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December 2, 2007 - November 25, 2007

Wednesday, August 23, 2006


Global Warming Experts
Use Desperate Measures
To Fix Hurricane Deficit



PSAYINGS.5A.9. It's getting embarrassing. If all those awful hurricanes last year were caused by Global Warming, then where the hell are this year's hurricanes? Even Neal Boortz is smart enough to spot the problem:

Things aren't quite going the way the global warming crowd predicted.  There have only been three tropical storms thus far... Hurricanes?  Thanks for asking, but there hasn't been one as of yet.  None. Nada.  Zip.  Nunca.  Averaging between 1944 and 2005 we would have seen about 1.5 hurricanes thus far.  Again ... we've seen none. 

According to weatherstreet.com the National Weather Service predicted 12 to 15 named storms by December of this year.  There were 27 last year.  Now it looks like the 12 to 15 prediction may be a bit high.

In fact, it might be a lot high. That's why the world's loudestsmartest 1,000 paranoid climate whackosGlobal Warming experts have scheduled an emergency conference in Miami, Florida, this week to generate enough hot air to catalyzeanalyze hurricanes in the Caribbean and screamexplain to the American people (in words of four lettersone syllable) why the sudden no-hurricanes bullshitphenomenon is another Karl Rove conspiracy absolute proof of Global Warming.

We're sure it'll all work out great. Gore's going to be there. We should have a Category Five underway before the first cocktail hour.He's always insightful orand interesting.

THANKS TO: The Big Girl News Network (scoop, scoop, scoop, scoop) for helping us some with the copy editing. We're new at this. And they know a lot more about hurricanes than we do.





NSFW Day:
What Googlers Want


How to put it... Well, they want to see naked women.

THE WEB PRIMEVAL. For the most part we're pretty well behaved around here. We may be mean and unfair, but we don't use a lot of bad words and we don't use many risque graphics. That's why it interesting to look in occasionally on what the casual googler is seeking when a search brings him accidentally to our site. The subject matter searches tend to be understandable and surprisingly repetitive; that is, a relative handful of subjects account for most of the activity -- they want posts about Cindy Sheehan, Pat Buchanan, Bush-Hitler, Maureen Dowdnuking Mecca, and torture. The final group is the most suspect, since they overlap strongly with the image googlers, who are basically up to no good at all. For example, they want pictures of torture as long as it involves young women bound in ropes and chains. That's not what the post that led them here is about, of course, but how were they to know? It makes us feel sorry for them.

That's why today's post is for all the weird surfers out there. The rest of you shouldn't go to the 'continued' page, because it features a variety of our most popular images, which in aggregate must be considered Not Safe For Work. We're not trying to pander to them but simply to reduce their frustrations, since Google is pretty hit-and-miss about sending them to the correct archive page as opposed to the home page. This should make things easier all round. Call it our good deed for the year.

The rest of you can come back tomorrow when we've returned to our standard prudish, right-wing rectitude. Okay?




Tuesday, August 22, 2006


Midnight to 3 am.

From sober realism to "campy" triviality in one generation.

NO MATTER HOW MUCH. Twelve O'Clock High was first a book, then a movie, then a television series. The dismissal linked above was applied by a site called montrealfood.com to the 60s TV series, though I'm far from sure the context completely explains the insult. I'll return to it later, but first I want to provide some background.

What sent me searching for Twelve O'Clock High was a movie I saw over the weekend. Since it dates to the early 80s, many of you may be familiar with a supposedly serious film called Taps, starring an old George C. Scott and a very young Timothy Bottoms, Tom Cruise, and Sean Penn. The plot, which takes place at a military academy, is almost too flimsy and ridiculous to mention, but the director still contrives to turn the piece into a cheap shot against all things military and particularly against the concepts of duty, honor, and country. Except for a few brief scenes early on when Scott articulates his devotion to the military tradition, the defense of honor is left entirely to a confused young cadet who recites Pattonesque platitudes until he learns the hard way that "nothing is more real than a dead little boy" (if I may paraphrase). When I looked up the film at imdb.com, I was intrigued to read the following reviewer comment:

George C. Scott also turned in a great, believable performance as an old wartime General. However I find it interesting, after seeing this movie over 20 years later, how it's context has changed for me personally. While in '81, the story was perhaps designed to generate sympathy for the General and his plight, I look at his situation today and feel nothing but pity for him, as I would for any Shakespearean tragic hero, who because of their narrow-sightedness, could not see the bigger picture.

