington just as much when she was an obnoxious right-winger. In fact, we firmly believe that Arianna Huffington should be the one subject about which everyone agrees: We all—black, white, red, women, midgets, hobby horses—should hate her.

We had reason to reflect on our scorn for Ms. Huffington anew upon checking out the new “Fearless Voices” section of The Huffington Post. This sappy exercise in feminist bromides advertises itself as a necessity for today’s self-assured woman. To this end, Ms. Huffington has given column space to an assortment of women with pseudo-empowering tales to tell.

Unsurprisingly, the reality is quite different. Actually, we think Ms. Huffington ought to call this section of her “weblog” “Shameless Self-Promotion,” since the whole kit and caboodle ties into her hyping of her latest book On Becoming Fearless..in Love, Work, and Life. Thus, whilst she pretends to request guest submissions to “Fearless Voices” out of concern for the common woman, in reality Ms. Huffington is merely attempting to drum up a few more sales of her latest insta-book.

(Incidentally, we must say that we haven’t taken a gander at Ms. Huffington’s latest magnum opus. Even so, for some reason we feel content to suggest that it’s a steaming pile of horse manure. We’d even bet you a sawbuck on it.)

Ms. Huffington’s self-promoting antics, then, have enraged us. In fact, they have sufficiently enraged us to publish our own book in response: On Becoming Fearful...in Hate, Leisure, and Death. Our tome will focus on the fears one experiences upon taking in the anti-intellectual garbage spewing from the mouth of an obnoxious Greek lady without a rudimentary understanding of politics.

In order to promote our book further, we’ve decided to invite you, dear reader, to contribute to our new “Fearful Voices” section of our “weblog.” We’ll pick a few essays from readers whose unparalleled fright knows no bounds and serves as an inspiration for us all.

So, if you’re scared by Arianna Huffington—and who isn’t?—send us a short essay describing your terror by clicking the “Contact Us” “link” at the top right-hand corner of your computer screen. If you’re lucky enough to be have your essay chosen for publication, you won’t receive a copy of Ms. Huffington’s new book.

Now there’s a prize for you.

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This Country Needs an Apologist for Stalin

In the October 1 number of The New York Times Book Review, Paul Berman, the center-Left author, caused something of a stir by taking aim at two new tomes pertaining to the late I.F. Stone. Mr. Stone, for those of you unaware of him, was a popular “progressive” journalist who penned, among other works, perhaps the worst book on Socrates ever written. Nay, ever contemplated.

Mr. Berman’s review caused a minor brouhaha because it dared to offer a nuanced portrait of I.F. Stone. And nuance, it seems, is not taken too kindly in “progressive” circles, where Mr. Stone is revered as the veritable second coming of Marx.

We, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” were reminded of this recent flap when turning to “Romancing I.F. Stone,” a brilliant little article by Ronald Radosh in the latest issue of the beloved New Criterion. In this piece, Mr. Radosh deliciously dissects the often-sordid career of I.F. Stone, demonstrating the foolishness of those who consider him an unblemished saint.

After all, as Messrs. Berman and Radosh pointed out, I.F. Stone—for all his insightful criticism of the United States—spent many of his days as an apologist for Stalin. Unlike his more thoughtful colleagues on the Left, Stone remained a hagiographer of the Soviet Union well past the Show Trials and even the Nazi-Soviet Pact. In fact, he did not turn on the USSR until 1956.

Further, in his antipathy for the Vietnam War, he even had kind words to say about Ho Chi Minh: Radosh quotes him as calling this Stalinoid nightmare “a very human man” hoping to build a “democratic state” in Vietnam. All in all, as even a reviewer for The Nation concluded, I.F. Stone’s “tiger eyes that could spot the threat to liberty in the footnotes of a Congressional report couldn’t see the meaning of show trials, slave labor, and class-based mass murder.”

Not, we should think, a model for journalists today. Ah, but of course he is: Our “progressive” pals, ever content to forget their comrades’ dubious pasts, love to pretend that as erratic a figure as I.F. Stone is an unproblematic voice of reason.

Or so we find out from a blurb on the back of All Governments Life, a new biography of Stone by Myra MacPherson. It’s a breathtaking quote, coming as it does from Helen Thomas, the left-wing doyenne of the White House press corps, who constantly badgers the Bush administration with insipid queries:

Would that he [I.F. Stone] were alive today to lead our country to its greatest ideals again.

