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Friday, July 29, 2005
 

Moving Day


We, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” want to inform you, dear reader, that in the coming week we shall be changing our official headquarters. Ever since our deep-pocketed financial backers allowed us to increase the size of the staff by almost 47 percent, we have grown far too large for the current building.

Accordingly, dear reader, this next week will be an unpleasant one: We must pack up all our computers, our drink coasters, and all our back issues of New Left Review, and await the arrival of our official moving company. Luckily, Allied Van Lines has agreed to haul our belongings to the new locale—that way, our move will be both inconvenient and expensive.

As you might imagine, this will leave us, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” awfully busy in the week to come. For we must bid a tearful adieu to our old headquarters, and make our way to the new digs. Once there, of course, we must set about arranging our new Llamabutchers throw-pillows in just the right places.

We mention this all to you, dear reader, because our move will necessitate a week’s break for the crack young staff. And, to be honest, it isn’t a particularly fortuitous time to take such a short hiatus: As our regular readers undoubtedly realize, we have yet to announce the winner of our Official Worst Bumper Sticker Contest. Still, moving—like nature—is calling.

But fear not, dear reader. We wouldn’t up and leave you alone. On the contrary: All next week, the humble “weblogging” to appear on this humble “website” will be the work of one of the true geniuses of Al Gore’s World-Wide Web. Frankly, we’re a bit surprised that such an outstanding eminence agreed to fill in for a spell.

Naturally, we are speaking about the great Maximum Leader himself. For those of you hopelessly retardataire, allow us to inform you that the Maximum Leader is the esteemed proprietor of Naked Villainy, a “weblog” for those who enjoy their mischievousness unclothed.

We, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” have been reading the Maximum Leader’s humorous animadversions religiously, and we’re delighted that he’s going to be “guest weblogging.” Naked Villainy, unlike “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” is an award-winning “website”: Just last year, it snagged the coveted “Most Naked Villains” prize.

And a quick pop over to the Naked Villainy “website” will demonstrate that the Maximum Leader’s “weblog” is a wee bit classier than our Luddite digs. Whereas his “weblog” astounds you with impressive graphics, our “website” looks like a poor man’s outhouse.

So, dear reader, each day next week, check out humble “website,” and glory in the wit and whimsy that is the Maximum Leader, the self-proclaimed “enema of the state.”
 
Thursday, July 28, 2005
 

A Call to Musical Arms


Just the other day, dear reader, one of the junior editors here at “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly”—let’s just call him “Chip”—was perambulating along a typical suburban sidewalk. During the course of this relaxing stroll, a handful of cars (if, in fact, you have a rather large hand) passed by, blaring “music” that was aurally offensive.

You know the kind of aesthetic palaver we’re talking about, dear reader: The owners of these automobiles appear to have enjoyed so-called “rap,” the musical equivalent of Chinese water torture. Accordingly, “Chip” was positively bombarded with the thud-thud-thud of one cacophonous calamity after another.

As you might imagine, dear reader, this got our friend “Chip” to thinking: Why is it, he pondered, that those who play their car stereos the loudest are always enraptured by the worst brands of pseudo-music? Why doesn’t anyone with good taste drive by with his radio a-blazing?

Good questions, those. In fact, they are so good that they have compelled us, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” to ask for your help.

If you, dear reader, enjoy this humble “weblog,” there’s a pretty good chance that you have taste. After all, “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly” is essentially the caviar of “weblogs”—overpriced and a bit fishy. As such, we figured that our discriminating reader(s) must like the finer things in life: Classical music, Platonic dialogues, The New York Post, &c.

Given your impressive savoir faire, dear reader, we humbly exhort you to aid us in our attempt to take back the streets. Don’t worry: This isn’t anything like “taking back the night” on a college campus. You don’t need to chant misandrist slogans and tout a “10 out of every 9 womyn are victims of rape” placard.

So what, you may be asking yourself, must I do? Well, we humbly enjoin you to grab a good CD, throw it in your car stereo, turn up the volume to a ridiculous level, and drive around town.

We know it sounds stupid. But just think: You pull up to a streetlight with some baroque music blasting, and scream out to a crowd of gangbangers: “That’s C.P.E. Bach, bitches!” Or you let your ’78 Caddy idle in the parking lot, whilst John Coltrane screeches in the background. How do you like ‘dem apples, Mr. Snoop-Doggity-Doggers?

Or, our more avant-garde friends might enjoy popping in some Karlheinz Stockhausen and heading to the ‘hood. As far as we’re concerned, nothing is as satisfying as watching baggy-panted misfits run from a German composer. And we mean nothing.
 
