Use Desperate Measures
To Fix Hurricane Deficit
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
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
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
THANKS TO: The Big Girl News
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.
The Rude Boy News Network
What Googlers Want
How to put it... Well, they want to
see naked women.
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
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.
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
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.
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
critical and approving of its ambiance, me carried wholly into another,
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
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.
. 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
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
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
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
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
artist's depiction by the XOFF News graphic department.
of the world press reported an astonishing story today. Here is one example
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
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."
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.
The XOFF News Team
Wednesday, August 16, 2006
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
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.
No. Not if you're a man. Unless
you're Andrew Sullivan.
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
If you find her attractive,
keep it to yourself. For your own good.
is on the case now. Excellent. While you're here, do NOT look at
23rd entry because it will be highly offensive to certain liberal
women, especially the mean Hamsher photo.
Tomorrow's News Today:
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
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.