Dennis Kucinich, Armchair Psychologist

Oh, this simply has got to be one of our very favorite stories thus far from the 2008 presidential campaign. It may not be as delicious as the ongoing antics of the Mike Gravel candidacy, but it still packs a wallop.

As noted on a little “website” called the Drudge Report, Dennis Kucinich (D-The Nation magazine) questioned President Bush’s sanity in an interview with The Philadelphia Inquirer. More specifically, Rep. Kucinich reflected earnestly on the President’s mental health, given his pugnacious rhetoric on Iran’s potential acquisition of a nuclear weapon.

To the charmingly obtuse Rep. Kucinich, President Bush’s concern about Iran’s nuclear intentions are so inflammatory as to raise serious questions about the need to send him to a room with padded wallpaper.

And, as you might well imagine, dear reader, we think this is simply marvelous. What isn’t to love? After all, the fellow making mental health recommendations is Dennis Kucinich, the half-pint, elfin left-wing extremist who has a better shot of marrying a unicorn than becoming our next commander-in-chief.

We mean, come on: Dennis Kucinich is questioning anyone’s mental soundness? This is the fellow who thinks he has a reasonable shot of winning the Democratic primary, even though his numbers poll lower than Joe Biden’s, for crying out loud. Ivan Drago has a better chance of being elected, and he’s both Russian and a fictional character.

This is the guy, we hardly need remind you, who aims to establish a Secretary of Peace in his cabinet. Why not add a Secretary of Love, an Assistant Secretary of Veganism, and a Secretary of Unrealistic Leftism whilst you’re at it?

Further, for all his concern about President Bush’s supposed bellicose rhetoric vis-à-vis the Iranian regime, he seems interestingly calm about Ahmadinejad’s blisteringly militaristic statements. For some reason, the US must speak of nothing but bunnies and rainbows, and Middle Eastern despots can wax anti-Semitic about the destruction of Israel and America.

So, take it easy, President Bush: Dennis Kucinich calling you nuts is about as good a sign of your clean bill of mental health as anyone can muster.

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The Surprising Value of Nothing

The other day, dear reader, our humble “website” was doing rather well for itself. Not, we dare say, in the Instapundit or Daily Kos league, but pretty well nevertheless. In fact, a quick glance at our day’s “hits” demonstrated that we easily topped our usual numbers.

And what, pray tell, had we done to deserve this charming up-tick? Had the folks at Black Hair Care magazine finally noticed our efforts? Did Ed Begley Jr. excoriate us for our typically withering references to his off-screen shenanigans?

Hardly. On the contrary, the secret to our success is surprisingly—and depressingly—simple. On this particular day, thanks to massive problems with our Internet service, we “posted” far later in the day.

Yep: You read that right. Thanks to our complete lack of timeliness, we wound up with markedly more “hits” than usual. Not thousands more, but a hefty sum more, to be sure.

How do you think this makes us feel? Not too darned good, if you’ll believe us. Clearly, if aim to become big-time “webloggers,” all we must do is…never “weblog” again. Fans will come a-screamin’ for more. Or is that less?

According to the delightful and charming Sadie—who runs a far more respectable Web effort than we muster—most “webloggers” like to write far more than they enjoy reading. Further, we might add, those who don’t write “weblogs” are too busy sniffing through a bout of Internet pornography to trouble themselves with some light reading.

So it stands to reason that folks would most esteem a “weblog” that offers absolutely no commentary on anything. If you want to get all artsy-craftsy, you could say that such a “weblog” would be the Internet equivalent of Robert Rauschenberg’s white paintings, or John Cage’s 4’33”.

Yeah: That was rather highfalutin of us. Perhaps you can see now why our humble “weblog” appears far more popular on the days we don’t “post” a thing.

Still, those few of you who actually read this garbage needn’t fear. In our undying quest to remain as popular as leprosy and the LA Clippers, we’ll continue to write our uninspired e-yuks each weekday.

It may not be as good as nothing, but we’re willing to do our part.

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Thespian-Cum-Politician

A lot of folks in America, dear reader, are sick and tired of listening to the political bleating of various actors and actresses. Whether it’s Tim Robbins pontificating about the Iraq War or Sally Field pontificating about the Iraq War or Susan Sarandon pontificating about the Iraq War, many people just can’t tolerate it.

Actors, after all, are not exactly world famous for their smarts. With, we suppose, a few exceptions: Gary Coleman has always struck us as extremely bright.

Yet we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” must admit that we don’t feel the same way about the political proclivities of various thespians. Call us masochists (really: Call us masochists), but we actually quite esteem the moronic diatribes of the Hollywood set.

In fact, we feel about Rosie O’Donnell’s stint on “The View” much as average Joes purportedly feel about Milwaukee’s Best: Life just doesn’t get any better than this. We mean, come on: An outlandishly execrable women’s talk show laced with the moronic blather of an overweight left-wing clown. Can you think of anything superior? The fifth season of “Night Court,” perhaps?

So you’ll pardon us, dear reader, if we—unlike so many Americans—pine to learn more about our actors’ ideological bents. Sure, we know the basics: Alec Baldwin is a raging leftist and a great father; Jon Voight is rather conservative; Tom Cruise is gay; &c. But we want more.

For instance, what does Rip Torn think about national healthcare? Does Ray Romano support a flat tax? Is, as we have long suspected, Cher an advocate for intervention in Burma?

As some highbrow publication once put it, inquiring minds want to know. And, we hasten to add, so do we. Although we’ve long known that Ed Begley Jr. is a Communist who’ll drive a turkey to work if it’ll save him a drop of gasoline, we yearn to know about the late Nel Carter. Was she a pinko? If you ask us, signs point to yes.