Wednesday, July 27, 2005
 

Seeing an Idea Through


Readers of this humble “weblog” who keep up with the vicissitudes of contemporary politics undoubtedly recognize that many of our friends on the political Left have concluded that the recent spate of terrorist attacks in London are the result of the “Anglo-American invasion of Iraq.” To sundry lefties, Islamic terrorism would simply not exist were it not for the ill-considered decision to topple the loveable Saddam Hussein.

Now, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” are no experts on “Anglo-American” foreign policy. Yet we have a sneaking suspicion that this “Iraq caused all terrorism” thesis—regardless of its obvious attractiveness—leaves a little to be desired.

After all, the Official Chronological Department here at “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly” has informed us that manifold acts of Islamic terrorism—9/11, the attack on the USS Cole, &c.—occurred before the “Anglo-American” liberation of Iraq. In addition, though most of our friends on the Left don’t like to admit it, the perpetrators of these bombings appear equally distraught over the “Anglo-American” liberation of Afghanistan.

For some reason, however, our beloved lefties like to leave Afghanistan out of the equation. After all, most of these Neville Chamberlains of Our Time supported that phase of the War on Terrorism, and they wouldn’t like to think that their foreign policy choices have led to more unspeakable acts.

Yet, dear reader, for the purposes of today’s humble “post,” we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” would like you to forget these and kindred reasons to doubt the whole “Iraq caused all terrorism” thesis. Let us pretend that London Mayor Ken Livingstone, a man so odious he makes Dick Durbin tolerable, is correct, and that America and the United Kingdom had it coming to them.

You see, dear reader, we would like to see this particular idea through. Clearly, in the fevered minds of our friends on the Left, specific aspects of “Anglo-American” foreign policy caused the utterly rational terrorists to strike at us in frustration. Accordingly, the United States and Britain ought to make decisions pertaining to international affairs that are palatable to Osama bin Laden and those of his ilk.

Well, gee: We suppose that’s fair enough. We’ll have to pull out of the Middle East entirely, and allow the terrorist nutters to gain complete control of that oil-rich region. And we’ll have to let Israel be destroyed, so that the terrorist nutters can create yet another failed state in its place. And perhaps we’ll have to sacrifice Spain to the terrorists, too; they’ve got some old scores to settle.

So far, so good. But why don’t our friends on the political Left simply cut out the middleman? If they don’t dare recommend making any decisions on international affairs contrary to the wishes of the terrorists, why not make Osama bin Laden America’s official foreign policy advisor?

We’re sure he’d do a wonderful job: He appears to have the same world-view as the enlightened Gore Vidal—except for the fact that he may not be as supportive of gay rights, and may be a tad less secular.
 
Tuesday, July 26, 2005
 

The ACLU v. Civilization


Those of our readers with a pulse are undoubtedly aware that the civilized world has recently experienced two separate terrorist attacks in London. In addition, they also likely realize that the un-civilized world has recently experienced a terrorist attack in Egypt. For people concerned about ridding the world of terrorists, governments must cogitate ways to defend their citizenries.

Apparently, dear reader, the good ole’ American Civil Liberties Union (ACLU) is not “concerned about ridding the world of terrorists.” As far as its members are concerned, the anti-homosexual strictures of the Boy Scouts are a far more pressing problem than the likes of Osama bin Laden.

Soon after the second London attack, the New York police department inaugurated a drive to search bags belonging to random commuters. Naturally, given the vicissitudes of political correctness, the police cannot employ so-called “racial profiling”; searches of octogenarian females must be as common as those of anyone who is far, far more likely to be a terrorist.

When you’re on the subway, you probably eye certain characters on board with greater suspicion due to a variety of their physical attributes. Yet the people in charge of our safety aren’t allowed to notice them. Makes a heck of a lot of sense, huh?

But even this nonsensically random checking of bags is too much for our friends in the ACLU—or, as we like to call them, al Qaeda’s lil’ helpers. If one so much as utters the word “safety,” the typical ACLU representative histrionically brays about Thomas Jefferson, Abraham Lincoln, and the great traditions of American liberty.

Now, let us overlook the fact that the ACLU, as we mentioned above, did not appear to be particularly concerned about the Boy Scouts’ freedom of assembly; its members blithely dropped their regard for “the great traditions of American liberty” in order to put those fearsome Cub Scouts in their place.

If the members of Hamas simply wore Brownie uniforms, perhaps the ACLU would defend America against them.

What really irks us about the ACLU is that it feels no need to assess the terrorist threat and come to reasonable conclusions. Rather, it is simply another branch of the Neville Chamberlain Society on the American Left.