I don't think we were supposed to feel much sympathy for Scott's character. I believe the director made a coldly cynical decision to manipulate Scott's advanced age and girth to lampoon him as a spent caricature of  his own portrayal of Patton. But I agree with the commenter that the context has continued to change, even from the comparatively recent decade of the 80s. Today, there are very few civilian Americans left alive who remember that there can be more to a military (or any other kind of) mission than merely not dying.

This is a falsehood. It's what prompted my post on Sunday, and it's what prompted me to turn toward a dramatic subject that I have personal memories of via my father, who served in the Army Air Corps in World War II. I knew from a very early age the premise of the 1949 movie starring Gregory Peck as the commander of a B17 bomber group based in England. I knew that the Eighth Air Force flew the first ever daylight bombing raids from Britain to Germany and lost 40,000 aviators, equivalent to all the Americans killed in action in the Pacific Theater of World War II. It was their heroism that ultimately brought Germany's manufacturing capacity to its knees and crippled the great Nazi war machine. That's what the movie is about -- how and why officers and men continued doing their duty in the face of appalling casualties day after day, long before there was any evidence they would succeed.

It's a truism that ground troops have it much harder physically than airmen, but the comparative luxury of returning each night to civilized digs, decent food, and drinks at the base also carries a cruel irony. Going off to war is something you have to do all over again every day or two -- leave the comforts of home for several hours of sheer terror. Then you return to a place that is essentially unchanged, except that some or many of last night's co-revelers are gone forever. True, the terror is always there, but so is some version of the civilian perspective that war is something which happens in another place, so far away that it seems continuously unreal and impossible to comprehend. No mud, cold, or hunger to distract you. For anyone in such an on-again, off-again purgatory, there can come a bright beautiful morning when "going off to war" again, today, is a sudden hammer that breaks you without warning. This is the emotional reality captured in the 1949 production.

Here's what representative imdb.com commenters had to say about Twelve O'Clock High.

***

If you have ever pondered what the real meaning of over-used words like 'loyalty' and 'devotion' mean then this film is for you. The unfettered treatment of these hard-to-pin-down ideals is what makes it one of the few really great war films...

***

(I)ndisputably the greatest WWII film ever..  There are no weaknesses in this movie. The screenplay is perfect, rooted as it is in the historical reality of the U.S.'s attempt to prove the superiority of Daylight Precision Bombing over the Brits favored strategy of night bombing. The terrible human pressures it placed on young American pilots AND their leaders has never been so well-portrayed on film... The usage of actual WWII bombing footage adds to the sense of reality. The psychological drama - what "maximum effort" does to people - is at the core of the story and supercedes the mere military aspect...  To hell with the flashy flamboyance of Citizen Kane; I would have to give 12 O'Clock High a better shot at being "the best movie ever made."

***

No gungho up and at 'em men. No false heroics. A great war film, but also an anti-war film of great intensity. Just ordinary men (and boys) doing the job they knew they had got to do. Greg Peck magnificent as the general forced to stiffen the morale of his bomber group, and who he himself eventually cracks under the strain.