The next time you find yourself sick and tired of another B-List actor (say, George Clooney) eagerly attempting to use all three of his brain cells in an attempt to stump for a nuclear freeze, think of us. Don’t just get mad at another typical Hollywood moron with typical leftist politics. Rather, ponder all the joy this boob is giving to us.

If it helps you get through the day, you're welcome.

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Imposter Universities

We, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” are nothing if not resourceful. And, since Descartes has amply demonstrated why we are not nothing, it seems as clear as day that we are, in fact, resourceful.

Whilst you mull that in your head a bit, dear reader, we must hit you with the reason for our discussion of our well nigh preternatural resourcefulness. In short, it is because our Official Ideas and Schemes Department has hit upon another glorious idea.

Yep: It’s pretty much as good as “Edward Said: The Musical” and our “Academic Superstars Calendar.” Impressive company in the world of marketing, eh? Yeah: We think so.

Right about now, you are undoubtedly asking yourselves: “What sort of hair brained genius has the crack young staff come up with now?” Or a sentiment to that general effect.

Well, let us tell you. As the title of this humble “post” reads, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” pine to inaugurate what we’ll call imposter universities.

And what, pray tell, is an imposter university? Well, it’s much like an imposter fragrance, only far more related to higher education. And, unlike your lame rip-off of Drakar Noir (you inveterate townie), imposter universities may very well get you laid.

Allow us to explain. Lots and lots of folks hope to attend Stanford University, the chi-chi institution of higher drinking found somewhere in God-forsaken California. As it turns out, however, not everyone can get in to that school. Unless you’re an African-American transgendered Navaho who served in Vietnam (or legacy), you actually don’t stand much of a shot.

That’s where our imposter university kicks in. Sometime in the near future, we’ll set up a college in Stamford, Connecticut. Its name? Why, Stamford University, natch.

Thanks to us, only the most nitpicky employer will recognize that you didn’t study English literature at an overrated campus on the West coast, but got a degree in dog grooming from some pathetic hole-in-the-wall. Oh, and you minored in mail fraud.

Call us bleeding heart egalitarians. We don’t care. We’ve been called a lot worse, in fact. Like warthogs.

Still, we pine to allow everyone the opportunity to sniff at the stuff of academic achievement. Just because you wore a helmet when you attended high school (and weren’t on the team), that’s no reason to stop you from earning a BA from “Cornel University,” “Amerst College,” and “Amory University.”

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Christianity and the Death Knell of the Republic

We hope, dear reader, that you are sitting down. And we do not only pray for this because it suggests that you have pretty good posture. Nope: What we’re about to tell you may shock the living daylights out of you.

Here goes: We, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” spied an obtuse letter to the editor in the October 18 number of The New York Times. We know, we know: Alert the press. This must be the only stupid missive the Gray Lady has ever printed.

And here it is:

To the Editor:

Re “Gingerly, Romney Seeks Ties to the Christian Right” (Political Memo, front page, Oct. 16):

The fact that Mitt Romney, or any presidential candidate, should find it necessary to appease the Christian right is a sad commentary on our times. It is clear that a broad segment of the American people, and the feckless politicians who pander to them, have rejected the constitutional prohibition against religious tests for public office and believe that only “people of faith” are qualified to be leaders.

In such an environment, even the most outstanding atheist or agnostic could never aspire to public service.

Dennis Middlebrooks
Brooklyn, Oct. 16, 2007

We know what you’re thinking, dear reader: We don’t have a clue what Mr. Middlebrooks does for a living, but he probably doesn’t pay his bills via constitutional law. After all, his whole How-Dare-an-Overwhelmingly-Christian-Nation-Desires-a-Religious-President routine isn’t exactly the sort of legal zinger that would inspire pride in the Founding Fathers.

We mean, come on: American Christians aiming to plump for someone who shares their views on moral matters isn’t exactly a grave threat to the Republic, now is it? Nor, we dare say, does it gainsay “the most outstanding atheist or agnostic” from any sort of “public service,” as Mr. Middlebrooks histrionically asserts.

Has Mr. Middlebrooks ever heard of San Fransisco? How about Berkeley? Or, for that matter, Brooklyn? We have a hunch that candidates close to the Religious Right wouldn’t fare so well in those areas.

One might as well complain about politicians incessantly pandering to adults. After all, kids can’t vote, and thus our suck-up candidates ignore the kiddies, thereby subverting our constitution, blah, blah, blah.

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Al Gore’s Evil Minions

Quite frankly, dear reader, it’s been a tough week or so for us. Allow us to elaborate. About a week ago, our Internet service—much like our cable television service—went on the fritz.

Yep, that’s right: “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly” official headquarters—workspace of the crack young staff—was bereft of access to Al Gore’s World-Wide Web. Man, we didn’t know how hooked on that thing we had become.

As you might well imagine, lack of Internet access is a bit of a problem for a storied “weblog.” Or even, if we may add, a non-storied one. It’s kind of like a coal miner without a helmet or a banker without an obnoxiously supercilious demeanor. Or Madonna without lube. We were, in a word, stuck.

So what happened? Well, first and foremost, we failed to offer our weekly Sunday essay for Wizbang. This was the only time—the only time!—we did not offer our typical weekend rumination for the big boys at Wizbang since we started our humble column over a year ago.

In addition, we have recently—to put it delicately—half-assed our “posts.” Quite frankly, we can’t help it: As the result of our Internet non-access, we were compelled to troll around in search of some poor sap willing to let us piggy-back on their computers. We’re not proud of it, but it’s true.

Accordingly, we spent a few minutes on some weirdo’s laptop, attempting to ignore the dubious photographs on his desktop whilst writing some glowing animadversion or other. Not, we must admit, a harbinger of e-success.

We suppose, dear reader, that we are asking—albeit indirectly—for your e-forgiveness. Our last few days of “posts” have been rather horrid, perhaps even more lowly and uninspired than is typical for this lowly and uninspired little “weblog.”