And so, dear reader, when our civilization weathers further attacks and finally capitulates to Islamic rule, we can thank our friends at the ACLU for having such earnest regard for American liberty that they helped usher in its demise. Perhaps the only bit of glee we shall get from this horrid situation is watching ACLU members forced to don burqas. We wonder how they’ll take to the great traditions of Islamic sharia.
 
Monday, July 25, 2005
 

A Special “Hatemonger’s Quarterly” Twofer: Kenny Rogers & Kenny Rogers


Devoted fanatics of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly”—if such creatures exist—undoubtedly realize that we absolutely despise country music. In fact, our perfervid detestation of this rancid form of aural terrorism makes us feel somewhat more at home in “Blue State” America.

Well, except for the fact that “Blue State” America seems to enjoy rap, hip-hop, trip-hop, hip-trip, trippity-rap, rappity-hip, and kindred forms of aesthetic water torture.

It should come as no surprise, then, that we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” utterly contemn the ersatz country crooner Kenny Rogers. This silver-maned chucklehead has written so many rancid ditties that his “Gambler” number almost sounds pretty good by comparison. Almost.

As far as we’re concerned, Kenny Rogers is the white Lionel Richie. He’s the kind of guy who sells millions of albums, and yet we don’t know anyone who owns one. Or at least who’ll own up to it.

And don’t even get us started about “Islands in the Stream,” the song Kenny Rogers composed about Dolly Parton swimming the backstroke. That feculent ditty isn’t sufficiently hardcore to earn play at your doctor’s office. We’ve heard better Muzak versions of Elton John songs, for crying out loud.

Perhaps, dear reader, it is a tad more interesting to learn that we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” also dislike another fellow called Kenny Rogers. But probably only a tad: As far as we can tell, darn near everyone this side of the Nile detests this crabby nincompoop.

We are speaking, of course, of the Kenny Rogers who is a pitcher for the Texas Rangers. As is well known throughout America, Mr. Rogers doesn’t like cameramen in his neighborhood. In fact, he shoves and insults them for daring to do their jobs.

After a nasty incident in which this Neanderthal attacked a defenseless crewman, Kenny Rogers apologized—and then went back to his old antics, proving that he doesn’t have sufficient moral uprightness to be Pete Rose.

Humorist Joe Queenan once opined that everyone named Kenny who became a professional musician sucks: Kenny G, Kenny Loggins, Kenny Rogers, et al. Well, we’re not sure if Mr. Queenan knows of Kenny Wheeler, but that sentiment strikes us as more-or-less true. We’d bet that Kenny Rogers the pitcher is a really bad singer, too.
 
Friday, July 22, 2005
 

John Roberts and the Supremes


Now that we have had a chance to pontificate on the “Karl Rove and the Leaky Plame” saga, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” finally have an opportunity to discuss the recent supreme court nomination of Judge John Roberts. After lagging far behind on the whole “Leak” brouhaha, we sincerely hope that our uncharacteristic semi-timeliness does not distress our regular readers.

As far as we can intuit, darn near everyone on the old chat show circuit wants to know our humble opinion on the judicial qualifications of John Roberts. Of course, a few of us here at “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly” were recently diagnosed as raging megalomaniacs. Accordingly, our perception of our awe-inspiring import in the land of punditry may be a tad off.

Even so, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” aim to use this humble “post” as our official soapbox for our early views on one John Roberts. At the very least, this will help drown out the shrill yakking of that creepy fellow from the People for the American Way. That guy’s hair makes Sam Donaldson’s rug look like a work of art.

Unfortunately, dear reader, we know next to nothing about Judge Roberts. Although a lack of facts hasn’t stopped anyone else from blathering on about him, we like to think that we hold ourselves up to a higher standard.

Ah, whom are we kidding? We’ve got lower standards than Fred Durst. Without further ado, then, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” are pleased as porcine pets to present:

Our Official Early Ruminations on Judge John Roberts:

Our crack young research team here at “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly” attempted to do a little digging on John Roberts’ background. But, after around an hour of work, it realized that it had been searching the Internet for “Bob Roberts,” not “John Roberts.” For a minute there, we thought President Bush had been foolish enough to nominate a horrid Tim Robbins flick to the supreme court.

After an hour-and-a-half more work, our crack young research team figured out that it was now finding tidbits of information on “Robert Johnson.” It’s too bad President Bush didn’t nominate him: From what we can gather, he was a heck of a guitarist. And, in addition to being a black man, he also has the advantage of being deceased. Our “diversity-crats” haven’t yet realized it, but there’s a real tyranny of the living on the highest court in the land.