***

The picture brings back the memories of excitement, terror and relief. Its a picture that the authors bring out. I knew the commanding officer portrayed by Gregory Peck, a Colonel Frank Armstrong, a replacement for Col. Overacker. Gregory Peck was a BG... We were first division originally sent to England to be transferred to North Africa. The 918 Bomb Group in the picture is 3 times 306 = 918 thats how they identified them. We had 87% casualty rate; 287 of us flew to England on Oct 21 1942, 87 survived, and [we] are passing away rapidly now. I was 19 as a bombardier-navigator, flew two tours; the second as a pilot. The picture is my ideal. I have three copies of it and view it whenever I feel depressed. Thanks for my connection of the past. I'm 78 and need a boost ever since I gave up drinking and smoking.
-- Horace Corigliano      

***

The last two comments are interesting to read side by side. One viewer sees it as an anti-war film. A veteran of the Eighth Air Force, however, sees it as a confirmation of the value of his service, despite its terrible costs. The latter is close to my own father's perspective on his service. He had the years of nightmares that are today characterized as Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, but he accepted them as a by-product of his service and got over them, if not the constant ringing in his ears. He didn't boast about his time in the war, but he never forgot it, or the friends he lost, or the shame he ascribed to those who had failed to serve in their country's hour of direst need. Pro-war, anti-war, the terms were irrelevant to his experience. Some wars have to be fought, and if you fight one, it's necessary to win it. He understood and approved the fine words of MacArthur's speech at West Point, but like most army pilots, he despised Patton's bluster and saw no glory of any kind in war. He, like the overwhelming majority of WWII vets, was of a breed we may very soon need plenty of, devout civilians who put on the uniform to get a nasty job done.

I saw the television version of Twelve O'Clock High long before I saw the movie, and I can remember, particularly in the first year, 1964, that we all watched it together as a family, my dad by turns technically critical and approving of its ambiance, me carried wholly into another, more urgent time of my parents' lives. The show declined a bit in the second year, when the Frank Savage character was shot down in the first episode to make way for a more popular lead actor than Robert Lansing. The plots grew more superficial, too often concerned with boy-girl romance, and there were too many happy endings. But we still watched, because in the memories of my family and many others, men were still plunging from the skies over Europe in scarcely believable thousands. In my head, I suppose, they've never stopped. The young men who will never return still bounce out to the flight line and take to the air of eternity, just like Frank Savage and Joe Gallagher and Horace Corigliano.

And now, the old drama is considered camp. What part, I wonder? Just the show biz compromises of seasons two and three? The prospect of a lowly TV series based on an excellent movie (much rarer then than today)? Or is it, as I fear, something deeper than that? Is it, in fact, the whole premise that's campy for members of all the generations who didn't even have parents for whom the setting had meaning? Are they now so sophisticated in their stateless loyalty to self that even the thought of an entire population of men willing to die for their country, willing to die rather than be thought not up to it, is a hokey, kitschy, absurdist joke?

If so, I'm sorry for them. And sorrier still for their children and grandchildren. F. Scott Fitzgerald said, "In the dark night of the soul, it's always three o'clock in the morning." Not that far from twelve o'clock, you think? Think again.




Sunday, August 20, 2006


The Year is...


WAITING ON A BELGIAN BEACH. The August 15 edition of the Wall Street Journal contained a fascinating essay by Ross Douthat (h/t Kenneth Anderson) asking the question "What year is it? 1938? 1943? 1948? 1972? 1919? Or 1914?" Douthat explains the alternative views thus:

There are five major schools of thought on this question, beginning with the "1942ists," who believe that we stand in Iraq today where the U.S. stood shortly after Pearl Harbor: bogged down against a fascist enemy and duty-bound to carry on the fight to victory. To the 1942ist, Iraq is Europe and the Pacific rolled into one, Saddam and Zarqawi are the Hitlers and Tojos of our era, suicide-bombers are the equivalent of kamikazes -- and George Bush is Churchill, or maybe Truman...

Over the last year, though, many conservatives have been peeling away from '42ism, joining the "1938ists" instead, for whom Iran's march toward nuclear power is the equivalent of Hitler's 1930s brinkmanship. While most '38ists still support the decision to invade Iraq, they increasingly see that struggle as the prelude to a broader regional conflict, and worry that we're engaged in Munich-esque appeasement....