We know what you’re thinking, dear reader: Huh? Would that I.F. Stone were alive today, to lead our country to an orgy of Stalin-loving, Ho Chi Minh-worshiping Communist apologetics? Sorry, Helen, but the US needs I.F. Stone about as much as it needs Helen Thomas.

Which is to say, of course, not at all.

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Hate Mail Bag

As even the casual reader of this humble “weblog” may be aware, fans of our glorious animadversions are free to send us e-mail by clicking the “Contact Us” “link” at the top right-hand corner of their computer screens. Though we greatly enjoy keeping in touch with our numerous correspondents, we would be remiss if we did not mention that every once in a while we positively rue the day we installed our own e-mail “link.”

This is because, dear reader, occasionally we receive a slightly less pleasant missive. And, though we enjoy criticism as much as the next enraged Muslim, we must say that such e-letters tend to ruffle our feathers.

Why, just the other day, in fact, we were on the receiving end of a curt note from one Bob Schneider. Through the magic of “cut and paste,” we present the entire contents of his missive below:

Subject: Things I don't like...

Date: Sun, 12 Nov 2006 15:40:37 -0800

..about your weblog:

(1) The title. Sometimes embrace-the-slur works, but certainly not in this case.

(2) What's with the "whilst's" and "dear reader's"? They're obnoxious.

(3) Everyone likes Britt Hume. He's not a blow-dried idiot.

Well, gee: That’s a pleasant item to stare at on an early Monday morning. Really brightens up the week, eh?

Naturally, we needed to send Mr. Schneider a considered response. And here it is:

Subject: Things We Don't Like...

To: "Bob Schneider"

...about your e-mail:

(1) The lack of a salutation. Why not show some manners and write "Dear Crack Young Staff," or words to that effect? Not very classy, we'd say.

(2) A mean-spirited lack of constructive criticism. Surely we'd be more likely to take your comments to heart if they were addressed in a spirit of kindness?

(3) Obtuse criticisms. If your points were sensible, we'd be more impressed. But this is assuredly not the case. The notion that "Everyone likes Britt Hume," for instance, is absurd—even though we quite fancy him. It casts doubts on your other dubious—if not tin-eared—stylistic points.

Cordially,
The Crack Young Staff of THMQ

We figured that he required a little taste of his own medicine. That twit.

Which reminds us of our point: Why would you waste your time composing a nasty note to the staff of a “weblog” you hate? Perhaps if you had something substantive to say, or could point out a glaring error, it would be politic to send a letter.

But why the heck would you write in to quibble about our use of the word “whilst”? Man, Bob Schneider must have time on his hands the likes of which we’ve never even contemplated.

If he asked us, dear reader, we’d tell him to quit whilst he’s behind. That ass.

***

Speaking of asses, by way of a postscript we must say that we’ve been a bit of a donkey of late ourselves. One of our most cherished readers plays a role in a worthy cause: Operation Gratitude, which is gathering money to help disabled troops in a special way.

We officially exhort all three of our readers to check out the “website” of Operation Gratitude and donate some cash. It’ll make you feel good. And perhaps Operation Gratitude will chip in a little bit for a mallet for us, so that we can give Mr. Schneider a well-deserved bop on the cranium. That boob.

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Carefully Wrought Ruminations on Britney Spears

Like everyone else in the civilized world, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” took in the recent news that Britney Spears will divorce Kevin Federline, her currently estranged husband. Thus, after two years of marital non-bliss, did Ms. Spears finally catch up with the rest of the world’s longtime understanding: K-Fed (soon to be Fed-Ex) is not marriage material.

Now, as the scrupulous (and even unscrupulous) reader of this humble “weblog” can well attest, we seldom concern ourselves with celebrity gossip. After all, the ingenious Sadie and her minions already do a wonderful job commenting on such popular detritus, and, furthermore, we must admit that we’re a little bit out of the contemporary celebrity loop. (Since when was Tim Conway not great material for the gossip-mongers?)

Still, we felt the need to mention Ms. Spears’ recent realization of Mr. Federline’s rather obvious matrimonial shortcomings because we think it sheds light on an important topic: Women’s choices. We have a hunch that Ms. Spears’ disastrous pick of her mate may speak to broader female difficulties making adequate choices that pertain to their personal lives.