In typical American fashion, however, we are pleased to blame other people for our shortcomings. It’s the darn Internet provider’s fault, and we take absolutely no responsibility. Read at your own risk.

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A Conspiracy of Conspiracy-mongers

The other day, dear reader, we heard about a heckler who pitched a fit at a live Bill Maher performance. For some reason, HBO broadcasts the alarmingly un-insightful, non-sagacious politico-comedic stylings of Mr. Maher, and some nutter attempted to break up the fun.

Upon reading this, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” thought: Finally, someone excoriated Mr. Maher for his lame political ruminations and his foreboding smugness. It’s about time.

Ah, but upon closer inspection, we found that we were entirely wrong. Sure, a heckler did interrupt Mr. Maher during his live television broadcast. Yet the heckler in question was another 9/11 conspiracy clown.

Now, we might be in the minority here, but we simply must say that we have officially had enough of the whole 9/11-Was-an-Inside-Job-by-the-US-and/or-Israel crowd. We’ve heard their cockamamie theories, and you can color us unimpressed.

In fact, we firmly believe that the 9/11 conspiracy racket is amongst the most fatuous of conspiracy theories ever to sully American history. And that, we hardly need add, is quite an accomplishment.

We mean, come on: How deranged do you have to be to believe that the US government was behind the most horrific terror attack in American history? Apparently, the answer is: Just as much as Rosie O’Donnell is.

Even though such conspiracy-mongers aim to castigate America and/or Israel with their foolishness, they wind up offering a strikingly racist view of the Middle East. As far as they’re concerned, Muslims can never accomplish anything—even terrorist attacks for which they explicitly claim responsibility. Everything must be the result of the evil West.

Quite frankly, we consider such 9/11 conspiracy-mongering so rebarbative that we’re developing our own conspiracy theory to counter it. Although we haven’t fully ironed out all the details, we have a sneaking suspicion that the 9/11 conspiracy theory is itself a conspiracy.

Yep, that’s right: If you ask us (which, technically speaking, you did not), the 9/11 “Truthers” are merely right-wing stooges aiming to make the far Left look so ridiculous that another Republican gets elected. This is not, we suppose, a particularly convincing theory, but it sure beast the heck out of the We-Did-9/11 garbage, doesn’ it?

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When Pigs Fly: The Vehicular Edition

One of the senior editors here at “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly”—let’s just call him “Chip”—saw the oddest thing the other day. It was so peculiar, in fact, that we have decided to share it with you in today’s humble “post.” We know what you’re thinking, dear reader: It must be very strange indeed.

And it sure is. A few short days ago, “Chip” found himself at the wheel of his gray Honda Civic. (Nope: That wasn’t the strange bit.) Whilst traveling down the local highway, “Chip” spied something he had never seen before.

Frankly, we have the sneaking suspicion that you won’t believe “Chip” when we tell you what it is. But we’ll inform you nevertheless. We’re kind of nice like that.

Simply put, “Chip” saw a BMW on the highway that was—get this!—driving at a normal speed. What’s more, the driver of said BMW wasn’t obnoxiously swerving into different lanes, passing his fellow motorists in supremely dangerous style. Nope: This BMW-driver wasn’t even riding in the breakdown lane or anything.

In short, “Chip” saw a BMW-driver who wasn’t a complete jerk.

Hard to believe, isn’t it? We, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” have remarked in the past on the strange character of those who own BMWs. We’re not sure if it’s a German car thing or a rich, entitled snob thing. Perhaps a bit of both.

Still, in all of our collective lives, we’ve never previously laid eyes on a BMW that wasn’t being driven by someone who’s clearly an obnoxious moron. And, we hasten to add, we’ve seen our fair share of BMWs in the past.

Accordingly, the sight of a mild-mannered BMW-driver quite shocked “Chip.” After all, as far as he was concerned, the BMW owner’s manual begins with the following sentiments:

Thank you, complete jerk, for purchasing a BMW. Frankly, we kind of figured that you’d buy a BMW anyway. When you walked into the dealership, we could tell you were a Grade-A ass.

And now, thanks to our German engineering, you can drive like a self-obsessed moron who totally lacks regard for anyone’s safety. Hey: Let people in Honda Civics and Toyotas drive with care; they can’t afford to be reckless, right?

After viewing a well-driven BMW for the first time in his life, “Chip” could only think one thing: Who stole that BMW? Obviously, that wasn’t the car’s self-possessed owner.

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Celebrate Sameness

Are you, dear reader, anything like us? From our vantage point, it seems as if you are. Admittedly, though, our eyesight isn’t very strong.

Anyway, if you are anything like us—even remotely—you can be sure as sugar that one particular thing irritates you. We refer, of course, to the mindless American celebration of so-called “diversity,” as pushed by diversity apparatchiks all throughout these here United States.

You’ve seen the bumper stickers, dear reader: “Celebrate Diversity.” These are the orders of countless bureaucratic automatons who shill for the government, various non-profits, and the for-profit “diversity” police folks. These people don’t even tell you to “Celebrate Diversity If You Want To Do So”; oh, no: They aim to force you to tow their multicultural line, whether you want to or not.

And we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” have officially had enough. Yep: It’s official. As much as we despise any form of bigotry, we almost equally detest the pseudo-moral preening secular religiosity that surrounds the multiculturalists.

Further, we aim to do something about it. As you well know, our fine land is chock-a-block with useless folks called “Affirmative Action Officers,” “Diversity Specialists,” and “Diversity Trainers.”

These days, one can’t even attend college without being browbeaten by such multicultural true believers. They’re so committed to their faux ideals that they’d make the average Muslim fundamentalist blush.

If you ask us, it’s high time these obnoxious people got some competition. As such, we have come up with a delicious counterpoise to the “Diversity” movement. We call it the Sameness Movement, and it cherishes everything that the Diversity-heads loathe.