Most of the liberal ex-'42ists have joined up with the "1948ists," who share the '42ist and '38ist view of the war on terror as a major generational challenge, but insist that we should think about it in terms of Cold War-style containment and multilateralism, not Iraq-style pre-emption....

What unites the '48ists, too, is a desire to avoid being tarred as antiwar leftists. This is precisely the position that the "1972ists" embrace. '72ism has few mainstream politicians behind it, but a great many Americans, and it holds that George Bush is Nixon, Iraq is Vietnam, and that any attack on Iran or Syria would be equivalent to bombing Cambodia. Where 1948ists compare themselves to Dean Acheson and Reinhold Niebuhr, '72ists suggest that the greater danger is repression at home and blowback from imperialist ventures abroad....

As 1972ists are to mainstream liberalism, the "1919ists" are to the political right: The old-guard faction that damns its own party's leaders as sellouts to the other side. For '19ists, Mr. Bush is Woodrow Wilson, a feckless idealist bent on sacrificing U.S. interests and global stability on the altar of messianic liberalism...

And... a few voices have spoken up of late for the most disquieting possibility of all. This possibility lacks heroes and villains (Bush/Wilson, Ahmadinejad/Hitler) and obvious lessons (impeach Bush, stay the course in Iraq). But as our crisis deepens, it's worth considering 1914ism, and with it the possibility that all of us, whatever year we think it is, are poised on the edge of an abyss that nobody saw coming.

I have deliberately omitted the instructive analysis Mr. Douthat provided in evaluating the political alliances and enmities created by these worldviews, because I have another alternative to suggest. (The full piece is definitely worth reading, though it does require a subscription to WSJ; however, most of the author's argument is included at the link above.)

I'll be very brief in summarizing why I think all the proposed dates are wrong. It's not 1938 -- particularly in the U.S. -- because the war has already been declared here, like it or not, and hostilities are underway. It's not 1942 because the peoples of the U.S. and its supposed allies may be bogged down, but they are extremely far from being as unified and resolved as they were in 1942. It's not 1948 because we are not embarking on a symmetrical stalemate between two monoliths; rather we have the opposite case of two patchwork alliances fighting an asymmetrical war with a high-tech arsenal on one side and multiplying low-tech atrocities on the other. It's not 1972 because the situation isn't remotely comparable, period. It's not 1919 because the issues we confront are not exclusively diplomatic and strategic; our enemy is very far from being militarily defeated and spiritually exhausted. And it's not 1914 because the unanimous recklessness that characterized that era's principal combatants is absent. Where they were arrogant and belligerent, we are self-doubting and vacillating.

Mr. Douthat also believes that all the analogies fall short and defaults to the reasonable position that the year is -- ta dah! -- 2006, a time unlike any other. In the grand scheme of things, I believe he is right. But from a strictly American perspective, I think there is a useful candidate analogy that comes very close to explaining the absurdities we perceive daily on the world stage.

The year that fits the American political scene is 1939. Chamberlain had already declared war and been swept from office, but France had not yet fallen. This particular interval of World War II was unique enough to have its own name: The Phony War. Here's what Wikipedia tells us about it:

The Phony War (the Phoney War, in Britain), or in Winston Churchill's words the Twilight War, was a phase in early World War II marked by few military operations in Continental Europe, in the months following the German invasion of Poland. Although the great powers of Europe had declared war on one another, neither side had yet committed to launching a significant attack, thus there was relatively little fighting on the ground. The term has equivalents in many other languages, notably the German Sitzkrieg ("sitting war," a pun on Blitzkrieg), the French drôle de guerre ("funny war" or "strange war") and the Polish dziwna wojna ("strange war"). In Britain the period was even referred to as the "Bore War" (a pun on "Boer War").