First off, we suppose we ought to mention that we’re not composing this “post” as a means to score points against legal abortion in America. In this regard, we must say that we’re solidly “pro-choice.” If we weren’t, we have a hunch that our mothers might kill us.

Even so, dear reader, we believe that as much fun is made of Ms. Spears’ white-trash choice of mate, her oddball decisions are fairly typical of the weaker sex as a whole. We mean, come on: How many chicks did you know in college who blindly doted on some Neanderthalic fraternity member who liked his women like his beer—six at a time?

If you ask us, darn near every woman has fallen head-over-heels for a guy only slightly more morally upstanding than the guys in al-Qaeda. The more a guy positively screams “Acquaintance Rapist,” the more the ladies fawn all over him. It’s sad but it’s true.

It’s not the looks; it’s not the money. It’s the raw expression of power and cockiness that makes these girls get weak in the knees. Naturally, it will lead to disaster, but these future man-haters will have to discover this for themselves.

So, ladies, before you ridicule Ms. Spears for marrying that gangly, ill-bred oaf, you may just want to take a look in the mirror.

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How To Know When You’ve Made It, or The Royal Flush

As longtime contributors to Al Gore’s World-Wide Web, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” often ask ourselves a variation on the following query: How will we know when we have made the “weblogging” big time?

Will it be when Glenn Reynolds, the Internet’s famed Instapundit, is strong-armed into “linking” to you? Will it be when John Podhoretz, scion of neoconservative royalty and a brilliant political critic, speaks well of your “weblog”? Or, alternatively, will it be when you get thousands upon thousands of "hits" each day?

Well, dear reader, we’ve mastered the first two feats we mentioned. But, in regard to the third, we must say that—so far—we’ve come up a bit short. And this is the case even though the dutiful parents of the crack young staff—who number, of course, in the low thousands—inform us that they read our humble musings with regularity.

Frankly, however, a few recent conversations with confidantes of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly” has led us to believe that our thus-far illusory hunt for manifold readers won’t actually lead us to the promise land of “webloggery.” In fact, we have a hunch that we’re going about our mad dash for e-fame all wrong.

We say this, dear reader, because an alternative approach to “making it big” was floated in our humble direction, and we must say that it makes a heck of a lot of sense. Further, it hasn’t got anything to do with “hits,” “links,” or—better still—Arianna Huffington.

Rather, the sure sign of having made it is this: Possessing your own private bathroom at work. Yeah, you read that right—having your own bathroom. Laugh all you want, dear reader, but we sincerely believe that this is the true test of a human being’s worth. And, of course, the only reason you’re guffawing at us is because you ain’t got your own private bathroom at the office. So there—loser.

Now, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” feel your pain, cramped as we are in lifeless cubicles. Sure, we can doll up our workspaces with fun little pictures of cats playing with yarn. But this doesn’t remedy the problem: We still inhabit a work environment that would make a monkey hurl feces.

Man, we would kill for a private bathroom at the office. In fact, we would gladly trade a private office for a private bathroom. We’d just work away on the computer whilst sitting on the john all day, happily typing in our very own water closet. No weird fellow employees who don’t flush. No strange guys checking themselves out in the mirror for hours on end. No, just us in our own lou.

Ah: Happiness is a private bathroom. Finally we have a goal in life.

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The Only Good Thing about Election Night

Well, dear reader, the 2006 American midterm elections are officially over. Boy, that was one heck of a ride: If you waded through all the typical hand-wringing articles about how vicious the campaigns were, you’d likely see all the typical hand-wringing articles about “how much was at stake.”

The latter brand of column strikes us as even more obtuse than the usual journalistic blather: Have you ever read an article in the mainstream media that claimed that there was “very little at stake” in any national election? Not bloody likely, if you ask us.

Just about now, the “weblogosphere” is all abuzz with post-election post mortems, victory cries, and mournful lamentations. The “webloggers” who usually compose mindless propaganda in favor of their sides have temporarily jettisoned that task in favor of composing mindless election recaps that are unflinchingly favorable to their beloved ideologies.

Whilst left-wingers who aren’t related to Ned Lamont break open the chardonnay, our right-wing pals either pour forth their frustration or offer some ingenious spin that makes it seem as if losing both Houses of Congress is actually just peachy. Frankly, dear reader, you can color us unimpressed.