Pretty soon, we aim to launch our own Sameness Training Seminars, in which we force sundry businessmen, college kids, and government employees to “Celebrate Similarity.” We shall do our best to make this land safe for utter conformity.

And why not? Legions of senseless people are attempting to compel you to “appreciate difference”; shouldn’t you learn to love similarity too? Or at least verisimilitude.

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On the Typically Sagacious Commentary of the Average 18-Year-Old

As readers of this humble “weblog” undoubtedly recognize, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” are pretty youthful folks. Not, we dare say, as young as Philip Roth—that whippersnapper—but fairly youthful nevertheless.

Accordingly, we naturally remember much about our undergraduate experiences. And, of course, by “experiences,” we don’t mean what the typical undergrad means: I.e., recreational druggery. Rather, we refer to our hours spent prostrate to the higher mind, if we may offer an unimpressive reference to an unimpressive Indigo Girls song.

We mention this, dear reader, for a particular reason. After much careful cogitation and a few rousing rounds of gin rummy, we have happened upon a view that both pertains to our respective collegiate experiences and is utterly true. Although it is highly likely that you won’t consider our opinion on this matter life-altering, we simply must share it with you.

Our conclusion relates to the realm of the seminar (or, as our women’s studies brethren call it, ovular). You know the seminar, dear reader: A three-hour marathon designed to show how dull a particular topic can be and how borderline retarded your fellow classmates are.

Now, don’t get us wrong, dear reader. Plenty of lecture-style college courses are dullsville too. As it happens, no one ever really instructs college professors how to teach, and thus the typical undergraduate is compelled to listen to some scatterbrained oaf with his fly undone muttering inaudibly about the “transcendental signifier” or “moles.”

And that, of course, is when said professor speaks English without an accent through which you could drive a stretch Hummer. One of the delights of our globalized world is learning about, say, Indian civilization from a woman who appears incapable of making any noise save for a glottal click.

Still, we would be remiss if we failed to mention the particular abominations related to the undergraduate seminar. Its faults are legion.

Most importantly, the very nature of these seminars forces its participants to withstand hours and hours and hours of dribblingly unenlightening banter from classmates who pepper each and every phrase with the word “like.” “I, like, you know, like, love, like Lacan. He, like, totally reminds me of, like, Paris Hilton.”

Well, gee: Thanks, Megan, for that incredibly useful insight. We can’t help but be impressed by the sagacious commentary of 18-year-olds who plan to major in dipsomania with a minor in acquaintance rape. Ah, the life of the mind.

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Mug Shot

Perhaps, dear reader, you heard about the recent non-mugging of left-wing radio host Randi Rhodes in New York City. As has been spread around the ole’ Internets, fellow Air America host Jon Elliot claimed that Ms. Rhodes would not be present at her radio gig because she was the victim of a brutal mugging. For good measure, he insinuated that the evil right-wing conspiracy was behind Ms. Rhodes’ misfortune.

Doesn’t sound good, does it? Ah, but then it turned out that Mr. Elliot was playing a little fast and loose with the truth. His story was entirely legit—except for the small matter of Ms. Rhodes’ mugging. Oh, and the evil right-wing stuff was a bogus insinuation too, since Ms. Rhodes was not in fact a crime victim. As they say in the men’s magazines produced for metrosexuals: Details, details.

Now, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” fully recognize what is surely the most vexing detail of this whole Randi-Rhodes-wasn’t-mugged storyline: Air America is still in business? We mean, come on: We thought that aural turd went belly up months ago, sometime around the time that Al Franken ceased to be funny.

But, hey, we guess this dubious radio network is the Terry Schiavo of the airwaves, if you’ll permit us to make a reference that displays appallingly bad taste and has at least a whiff of moral imbecility. (And we think you will.)

Well, we suppose that there are a few other points of interest in this whole Randi Rhodes brouhaha. First: Wasn’t Randi Rhodes the bassist for Quiet Riot? If so, when did he become a really left-wing talk-show host? And, more to the point, when did he become a girl? Man, those rock stars sure are odd.

In addition, why did Mr. Elliot aim to make Ms. Rhodes the radio version of Crystal Gail Mangum? Didn’t he recognize that his whole Mike Nifong routine might backfire a bit? Just ask William Chafe, for crying out loud.

If Mr. Elliot was going to do his best dubious Durham District Attorney impression, you’d think that he’d go the whole way and really play it up. Charging the evil right-wing conspiracy for the mugging? How very Hillary Clinton circa 1999! How retardataire!

No, no: Mr. Elliot has it all wrong. You don’t blame the fascistic right-wing en toto; rather, you take aim at specific folks. That way your dimwitted charge has a ring of plausibility and the added bonus of ruining a few peoples’ lives.

In fact, we’re willing to do Mr. Elliot’s handiwork for him. Randi Rhodes was mugged, and three people on the Duke lacrosse team are responsible.

Let the lynching begin.

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Complexity Has Never Been This Simple

If there’s any benefit to reading a left-leaning newspaper, surely the letters-to-the-editor section makes it all worthwhile. And no wonder: Ever gleeful to take in delightful examples of sanctimonious fatuity, we savor the little bursts of reader nonsense that appear in such organs as The New York Times, The Guardian, and The Washington Post.

Here’s a perfect exemplum of what we mean. The October 14 number of The Boston Globe, the Gray Lady’s New England satellite, contains a missive from one Brother Mark Brown, who is described as “a member of the Society of St. John the Evangelist, an Episcopalian monastic order, and…a frequent visitor to Israel.”

Br. Brown’s epistle is a response to Elaine McArdle’s column “I Was Lobbied by the ‘Israel Lobby,’” which must have been as ham-fisted as its title suggests. Br. Brown’s letter reads as follows:

McArdle mentions the daily Israeli newspaper Ha’aretz. On the left side of the Israeli political spectrum and frequently critical of the powers that be, the paper provides ample evidence of the impassioned, uninhibited debate that characterizes Israeli public discourse.