So, after a good afternoon’s work, our not-so crack not-so young research team called it quits. And, after ten minutes of semi-careful reflection, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” then concluded that John Roberts is the most boring man alive.

Now, don’t get us wrong: We don’t mean that as an insult. Boring, we hear, is the new interesting. But this summa cum laude doughboy is about as enthralling as a root canal.

Consequently, dear reader, we are pleased to announce that Mr. Roberts has officially won our unbridled support. We’re certain he’ll be quite excited to hear it.
 
Thursday, July 21, 2005
 

Somebody Leaked


We, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” pride ourselves on keeping up with current events. Accordingly, like any member of the smart set, we read The Boston Herald. If that storied paper isn’t covering the story, it isn’t a story anyway.

Recently, dear reader, we took a gander at the ole’ Herald (which we like to call the non-international version of the Herald Tribune) and discovered that a presidential strategist named Karl Rove may have leaked some information about a non-undercover agent at the Central Intelligence Agency. Apparently, the talking heads can’t stop dilating on the story.

Well, we figured, this humble “post” should be an excellent opportunity for us to get our thoughts across about the whole brouhaha. After all, we don’t want to miss out on a hot story, and have egg on our collective face.

Why, if we did, we’d look as bad as The Nation, which seems to have missed the whole story about Communism. It turns out that Communism wasn’t that good. Who would have thunk it? Certainly not Victor Navasky.

Anyway, we’d like to offer our humble views on what we have mellifluously dubbed “The Karl Rove Leak Brouhaha,” or “Leak-gate.”

First, we’d like it to be known that we don’t like the words “Karl Rove” and “leak” being used in the same sentence. Especially when reporters ask rebarbative questions such as “Did Karl Rove leak to Matt Cooper?” This all leaves very unpleasant imagery in our collective imagination.

Second, we’d like to take a completely different angle on the story—as we are so often wont. We, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” can’t figure out why Valerie Plame would marry Joe Wilson.

We fully realize, dear reader, that most pundits would consider this line of argument tangential at best. But we don’t think so. We mean, come on: Joe Wilson has simply got to be one of the most unpleasant human beings in world history. And that, given such beastly characters as Genghis Khan, Attila the Hun, and Maury Povich, is saying something.

Every time we see this floppy-haired popinjay on our television, he boasts a sneer so unpleasant you’d swear he just ate a box of prunes.

In our humble estimation, then, Karl Rove needs to take a leak on Joe Wilson. Admittedly, it’s not a very mature opinion, but sometimes childish dross is just what this country needs. In fact, if Karl could save a few drips for Dick Durbin, we’d be much obliged.
 
Wednesday, July 20, 2005
 

Cloudy


Apparently, dear reader, this humble “website” is slowly becoming a household name. A short while ago, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” announced the winner of our July 2005 Official Academic of the Month, Ms. Dana Cloud of the department of communication studies at University of Texas at Austin. Within a few days, Ms. Cloud troubled herself to thank us heartily for bestowing her with this prestigious award.

Clearly, Ms. Cloud appreciated our efforts. After all, how many “weblogs” take time out of their busy schedules in order to laud the efforts of tenured radicals? If we were betting men and ladies, we’d put our money on “not very many.”

Upon careful review of Ms. Cloud’s e-missive, however, we detected a faint note of sarcasm, as if Ms. Cloud was actually a tad irked by her award. In fact, Ms. Cloud decided to attach numerous comments from student evaluations, in what appeared to be a desperate attempt to show us up.

Well, dear reader, we’ll let you decide. Below we have reproduced Ms. Cloud’s exact e-epistle, minus the glowing evaluations, which helpfully ensure us that Ms. Cloud has never touched her students inappropriately, among other good things.

An E-Letter from Dana L. Cloud

Dear Hatemongers:

How delighted I was to discover that I am your July Academic of the Month. I invite you to visit my “tony” office stocked with Office Depot furniture, and featuring a window on the parking lot where I pay $400 to park each year. Right now outside my office, workers are tearing out asbestos tile from the walls. We have such modern and luxurious facilities here.

I also would so love to have you visit my classes and my office hours. Of course you will have trouble finding me in my office, as I am only here Monday through Friday, 9 until 6 p.m., except when I am in class. I would be so happy if you would read my work in detail and interview my students. There is obviously one out there who thinks I use the classroom as propaganda platform. Oddly, I don't seem to have heard from that person but I would love to make amends if I violated his or her freedom of expression.

Meanwhile you will want to speak with the students I had last semester. In the classes on speechwriting and on gender and communication, students gave me the following anonymous feedback. I post their comments below.

You might try actually reading some of my work, where you will find me to be somewhat critical of the excesses of arcane theory.