As far as we’re concerned, there’s only one thing to savor about election night—whether your candidate of choice becomes the next congressman from Wyoming’s 4th district or not. And it actually hasn’t got anything to do with the candidates.

No, election night offers only one delight: For those watching the returns on television, this evening presents the viewer with gaggles of televised mishaps. It’s a veritable cornucopia of bloopers. On this lovely night, ostentatious, self-impressed anchormen and anchor-ladies ineluctably make complete fools of themselves. And, gosh, we just can’t get enough.

One moment Wolf Blitzer is nervously bumping into Jeff Greenwald whilst attempting to relay the latest exit poll numbers from Missouri. The next moment Britt Hume unknowingly stares into the wrong camera as Mort Kondrake butchers yet another attempt at articulateness. And then—of course—Anderson Cooper is given ample time to prove what a no-nothing boob he is.

Ah, yes: These blown-dry nitwits don’t make it look so easy without the teleprompter, do they? And, next to Ned Lamont getting his posterior handed to him, it’s one of the few magical elements of election night.

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The “Power” of the “Netroots”

Whilst our far-left pals officially lament Lamont, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” have a question on our minds: Why, exactly, do people fear the rabid lefty nutters who have pretensions to colossal electoral powers? As far as we can determine, the Daily Cossacks, Democratic Undergrounders, and the Huff Po crowd aren’t exactly a fearsome political juggernaut.

We mean, come on: Howard Dean and Ned Lamont—remember those guys? Sure, the vitriolic ravings of Dr. Dean may be a bit of a hard sell nationwide, but if you can’t get Ned Lamont elected in true-blue Connecticut, your movement surely lacks some momentum. Or, perhaps we should say, Joe-mentum.

Frankly, dear reader, we’ve long been nonplussed by constant media obsession with the “Netroots” folk. It’s kind of like all those “Tonight Show” appearances Johnny Carson gave to Buddy Hackett. Why did good ole’ Johnny think that this washed-up comedian so often deserved the spotlight? If you ask us, it's no wonder that moderate Democrats (and not paleo-liberals) fared well last night.

The reasons for the limited appeal of our Internet-savvy lefties aren’t hard to come by. All one must do is take a gander at the “comments” sections of their “weblogs” and you’ll be awash in political rhetoric unlikely to sway voters outside of San Francisco and the faculty lounge.

You needn’t take our word for it. We’ll be delighted to offer an example or two.

As you undoubtedly know, Saddam Hussein has been convicted to death by hanging for crimes against humanity. Eschewing potshots at George Allen for a brief moment, the Huffington Post decided to broadcast this news to its readership.

For your perusal, dear reader, here are a few choice selections from Huff Po reader “comments” on the Saddam verdict (all of the errors are theirs):

Had this been an honest, fair, legal trial by other than a puppet court of a puppet government established by the Bush administration, Saddam may still have been found guilty, but sentenced with him would have been Bush, Cheney, Rumsfeld, Perle, Wolfowitz, Feith, Rice et.al., had the trial truly been concerned with atrocities committed against Iraqis.

The number of innocents massacred by the neo-con zionist regime directing the Bush administration dwarfs those attributed to Saddam, and since the USA is still, though tenuously, a democracy, all US citizens bear an ultimate responsibility for these atrocities.

By: FUBush on November 05, 2006 at 07:41am

Boy, that sentiment has limited appeal outside of the lunatic asylum and anti-Semitic rally. Here’s another:

Saddam is a far better man than George W. Bush ever thought about being.

By: shrike on November 05, 2006 at 07:58am

Well, we suppose that was more succinct, albeit equally unhinged. And these two exempla of zany paleo-leftism could easily be multiplied a thousand-fold. Is it any wonder that these folks have had a bit of difficulty getting their candidates in office?

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The Sordid Desperation of CNN

Obsessive viewers of the idiot box undoubtedly recognize that some 24-hour cable news networks have faired better than others in recent years. Well, if by “some” you mean Fox News. And by “others” you mean all the others.

Yes, a mere gander at cable ratings attests that Roger Ailes and Co. have outshone the cable news competition. In comparison with “The O’Reilly Factor,” the programs on, say, MSNBC might as well be broadcast on C-SPAN. Hey, at least C-SPAN is intermittently entertaining.

That’s more than you can say for the flagrantly un-viewable Jim Cramer. That screeching, hunched-over bag of garbage.