The sheer complexity of the Israeli/Palestinian conflict, not to mention the high stakes, naturally generates a wide range of opinions about the situation. At least in Israel.

We have to wonder how it is that Congress is miraculously of a single mind on this critical and complex issue when this body can otherwise be so fractious. It is precisely the absence of vigorous and uninhibited debate in Washington—the kind that Israeli democracy can rightly be proud of—that makes it difficult to dismiss claims that the Israel lobby has indeed had too much influence on US foreign policy.

If that is so—if we have the best Congress money can buy—it will eventually become clear that we have been false friends of Israel. True friends offer something sturdier than unquestioning acquiescence.

Ah, what a delight! One moment Br. Brown is piously intoning about the “sheer complexity of the Israeli/Palestinian conflict,” and the next he’s myopically trashing the Jewish Lobby for subverting American democracy! Oh, the complexity!

Naturally, Br. Brown’s take on the so-called Israel lobby is arrant nonsense. The idea that Congress is in lock-step with Israel should be news to such folks as John Conyers and Dennis Kucinich, both of whom seem strikingly unfriendly to Israel. If this is a miraculous “single mind,” we’d love to see Br. Brown’s assessment of complete agreement.

But clearly the most disgusting—and morally obtuse—portion of Br. Brown’s missive is his unreflective assumption that Jewish money is purchasing Congress and forcing it to do its bidding. Perhaps Br. Brown has never heard of Saudi Arabia. If so, allow us to inform him that this country is rather oil-rich, and, as a result, tosses around millions and millions of dollars in its lobbying efforts in the United States.

As anyone but a complete simpleton realizes, the Israel lobby is not the only lobbying group in Washington, DC interested in the Middle East. But, to the deeply complex Br. Brown, only the Jews can subvert American democracy.

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Columbia’s Diversity of Hate Speech

Boy, Columbia University sure has had a few good weeks of publicity. The storied Ivy League institution is turning into a latter-day Duke lacrosse team, for crying out loud.

Perhaps you heard, dear reader, that a delightful chap called Mahmoud Ahmedinejad spoke at Columbia. As it turns out, Mr. Ahmedinejad is the president of a country called Iran and harbors some views that are a bit—how to put it?—extreme.

For instance, he isn’t quite certain that the Holocaust happened and appears to aim to make sure a contemporary Holocaust occurs via the utter elimination of Israel. In addition, Mr. Ahmadinejad denies the existence of homosexuals in his fine nation, even though his government executes people for same-sex inclinations.

We know what you’re thinking, dear reader: What a charming fellow to have speak at your local university. And the bigwigs at Columbia fully agreed with your fine sentiment. Thus President Lee Bollinger invited Mr. Ahmadinejad to campus, only to browbeat him in his introduction, as a way of lamely saving face.

Oh, but it gets worse. As you undoubtedly read, an African-American professor at Columbia’s teachers college arrived at her office and was greeted by a noose hanging on her door. Very, very nice, eh? Perhaps force-feeding students all that moralistic blather about “enforcing diversity” is paying off?

As if this weren’t bad enough, now a local television station reports that anti-Semitic graffiti has been found in a bathroom at Columbia—with swastika and all. Yes, yes: The trifecta of hate at dear old Columbia!

This made us wonder: How do the authorities know that the graffito in question isn’t merely preliminary notes of one of Columbia’s famed Middle East Studies professors? After all, pretty much everything Joseph Massad writes is tantamount to a swastika. Perhaps Professor Massad likes to use shorthand when he’s on the john?

Any minute now, the diversity police at Columbia University are going to use the noose and swastika incidents to their own devious, bureaucratic ends. Soon enough all students will be forced to memorize Maya Angelou poems and wear pink armbands.

No one will give a moment of thought to the notion that force-feeding claptrap about “embracing differences” may trigger some of these disgusting incidents. Nope: We’ll just get more pushy sessions rapping about “oppression,” more dismal lectures from dubious radicals, &c.

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Naming the Enemy

The other day, dear reader, an interesting thing occurred: The New Republic arrived in our mailbox. We call this interesting because in previous incarnations TNR showed up about as regularly as Charles Manson alimony payments. (Yeah: We knew we shouldn’t have married him.)

In recent months, it seems, the staff at TNR has gotten a bit better at putting the finishing touches on their magazine. Perhaps there’s a new German editor?

The particular issue to which we refer, the October 8 number, came with a piece by Todd Gitlin, who holds an unofficial left-wing sinecure at Columbia University. Entitled “World War V: My Battle with Norman Podhoretz,” the article amounts to a frivolous ad hominem attack on Commentary’s editor-at-large.

In essence, Mr. Gitlin, of SDS fame, charges Mr. Podhoretz of being embarrassingly pro-American and insufficiently nuanced in his views on foreign policy. This is, we think, the typical New Republic and Dissent line: Some of the anti-war folks are crazy, but the neocons are just as batty.

One particular sentence in Mr. Gitlin’s screed struck us as revealing:

Unable even to define war aims, let alone articulate a strategy for attaining them, incoherent even in naming the enemy, let alone defeating its successive incarnations, ever self-immunized from doubt, the passionate dogmatists who were responsible for the catastrophe in the first place are prone to explain their failure at the fronts as the result of betrayal behind their backs.

Thus does Todd Gitlin excoriate Norman Podhoretz.

And this leads us to wonder: Did Mr. Gitlin read even the title of Mr. Podhoretz’s new tome? After all, he charges Mr. Podhoretz and his neoconservative pals with being “incoherent even in naming the enemy.”

