Bash of the Ages

As we—ever attuned to the horrors of self-puffery—have mentioned with mind-numbing consistency, this humble “weblog” has just turned three years old. Naturally, this e-coming-of-age, if you will, has been on the lips of sundry Internet devotees. For a few short days, perhaps, Americans have stopped talking about Anna Nicole Smith and started cheering on the crack young staff.

And, of course, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” fully support their efforts. Quite frankly, we enjoy very few things more than mindless lauds and plaudits directed our way. Actually, after careful review, we only enjoy one thing more--pudding.

Naturally, then, we did our part to encourage numerous e-eminences to join the umpteen people singing our praises. That is to say, dear reader, on Saturday night we hosted the Official “Hatemonger’s Quarterly” Three-Year Anniversary Party. It was, as you might imagine, quite a fete.

Now, before you head over to all the gossip “weblogs” in search of photographs from the party showing a scantily clad, inebriated Karl Rove doing his Sammy Davis Jr. impression (which is, we should add, impressive), you might just want to hear our take on the soiree. If we must say so ourselves—and it currently appears as if we must—it was the bash of the millennium. Granted, the millennium isn’t that old yet, but let’s not get all technical, shall we?

As you can well imagine, dear reader, the guest list included a veritable cornucopia of “weblogging” greats. Both of the beloved llamas were present, offering gratuitous domestic “posts” to all and sundry. Mr. Misspent was in attendance, though curiously with a German translator, who merely repeated one’s sentences in a Col. Klink accent.

And we mustn’t forget Mr. and Mrs. P, who made the trip all the way from some God-forsaken Midwestern locale. They looked like the king and queen of the rustbelt.

Who, furthermore, can forget the Maximum Leader himself—a magnanimous lad who has played a large part in “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly”’s survival? Ah, the bejeweled floppy cap looked mighty nice on the dance floor.

Let’s not forget, in addition, a dapper Basil Seal, a decidedly Cranky Neocon, gorgeous Sadie, delightful Dan Riehl, and some fellow who runs a “weblog” entirely devoted to monkeys.

Ah, we could go on all day. But you get the idea, dear reader. We, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” are kind of like today’s version of Truman Capote.

Only not gay. And not really short. And without the funny voice or the talent for writing.

Other than that, spot on.