While most of the German army was fighting against Poland, a much smaller German force manned the fortified defensive lines along the French border (Westwall). At the Maginot Line on the other side of the border, British and French troops stood facing them, but there were only some local skirmishes. The British Royal Air Force dropped propaganda leaflets on Germany and the first Canadian troops stepped ashore in Britain, while western Europe was in a strange calm for seven months. Meanwhile, the opposing nations clashed in the Norwegian Campaign.

Evelyn Waugh wrote one of his best comic novels about this period. Its title is certainly evocative: Put Out More Flags. His characters show us a Britain in which everyone is scrambling to find new roles and opportunities while coping with the still fairly mild restrictions of their New Normal. One of the Amazon reader reviews offers a useful precis of the work:

Like Wodehouse, but with greater subtlety, Waugh finds an underlying silliness in all types of character... In "Put Out More Flags," he...  introduces [his characters] into comic situations within the context of the incipient European war (1939-1940). Foremost among them is Basil Seal, a thirty-six-year-old who is as unemployable as a six-year-old. His mother tries to help him get a prestigious position in the Army, but he blows it when he unintentionally and unknowingly insults the Lieutenant-Colonel of the Bombardiers. Fortunately, he is able to get a job with the War Department where he discovers that the secret to success is to level charges of Communism and Nazism against his (mostly) innocent friends and inform on them.

Basil's friends and family also make the most of war time. Ambrose Silk, a Jewish atheist, takes advantage of his job at the Religious Department of the Ministry of Information to start a fustian periodical. Alastair Trumpington, a pampered aristocrat, dutifully enlists as a soldier because he believes that "he would make as good a target as anyone else for the King's enemies to shoot at," while his wife Sonia waits for him in the car outside the training camp like a mother picking up her kid at school. Meanwhile, Basil's sister Barbara is allowing the use of their country estate as a shelter for poor people evacuating London for fear of German bombing raids; among them are a trio of insufferable brats named the Connollys who provide Basil with the fodder for an irresistible extortion scheme....

The common denominator among all of Waugh's characters in the book is that they have not yet experienced any trauma profound enough to break through their self-absorption. For all of them the impact of the war is still principally personal. In the hilarious first chapter we meet the three women in Basil Seal's life before we meet him. Separately, his mother, his sister, and his mistress all contemplate the fact of war as a solution to the poblem of Basil and reach the same implied conclusion that he should be killed in the war. When we finally meet Basil, he proclaims almost immediately that he wants to be thought of as "one of those men who did well out of the war." He proceeds to do his very best (worst) to achieve that ambition.

In the United States, we are very much in the position of Basil Seal, his family, and their acquaintances, though our Phony War has lasted much longer than theirs. After 9/11, we did indeed put out more flags, learn to deal with some small inconveniences, and tried various stratagems for reconciling our very personal beliefs and ambitions with the unfolding events of  the "War on Terror." Many of our politicians have been as nakedly unscrupulous as Basil in using every twist and turn of circumstance for personal (or party) benefit, while steadfastly refusing to comprehend the gravity of the ordeal to come. Many others have fought their private little war on terror by talking, talking, talking about it, just as Douthat's article illustrates, seeking to force unacceptably harsh reality into the template of their pre-existing ideologies and world views. This is how we can, for temporary political expedience, transform beleaguered and surrounded Israel into an outrageous aggressor who must be prevented at all costs from taking any more steps in their own, and our, long-term interest. This is how 50 percent of our population can see their own government as a greater threat to their safety than the barbarians who are sworn to kill us and have already done so in repulsive ways.

In today's electoral environment, we have Democrats seriously trying to tell us that they are more competent to fight the War on Terror than the President and that they can win it without further loss of military life and no loss of peace-time civil liberties. We have Republicans seriously trying to tell us that we can fight and win the equivalent of World War III without protecting our borders, offending "peace-loving" muslims, or making any effort whatsoever to control domestic pork-barrel spending. Almost all  involved are so busy attacking one another for not putting out enough, or the right kind of, flags that they're willing to pretend our openly malignant enemies are not massing against us every day we delay uniting against them as Americans, regardless of world opinion.