But surely the rise of Fox News has troubled no one so much as the folks at CNN, the erstwhile leader in cable news hackery. If this sorry excuse for a television network were half as entertaining as whilom owner Ted Turner, perhaps a few Americans would watch it. (Of course this might mean that CNN, like Ted Turner, would be an anti-Semitic lunatic, but them’s the breaks.)

We mention this, dear reader, because one of the senior editors here at “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly”—let’s just call him “Chip”—took in a rather surprising moment of television on CNN the other day, and it quite troubled him. No, Wolf Blitzer’s pants didn’t fall down to the accompaniment of a slide whistle, or anything like that. But it was shocking nonetheless.

In one particular on-air segment on CNN, Wolf Blitzer, chock-a-block with pseudo-gravitas as usual, turned things over to someone named Jack Cafferty. Until then, dear reader, we thought that Jack Cafferty was the leader of the Beaver Brown Band. (You remember them: The unthinking man’s John Cougar.) Yet it turns out that he’s an unpleasant color-commentator-like anchorman at CNN.

The dour Mr. Cafferty announced CNN’s poll question of the day (or some such): Name the most annoying talking head on television. To be honest, dear reader, at this moment “Chip’s” immediate answer was Jack Cafferty. But, of course, he hadn’t seen Susan Estrich recently.

Anyway, in lieu of entertainment, Mr. Cafferty offered his own choice: Rush Limbaugh, whom he deemed—and we quote—a “fat drug-addict.” Yes, you read that right: On daytime television, on a cable news program, a CNN anchor referred to Mr. Limbaugh as a “fat drug-addict.”

It was a bit jarring, and you could tell that Mr. Blitzer was uncomfortable with the locution, though he tried to play it off. Quite frankly, it was all rather contemptible.

Now, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” certainly recognize that Rush Limbaugh doesn’t need our defense. He’s got legions of fans, oodles of cash, and lots of pain medication. Further, we’re sure that Mr. Limbaugh has tossed around his fair share of nasty epithets in the past. What goes around comes around, we suppose.

But, gee: Isn’t anything beneath the dignity of CNN? Sure, tasteless name-calling may be appropriate for, say, a failed humor “weblog” with few readers, but is it really kosher for the likes of CNN? Is the whole staff of this network drinking from Ted Turner’s toilet?

A perusal of the latest number of The New Republic helped us conclude what Mr. Cafferty and his fellow dolts at CNN were up to. As Peter Beinart makes clear in his column “Going Native,” Lou Dobbs—the Pigs-in-Space-looking anchorman—is the only CNN personality who’s doing well in the ratings department.

Since Mr. Dobbs has garnered comparatively large audiences with his controversial immigration demagoguery, the geniuses at CNN have tried to infuse this into their other failed programs. Hence Mr. Cafferty’s outburst.

Boy, nothing seems lamer than a nasty attack offered entirely for the benefit of ratings. Just ask Ann Coulter.

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The Dryer from Hell

Ever need more clothing that fits a four-year-old? Yeah, we don’t either. And yet, for countless members of the crack young staff, the dryer portion of their home washer-dryers apparently doesn’t realize this.

As a result, their irksome dryers do their very best to convert normal, adult clothes into little Barbie-sized items. Thanks to their dryers, your beloved sweater can instantly fit a doll. If you have, say, a T-shirt with the perfect fit, you’d better keep it away from their dryers—they’ll make sure that Gary Coleman is the only one who can wear it comfortably.

It’s sad, actually. And not easily remedied: Our dryers have only two settings—still sopping wet and Shrinky-Dink. Our clothes are either fit for a flounder or a Smurf; take your pick.

As we said, this is not some sort of statistical aberration. Informal polling around the office water cooler suggests that nearly 47 percent of the crack young staff’s dryers are hotter than the Sahara. They’re so hot that we have reason to believe that Buster Poindexter lives inside them. In a few of them, in fact, you can dry pottery.

How in the good Lord’s name does this happen? In our experience, though lots of folks have overzealously hot dryers, seldom do you meet people with other appliances that are equally irritating. How many people do you know with refrigerators that instantly freeze all of their contents? Not many, eh?

And yet the plague of the infernally blazing dryer is disarmingly common. Can’t someone do something about this?

The Third-World may have the blights of AIDS, incessant poverty, and hopelessly corrupt governance, but we in the First World fare little better: We have blazing dryers. Think poorly of us for making this comparison, but we’re sticking by it.