Mr. Podhoretz’s new book is called World War IV: The Long Struggle Against Islamofascism. Mr. Gitlin quotes this title at the start of his article, but he appears oddly incapable of remembering it. We mean, come on: You might have other bones to pick with Mr. Podhoretz, but a failure to name the enemy isn’t one of them.

They’re called Islamofascists, Todd. And if you hated them as much as you detest Norman Podhoretz, you might not be so wishy-washy about the War on Terrorism.

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If I Wasn’t [sic] an Idiot

It’s confession time, folks. We, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” read The New York Times. Yes, yes: Banish us from the hallowed halls of hardcore, gun-toting, chaw-spitting, latte-hating, Wal-Mart-shopping Republicans, if you must. Still, despite its (myriad) flaws, we can’t stop checking up with the Gray Lady.

Strange, isn’t it? Well, perhaps not when you recognize the wonderful (and free) options that folks at the self-proclaimed Paper of Record offer to their dutiful readership. Don’t believe us? Why, just check out the delightful “weblogging” the Gray Lady staff presents.

Here, for your edification, is a title from one of these luminous Times “posts”: “Giuliani’s ‘Electability’ Doesn’t Make Him More Electable.” Boy, really draws you in with its stupidity, eh?

In essence, the “post’s” author, someone called Chris Sullentrop, merely reports Bill Kristol’s contention that Giuliani isn’t more electable than a conservative Republican. Well, gee: That’s a real shocker. We’ll have to call home and tell them the good news.

But just in case this sort of diligent and crucial reporting isn’t your cup of tea, you can also savor the careful commentary of New York Times’s readers. Ah, the people who enjoy “All the News that Prints to Fit” are real highbrows.

Why, just take a gander at a reader’s response to the aforementioned “post”:

All these “thoughtful” analyses are missing a crucial point. Rudy is crazy. Not the funny kind of “life of a party” crazy either, more like the “lonely man muttering to himself while he sharpens his knives” kind of crazy. If I was [sic] a Democratic candidate I’d love to debate him. “OK, Rudy, we admit Israel to NATO. They re-invade Lebanon, and Syria counter-attacks. What do we do then?” — Posted by A. L. Flanagan

Ah, there’s some real thinking. Too bad the sagacious A.L. Flanagan isn’t running for president on the Democratic ticket. If he ever gets through the primary (which is, we think, a likely scenario, given his preternatural intelligence), he’d sure make hash out of that crazy—and non-funny kind of crazy—Rudy Giuliani.

Since—alas for our nation—he’s not too busy with the vicissitudes of a political campaign, perhaps dear old A.L. Flanagan could study up on the use of the subjunctive in English. But perhaps we’re just being the non-funny sort of crazy?

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Discussing and Discussing and Discussing the Un-discussible

We begin today’s humble “post,” dear reader, with a confession. We, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” have recently not been keeping up with the Huffington Post. Yeah, yeah, we know: We’re an embarrassment.

And why wouldn’t you want to keep abreast of the ole’ Huffy Po, Arianna Huffington’s e-orgy of e-self-celebration? As far as we can intuit, writing for that “website” is tantamount to jury duty for various C-List celebrities. Rip Torn; Alyssa Milano; Idi Amin; Garfield the cat; Billy Joel—has any irksome pseudo-celebrity not crafted a poorly-worded essay for Ms. Huffington?

The other day, however, we attempted to make up for our lapsed attentions and tune in to the Huffy Po once more. As you might imagine, we were not disappointed. In point of fact, we thoroughly enjoyed the dimwitted carping of all and sundry. A good time was had by all.

Toward the end of our Huffing (if you will), we discovered something rather interesting. Amongst the official list of potential topics for Huffy Po writers is one called the “Israel Lobby.” Yep: In addition to carping on “Rush Limbaugh,” “Donald Rumsfeld,” and other official inanities, Huffy Posters can also feel free to excoriate the “Israel Lobby.” Further, readers can troll around all the “posts” that refer to this nefarious Hebraic outfit.

And this, dear reader, got us to thinking. It seems to us that one of the cardinal arguments of the Mearsheimer and Walt crowd is that people are frightened to discuss the ominous power of the “Israel Lobby” (a.k.a. the “Jewish Lobby,” the “Zionist Lobby,” or “Jews”). Apparently, folks are petrified—petrified!—that any mention of this dreaded cabal will ruin one’s life.

After merely uttering the words “Israel Lobby,” apparently, one is tossed from polite society. One loses one’s job (especially if it’s at a bank), one’s girlfriend, one’s clothing, and is forced to join some sort of neo-Nazi cover band.

We, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” politely contend that this is not the case. In fact, if you ask us, the incessant blather about the danger of invoking the “Jewish Lobby” demonstrates this argument’s utter fatuousness.

Think about it: How many times have you heard some anti-Zionist nutter complain about the “fact” that people are frightened to criticize Israel? If this is so, why do we hear this complaint so much? Why does the brave Huff Po add “Israel Lobby” to its official list of evils?

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Perfection on a Stick

“You guys are too negative.” So reads the opening line to a missive we recently received in our e-mail box. “The world isn’t as bad you think.”

Well, well, well: Pardon us for our un-rosy disposition. Wouldn’t you think that a “website” with the name “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly” would be really, really cheery? We’re not certain about you, but we assuredly would.

And so, dear reader, it appears as if a few amongst you consider us a bit of a downer. Not, we daresay, a colossal downer—an Al-Gore-just-showed-up-at-my-party-and-can’t-stop-nattering-on-about-climate-change downer—but a downer nonetheless.

Perhaps these readers—who, we must note, are a bit of a downer to us—are correct. Maybe we offer an unfairly curmudgeonly take on the contemporary world. Maybe you’d have to check out a “website” with a title like “The Lovemonger’s Quarterly” to make up for our somber whining.