The harsh fact almost everyone refuses to see is that the 6,000-plus Americans who have died since 9/11 -- in the Twin Towers, the Pentagon, Afghanistan, and Iraq -- are insignificant in a nation of 300 million people, no matter how much we talk about them. The real hurt has been confined to a handful of families, while the enormity of the coming price we will all share has not yet sunk in.

If you doubt this analysis, consider all the talk you have heard and read in the mass media and in the blogosphere about the 2006 and 2008 elections as the two parties maneuver to define positions that will tilt power in their direction. The truth is, none of the talk matters. The deciding event that will ultimately end the phony war will occur regardless of who wins in 2006 or 2008. If Republicans retain control of the Congress and/or the Presidency, there will be a catastrophe -- nuclear bombs dropped on Israel or set off in mid-town Manhattan -- that will force all of us to realize that we are in a fight for our lives. The same is true if the Democrats win Congress and/or the Presidency.

On the day that every single American experiences the real prospect of losing absolutely everything they hold dear, the Democrats will have to stop pretending that worldwide anti-semitism is a tolerable nervous tic and that Islamofascism is a law enforcement issue that's been exaggerated into an excuse for keeping them out of power. The Republicans will have to stop pretending that it's possible to win a war against Islamofascists by holding hands with France, Germany, the U.N., Saudi Arabia, and the oligarchs of Mexico. All of us will have to stop pretending that we can control the situation we're in by changing the degree of approval we feel for the commander-in-chief every time a bomb goes off, a grieving mother sobs, a U.N. official remonstrates, a demagogue accuses, a journalist is kidnapped, a blogger whines, an economic indicator wobbles, a storm hits, a Times headline screams, a talking head scoffs, a gas price rises, a general complains, a judge pontificates, a politician rants, or a new poll insists.

The personal, irretrievable losses of loved ones will come. Privations will come, including rationing, real economic hardship, and genuine loss of privacy. The unthinkable will come vividly into the forefront of consciousness, because WMDs actually exist and will get used on friend, family, foe, and even perhaps ourselves.  And then we will look back on this inter-regnum between 9/11 and the new New Normal with a combination of disgust, loathing, remorse, and disbelief.

My prescription. Buy and read your own copy of Put Out More Flags. Laugh at its simple-minded twits while you can. The clock is ticking down and when it hits zero again, our phony war will come to a sudden, sickening end just as Britain's did at Dunkirk.

That's right. Dunkirk. Immediately after that disaster, Britain had to fight on alone against Fortress Europe. They had no time to compute the odds against them and there was no one left to blame anyway. All that remained was war. When we're finally through ignoring the Iranians, that's what will remain for us.

Don't let me disturb your complacency any further.
 




Saturday, August 19, 2006


French Troops Arrive in Lebanon

An artist's depiction by the XOFF News graphic department.

XOFF NEWS. Members of the world press reported an astonishing story today. Here is one example of many:

Naqoura (Lebanon), Aug. 19 (AP): French soldiers today landed on Lebanon's Mediterranean coast, the first reinforcement of United Nations peacekeepers in southern Lebanon.

Two inflatable dinghies motored ashore from two French warships anchored in the Mediterranean near Naqoura, about 5 kilometers from the Israeli border. Two French military helicopters hovered over the rocky, emerald green bay where the peacekeepers came ashore.

The two boats, carrying about 5 soldiers each, were followed 10 minutes later by a larger vessel flying a French flag.

Some 49 French troops were arriving today...

Our own correspondents struggled to find confirmation of the assertion that as many as 49 troops were being sent into harm's way by the government of France. Multiple eyewitnesses declimed to commit themselves about what they had seen, declaring that they "couldn't believe their own eyes."

Fortunately, we have been able to acquire photographic proof of the extraordinary event from the PhotoShop departments of several venerable and highly credible news organizations.