We mean, come on: What’s more irksome than putting on a favorite shirt and realizing that it, thanks to your dryer, makes you feel as if you stole it from the 12-year-old across the street? Or from Britney Spears? Not, we’d say, too much.

If you ask us, the fellow who designed the modern clothes dryer was an undercover agent for Good Will. After all, one short spin in the dryer, and all our textiles will be headed to the Salvation Army.

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Tag, You’re Lame

Okay, here’s another thing that bothers us about the Internet no end. As strollers around Al Gore’s World-Wide Web undoubtedly know, many “weblogs” allow their readers the opportunity to compose “comments” in response to particular “posts.” This, as can be easily attested, offers the opportunity for countless dribbling morons to present functionally and culturally illiterate musings on all and sundry.

It’s for this reason, dear reader, that we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” don’t accept “comments” on this humble “website.” Although our audience is surely more learned than that of the average “weblog,” we still think a few rotten eggs would sully it for all of us.

But horrid reader “comments”—as noxious as they are—aren’t the focus of today’s demolition. Rather, we’re taking aim at those irksome tag lines that follow so many “comments.” We think you know what we’re talking about: After proffering a grammatically-challenged sentiment about George Allen’s foolishness, a given “commenter” will end his bit with some stupid quote from a famous person.

You know, like:

“Tyranny, like hell, is not easily conquered; yet we have this consolation with us, that the harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph.” -Thomas Paine

Or:

“We must become the change we want to see." –Gandhi

Man, do these arch little quotations irritate us. Although the “commenter” wants to offer the impression that he’s an expert on, say, Thomas Paine or, say, Gandhi, it should be painfully obvious that he’s merely culled the quotation from some handy list of inspiring sayings. The dolt.

For this reason, one often sees liberal “commenters” unknowingly employing quotes from Victorian imperialists, or radical feminists picking sayings from anti-suffragettes. Or, for that matter, lefties choosing Thomas Paine, whose politics in many ways don’t fit those of the contemporary liberal. Nothing quite makes a left-winger look like a nitwit like using a Harold Macmillan quote as a tag line.

Naturally, then, the question presents itself: How to rid the e-world of these odious quotations? We, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” don’t know for sure, but we think we have an idea that could well help.

Actually, it’s pretty simple: You have to offer even more idiotic tag lines in an attempt to demonstrate how foolish this whole business is. And, if you ask us, there are a few easy ways to do this, which we’ll prove through recourse to one text: Albert Camus’ novel The Fall.

Camus, as one of the 20th century’s leading intellectuals and a man of conscience, is a perfect choice for the ostentatious tag-line enthusiast. The Fall is also a great text, since it’s a work of fiction, and thus the attribution of its lines to its author is already highly dubious. So perhaps a few ill-chosen quotes from this work will make these e-quotations seem all the more ridiculous. We suggest the following:

“I was even seen in a hotel dedicated to what is called sin, living simultaneously with a mature prostitute and an unmarried girl of the best society” – Albert Camus

That ought to confuse a few folks. Or how about this:

“You are probably right” – Albert Camus

We can already imagine the first thoughts of those happening upon this tag line: “Huh?”

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Politics Means Never Having To Say You’re Sorry

Okay, dear reader: One more note on the recent John Kerry Thinks the Troops Are Stupid Brouhaha, and then we’ll blithely consign this rather insignificant scandal to the trash heap. Every right-leaning “weblog” this side of the Baltic Sea is nattering on about this topic, and, quite frankly, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” prefer our “posts” to be far less timely. (At some point we’ll get around to bashing Alexander Haig. Man, that guy really gets under our skin.)

Anyway, we’re continuing our discussion of John Kerry’s gaffe precisely because we’ve just taken a gander at his curious attempt at contrition via press release. After resolutely refusing to apologize one minute, the junior Senator from Massachusetts decided to apologize the next. Way to demonstrate that you’re not a flip-flopper, Mr. Kerry.

Well, to be fair, Senator Kerry’s apology isn’t much of an apology. In fact, as the press release makes crystal clear, Mr. Kerry doesn’t feel all that apologetic. For the benefit of the one person who hasn’t been keeping up with this story, here’s what Andrew Sullivan would deem the “money quote”:

I sincerely regret that my words were misinterpreted to wrongly imply anything negative about those in uniform, and I personally apologize to any service member, family member, or American who was offended.