Now, normally, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” take such criticism and throw it directly into the trash. Well, first we scoff at it knowingly, and then we give it a good toss.

In this case, however, we’re willing to make amends. Not, we should add, major amends, but a minor movement in the direction of pleasing our relentlessly negative critics.

That is to say, dear reader, in today’s humble “post,” we aim to be sickeningly saccharine. We’ll be mindlessly jubilant. We’ll be uproariously upbeat. In short, we’ll make Kelly Ripa seem like Vincent van Gogh. (Minus the talent, of course.)

Many moons ago, as our ancestors used to say, we pioneered a bit of a break from our usual negativistic high jinks. To this end, we offered an extremely intermittent series of “posts” with an un-humorously longwinded title. Said series was indebted to discussing a few things that made life worth living.

And, of course, grumps that we are, we let that sorry series die. But, in today’s humble “post,” we revive it. Yes, sir: In this humble installment of our “weblog,” we discuss one of life’s little joys.

What, you may be asking yourself, deserves this uncommon honor? Why, Bachman Pretzel Rods, of course. Don’t laugh: To our minds, Bachman Pretzel Rods are one of the great products of Western civilization. You know, like the printing press and the discovery of germ theory.

If you haven’t had these little tasty devils, allow us to inform you that you are most assuredly missing out. These are not just ordinary pretzel rods you happen upon in your local supermarket. Nope: For some reason, Bachman products can only be found in extremely run-down shops—the type of places that make you lose your appetite and worry about your wallet.

Yet they’re fully worth the trip to the nearest murder-mart. We can’t quite explain it, but nothing else tastes like them.

So, there you go, party poopers. We’ve collectively taken a gander at the sunny side. Life may be unremittingly miserable, but there’s always Bachman Pretzel Rods.

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Burmese Haze

Okay, things are getting serious. Perhaps, dear reader, you know about the horrible government in Myanmar. If you don’t, there’s a good chance you overdosed on Britney-Spears-lost-her-kids bunk, and you ought to feel mighty bad for yourself. Loser.

So, to keep you up to speed: Apparently, someone renamed Burma “Myanmar.” Frankly, we, like George Orwell, very much prefer Burma; if you ask us, it has a ring to it. But, heck, we still refer to Upper Volta. We like to glottal click it old school.

As it turns out, the folks in charge of this Myanmar are real bastards—tyrants, kleptocrats, fascists, &c. Perhaps even neocons. To demonstrate their evil bona fides, in fact, they’ve been busy beating the garbage out of monks. Man, isn’t that a bitch?

Well, as we mentioned at the start of our humble “post,” things just got one major step worse. As a fellow named Seth Mydans reports in some disreputable intelligence-gathering rag called The New York Times:

It was about as simple and uncomplicated as shooting demonstrators in the streets. Embarrassed by smuggled video and photographs that showed their people rising up against them, the generals who run Myanmar simply switched off the Internet.

We know what you are thinking, dear reader: What? They switched off Al Gore’s Internet? Oh, the nerve!

And this gets us to a far more crucial point. It recently occurred to us that, by switching off the World-Wide Web, the ruthless thugs in Myanmar have deprived their unhappy subjects of one of life’s great pleasures.

We refer, of course, to this humble “weblog.” That’s right: Thanks to the machinations of these insidious generals, every citizen of Myanmar (and a few Burmese folks, to boot) can’t get their daily fix of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly.”

No “Chip,” no chuckles, no rapier wit. Are you thinking what we’re thinking? Yep: It’s high time for a revolution!

Accordingly, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” want to declare our full support for an impending popular revolt against the Myanmar junta. These evil generals have kept our Burmese readers from this humble “weblog” for far too long. Talk about a gross violation of human rights.

Gosh, we hope that the United Nations will do its level best to aid the oppressed, “Hatemonger’s Quarterly”-deprived folks in Myanmar. Given the UN’s track record, we suppose we ought not to worry.

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Another Year of Abject Futility?

Longtime readers of this humble “weblog” (if such creatures, like unicorns, actually exist) undoubtedly recognize that “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly” is a rather special outpost on Al Gore’s World-Wide Web. And, by “rather special,” we do not mean in a “short bus” kind of way, if you catch our drift.

Nope: For well over three—count ‘em, three—years, we’ve been offering up a simmering brand of ersatz humor each and every weekday (except for the occasional holiday, of course). We get more yuks than Rosie O’Donnell’s body.

Accordingly, you will not be surprised to hear that this humble “weblog”—humble as it undoubtedly is—has been a finalist for “Best Humor Blog” in both the 2005 and 2006 installments of the Weblog Awards. A few people, it seems, have fully recognized our e-talent.

And what, you may reasonably wonder, was the result of these storied nominations? Well, as it turns out, our status as finalists did not enable us to bring home the e-bacon. More to the point, we went down in a blaze of abject futility. Twice, we might add.

Yes, it’s sad, but it’s true. (Kind of like your credit score.) Although in the 2006 Weblog Awards we fared slightly better, we figuratively got our posteriors handed to us both times.

Why, dear reader, do we mention this? Well, we’ll tell you.

We’ve just discovered that it’s now time for the nominations for prospective finalists for the 2007 Weblog Awards. Exciting, is it not? Yeah, we thought so too.

As such, we figured that we’d urge you to aid us go for the trifecta, if you will. If we’re going to get our bottoms kicked in two Weblog Awards, why the heck shouldn’t we aim at getting trounced a third time? Can’t kids dream?

All you must do to help our unofficial striving for mediocrity is nominate us for a category here. With a little luck, pretty soon you’ll be the reader of a three-time loser.

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Do Politics and Humor Make Poor Bedfellows?

We, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” enjoy comedians. And occasionally, we might add, comediennes. Although our high regard for stand-up comedy may bring about visions of a fellow circa 1987 clad in an ugly sweater, acid-wash jeans and clutching a microphone, we don’t much care. Some of these wise-crackers are funny.