It was the AP who managed to capture the actual landing on Lebanese soil.


The sand sure looks hot, doesn't it?

The New York Times, famous for its well focused closeups of the action in Lebanon, provided this compelling shot of a French trooper springing to the task of disarming Hizbollah freedom fighters.


He clearly means business.

Finally, the ever- thorough Reuters succeeded in recording the first tactical deployment of the mighty French force as it rolled into operation. In fact, this short video has already been nominated for a Pulitzer under the title "Fog of War."


 Foggy, yes, but definitely froggy, too, eh?

So all your doubts may now be laid to rest. The French are on the scene to save the day. Vive la France.

NOTE TO OUR READERS: We apologize for the fewer than normal entries this week. The site has been beset by technical problems which are now hopefully resolved.




Wednesday, August 16, 2006


Forbidden Greyhound Video


IRISH GREYS. As owners of rescued racing greyhounds, we shouldn't be showing you this video. For the overwhelming majority of dogs, greyhound racing is a cruel and abusive sport, and it should be banned, especially in the United States where state government involvement -- particularly blue states like Massachusetts and Connecticut -- has subsidized the creation of large-scale racing stables in which no one looks out for the welfare of the dogs. Despite the high value cited for the dog in the video, safety first is not the rule in the world of the track, but the exception. We shouldn't be showing you this.

Still, we couldn't resist. Those of us who love greyhounds and who are honest must admit we also love the fact that they are so incredibly, blazingly fast. The only faster land animal on earth is the cheetah, and everybody knows by now that it's a sin to harm a cheetah. It is equally a sin to harm a greyhound. One way to learn this truth if you haven't yet met one in person is to comprehend the extraordinary beauty and power of their design.

So enjoy the video and then go visit one of these important websites. Take the time to look at the pictures of the greys available for adoption. Their faces, their expressions, their eyes are as beautiful as their miraculous bodies. Who wouldn't want to live with a god? And if the god is also friendly, docile, and calming by his mere presence, who could resist?



Adopt a greyhound TODAY. You won't regret it.





Sexy?

No. Not if you're a man. Unless you're Andrew Sullivan.

PSAYINGS.5A.40. While liberals fret about avian flu and Global Warming, the real menace to civilization continues to rage. Bush Derangement Syndrome has now, apparently, spread to Madison Avenue, where advertising agencies who used to know that offending 35 to 40 percent of their target audience was just plain dumb have devised the little stroke of idiocy shown here. Who wants to look like Sandra Bernhardt? Who shares her rape fantasies? Who else suffers from rooster-envy? Who doesn't know a hundred "Republican thin-lipped bitches" infiinitely more attractive than this ugly, loud-mouthed Lesbian asshole? And who is so stupid as to think that all consumers of cosmetic products are lefty radicals of the same stripe as the queer execs they lunch with in mid-town Manhattan?

If you find her attractive, keep it to yourself. For your own good.

UPDATE. La Malkin is on the case now. Excellent. While you're here, do NOT look at the August 23rd entry because it will be highly offensive to certain liberal women, especially the mean Hamsher photo.





Tomorrow's News Today:
Peace

Famous European Diplomat

THE HARD WAY. Peace in the middle east. Cool. All it takes is men of good will at the United Nations, in Israel, and in the wholly owned subsidiary of Hizbollah called Lebanon to say the right words and end the repugnant use of force. Three cheers. We're so happy about this fine outcome that we can't resist throwing in our own two cents worth of wisdom. Which we'll do as soon as you read this excellent post by Dean Barnett.

Did you read it? Good. Pop quiz: What does the word 'hudna' mean? Gotcha. Go read Dean Barnett's post for real.

That's better. Now for our two cents. Here's Cent One: Neville Chamberlain's triumphant announcement of peace in 1938. Cent Two is from 1939.

Olmert take note.

We never once thought the Israelis were fools. Now we are entertaining the thought. God help us all.




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