Huh. That’s odd, isn’t it? The bit on the end was quite good, we thought. But he’s got the start all wrong: “I sincerely regret that my words were misinterpreted to wrongly imply anything negative about those in uniform.”

Now, never mind the split infinitive. We imagine that’s just an example of the Senator’s superior education and intellect on display. (President Bush, eat your heart out.)

Instead, home in on the heart of this statement: I’m sorry that other people misinterpreted me. Why the heck would one be sorry about that? Angry, perhaps; dismayed, sure; but sorry? It makes no sense.

Naturally, this is a non-apology apology. You’ve probably witnessed such a thing before—when you were around age 12 in the schoolyard. Never thought you’d see the day a distinguished political figure would offer an example of it, did you?

Well, don’t be so naïve. Frankly, all this ire directed at Mr. Kerry has actually made us pine to defend him. It’s sad, but it’s true.

We’re particularly tired of lefty complaints about Senator Kerry, which attempt to turn him into the Bill Buckner of the Democratic Party. Puh-lease: You voted for him, you dolts. Don’t you deserve a little bit of the blame?

In fact, as much as we would love to join the anti-Kerry orgy, we simply must say it: All he’s offered us is an example of the typical politician’s trick: Never apologizing.

Let’s face facts, people. Politicians almost never offer an earnest display of contrition. They enjoy apologizing as much as most of us fancy cleaning the toilet with our tongue. As much as people like to pretend that apologies are good for politicians’ careers, they’re clearly not, or everyone would be constantly admitting to their shortcomings.

Yes, Mr. Kerry’s non-apology is asinine. As was his reaction to this stupid ordeal in the first place. But we don’t think it’s much more than a glaringly tone-deaf version of politics as usual in this country.

So leave John Kerry alone, will you? If people continue to pile on him, we may feel so sorry for him that we'll be compelled to vote for the guy.

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The Presidential Aspirations of John Forbes Kerry, RIP

Naturally, dear reader, strollers around Al Gore’s Internet are dying to know what we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” think about the latest political brouhaha—John Kerry’s recent call for American students to educate themselves, lest they wind up soldiers in Iraq. As one might imagine, such a sentiment has quickly catapulted the junior Senator from Massachusetts into the media limelight.

Now, we don’t mean to alienate our conservative friends, but we’re entirely willing to believe that John Kerry didn’t mean what he said. That is to say, he made a—horrible and entertaining—gaffe. It’s highly unlikely that Senator Kerry, a man who served in Vietnam himself, would ridicule the intellectual capabilities of American servicemen.

But, that said, we find it simply enraging that Senator Kerry resolutely refused to apologize for his wretched mistake. Instead, he launched a nonsensical partisan attack on those—reasonably—demanding contrition. This is not the action of a gentleman; rather, it positively stinks of “desperate loon.”

We mean, come on: His potshots at the Bush administration in the aftermath of his remarks make absolutely no sense. On the one hand, Kerry admits that he bungled a joke, which was aimed at excoriating President Bush, not the American military. (Why he would take aim at the education of the president, who attended the same schools as Kerry and had roughly the same grades, is another matter, but we’ll let that pass.) On the other hand, however, he blasts his critics for “distorting” his words.

But, as Senator Kerry’s first contention makes clear, his attackers aren’t “distorting” his words. They’re merely taking issue with his actual delivered statement, which he claims not to have meant. So, Mr. Kerry appears to be complaining that the Bush administration criticized his exact words. How dare they take his statements at face value!

This simply has to be the most asinine moment in recent American political history. All Senator Kerry has to do is apologize. But, seemingly stirred up by the MoveOn.org types on the “weblogosphere,” he has chosen to offer a bizarre retort instead.

It’s rather funny, of course. For years now, our friends on the political Left have yammered on about the festival of malapropisms that George W. Bush offers in his speeches. We’ve endured countless hoots and howls from our liberal friends at the rhetorical blunders of the Commander-in-Chief.

Yet now, the supposedly cosmopolitan John Kerry has offered perhaps the most unfortunate gaffe a politician can utter, and our buddies on the Left are positively leaping all over themselves to rush to Senator Kerry’s defense. Our current president may not be a genius at subject-verb agreement, but has he ever delivered a blunder this juicy, this mammoth? And at this crucial juncture in the political calendar?

Gee: Who’s stupid now?

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