Even so, dear reader, we must admit that most political comedians rankle. For some reason, their political yuks usually serve only to demonstrate their failure to grasp nuances in matters of policy and government. Further, these political gags tend to be less funny than comedians’ non-political material.

Take Bill Maher, for instance. We submit that he isn’t exactly a deep thinker. (A daring conclusion, that.) In addition, we must say that, despite his truckloads of smugness, he’s about as funny as War and Peace. In Russian. And a heck of a lot less insightful regarding the human condition, we might add.

Now, we must hasten to inform you that this is not some lame Left-Right issue. If you ask us, Dennis Miller was funny before he turned to political comedy.

Though a few folks do a comparatively good job with political gags—one thinks of John Stewart and Stephen Colbert—their jokes soon tend toward the ponderous. We might laugh at one Lewis Black line, but we eventually find ourselves bored by his dimwitted political hectoring. Yes, yes, Lewis: We get it—you’re the only smart person in America.

All the above reflections—although, you’ll note, not funny in and of themselves—led us to some frightening soul-searching. After all, “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly” is typically a humor “weblog” (as difficult as that may be to recognize at times). Further, much of our humor—such as it is—pertains to matters political.

Uh, oh: This is what you might call a pickle. Are we Bill Maher without the relief pitcher haircut? Gosh, we sure hope not.

Perhaps it’s time for us to start warming up our Polish jokes?

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Take My Babies One More Time

Usually, this humble “weblog” discusses the higher things in life. You know the sort of stuff we mean: Peter Handke novels; Mark Rothko paintings; Billy Joel; American cheese; &c. The classy, highbrow things.

Our regular reader(s) may be somewhat perplexed, therefore, to discover the topic of today’s lucubration: A judge’s ruling that popular music sensation Britney Spears must hand over her young children to her ex-husband, one Kevin Federline. Not, we must freely admit, the sort of thing that typically inspires the crack young staff.

So you’ll pardon us, dear reader, if we stop pontificating about the finer points of chiaroscuro to slum it a bit. Although, like all people who possess both ears and a brain, we thoroughly despise the anti-music of Britney Spears, we simply can’t help ourselves from discussing her latest woes.

And you must admit that Ms. Spears has just been hit pretty hard. We mean, come on: She has to give her kids up to Kevin Federline because she’s insufficiently responsible to take care of them! Have you ever seen Kevin Federline? The guy’s one part Ed Grimley and two parts oily beauhunk. He’s the un-thinking man’s townie, for crying out loud.

If you lose custody to a fellow like that, it’s pretty much time for your intervention. There’s a Betty Ford clinic with your name on it somewhere, for Christ’s sake.

To make matters even more painful, we thought that Ms. Spears was finally turning a corner. After all, she had gained some much-needed weight for her slutty outfits and was partying at all hours with the likes of Paris Hilton.

Who would have thought this would lead to trouble? Not us, not us.

If you ask us, the Britney vs. K-Fed baby saga is the sort of dust-up in which one hopes that neither parent gets custody. We’d prefer that Osama bin Laden raise their kids. Hey, at least Osama doesn’t seem to party all the time.

Soldiers; teachers; witchdoctors; pedophiles—these are just a few of the people who would do a better job raising Britney’s kids than would she and K-Fed.

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Decorum for Dictators

Remember Jean Sara Rohe? She’s the arrogant little college graduate-cum-pseudo-folk singer who briefly became a left-wing hero last year. At her graduation ceremony at the Eugene Lang New School for Social Research, Ms. Rohe memorably used her role as senior class speaker to lambaste Sen. John McCain.

Sen. McCain, you’ll recall, would deliver his own address at the ceremony, and the arrogant Ms. Rohe decided to fill the auditorium up with moronic platitudes about peace, brotherly love, and likeminded sophomoric nonsense. In addition, Ms. Rohe lit into Sen. McCain, who gracefully refused to strike back at her in his own speech.

We, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” mention this, dear reader, because the Left’s reaction to Ms. Rohe’s antics is in striking contrast to its treatment of another ill-mannered collegiate speaker: Lee Bollinger, president of Columbia University. Whereas Jean Sara Rohe became a folk hero on the Left, Mr. Bollinger is ridiculed for his purportedly gauche behavior.

As everyone on God’s green (and rapidly warming) earth must know, Mr. Bollinger recently excoriated Iranian whacko Mahmoud Ahmadinejad before the Nutter-in-Chief offered some dubious remarks to an audience at Columbia University. Mr. Bollinger took issue with President Ahmadinejad for, among other things, denying the Holocaust, maltreat gays, offering material support to terrorism, radically curtailing free speech and freedom of expression, and holding political prisoners.

Now, one might have thought that our buddies on the political Left would applaud such talk. After all, they supposedly don’t esteem those who, say, deny the Holocaust, hang homosexuals, and support theocratic terrorists.

If they cheered when Jean Sara Rohe ridiculed an American senator who supports the Iraq War, then, surely they’ll delight in the excoriation of an anti-Semitic, theocratic fascist who blithely supports terrorists who kill American troops.

Oh, but no. It turns out they believe that John McCain doesn’t deserve the sort of mannered, respectful treatment that Mahmoud Ahmadinejad does. Executing homosexuals and declaring a desire to “wipe Israel off the map” appears not to rankle as much as hoping for an American victory in Iraq.

Accordingly, our buddies on the Left—at The Nation, Counterpunch, the Daily Kos, &c.—are in a virtual e-tizzy over Lee Bollinger’s bad manners. How horrid!

To be honest, dear reader, it is difficult to take such people seriously. They pretend offense when you say that they support any odious government, providing it’s sufficiently anti-American. And then…they support any odious government, providing it’s sufficiently anti-American.

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