I am proud not to be a bigot and to use public space, not pedagogical space, to democratic ends.

Warmly,

Dana Cloud
(That's Dr. Dana Cloud to you.)


Perhaps Ms. Cloud came across as a bit defensive? Maybe she feels our Academic of the Month honor is some sort of cruel joke? Anyway, just in case this was so, we felt the need to send her a response.

Below we have reproduced a copy of our rejoinder to Ms. Cloud, minus the glowing evaluations, which would helpfully ensure you that we have never inappropriately touched our officemates, among other good things.

Dear Frau Doktor Professor Cloud:

Thank you so much for writing to inform us that you are a proud recipient of our July 2005 Academic of the Month. We humbly apologize for daring to call you “Ms. Cloud” instead of employing the more reverential title you prefer. We simply figured that, as a radical egalitarian, you would consider such a designation elitist. Apparently you’re not that radical in your egalitarianism, and you rightly put us in our lowly place.

May we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” humbly inform you that we doubt you teach in a fair manner? Our perusal of a few of your syllabi—“Feminist Theory and Rhetorical Criticism” and “Rhetoric and Ideology”—demonstrated that you compel your students to read no conservative critiques of the subjects you study.

In your class on feminism, for example, nary a reading by Christina Hoff Sommers or Daphne Patai—two prominent critics of academic feminism—can be found. It appears to us that your idea of a free exchange of ideas is a Marxist feminist debating a neo-Marxist feminist.

In addition, we noted that your “Feminist Theory and Rhetorical Criticism” class endeavors “to explore the ways [feminist] theories can be combined with rhetorical critical methods to understand the gendering of public and cultural texts.” Not exactly an a-political goal, is it?

And this gets us to the topic of your heartwarming student evaluations. May we humbly suggest that only students of certain political persuasions would take classes devoted to feminist theory and hagiographical takes on “Marxist discourse theories”? We think your gorgeous set of evaluations may be the result of a bit of student self-selection.

A quick perusal of the World-Wide Web has revealed that you are not exactly a paragon of intellectual openness in your professional life. In fact, you appear to have attempted recently to silence David Horowitz at a speech he offered at your university. As a lowly staff member at your school averred: “Dana Cloud needs to learn that there is nothing progressively intellectual about using noisemakers, air horns, custard pies and shouting to silence a speaker offering a point of view different from her own.” May we humbly suggest that this is not the kind of activity in which fair-minded (or open-minded) professors tend to engage?

You ended your missive with a non sequitur about your not being a bigot. This collectively struck us as strange: We never previously insinuated that you were. Perhaps you believe that all of your political opponents are bigots, and thus are casting aspersions in our humble direction. If so, that doesn’t say much for your open-mindedness.

Yet we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” found a short piece you wrote soon after 9/11 that didn’t seem to jibe so well with your self-touting of your aversion to bigotry. In said essay you opined: “Few people I have spoken with have thought about the role that the U.S.’s refusal to participate in the U.N. conference on racism in Durban, South Africa (where questions of Israeli racism against Palestinians arose) may have played in intensifying Arab anger at the United States.”

In the latest issue of the social democrat quarterly
Dissent (no right-wing rag, that), Suzanne Nossel correctly reports that the U.N. Conference on racism in Durban, South Africa was an anti-Semitic “hate-fest.” She continues: “Arab states pushed draft declarations that singled out Israel as a ‘racist, apartheid state’ guilty of ‘ethnic cleansing.’”

Obviously, only an anti-Semite would agree with the demonstrably false and racist charges peddled by the Arab states. So much for your pristine anti-bigotry. But, heck: It’s only the Jews.

We shall surely get back to you as soon as we get a chance to read your forthcoming chapter entitled “The First Lady’s Privates: Queering Eleanor Roosevelt for Public Address Studies.” Perhaps this will demonstrate that you are not, in fact, a politicized hack who is publishing thinly-veiled attempts at cheerleading for your sexual proclivities.

One final note: We’re pleased that you enjoy the award.

Warmest Regards,
The Crack Young Staff of THMQ


Well, we hope that we didn’t seem a tad miffed.
 
Tuesday, July 19, 2005
 

Peccadilloes That Pain—A New Series


As our regular readers undoubtedly recognize, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” usually aim our satirical barbs at big game. By this, of course, we mean that we regularly excoriate Michael Moore, but not because he’s fat. Rather, we take him to task for being a witless popinjay who is aiding and abetting America’s enemies. And fat.

Recently, however, we determined that we spend far too much time weighing in on the great questions of the day (the nomination of John Bolton, likening of Gitmo to the gulag, Billy Joel, &c.). Why not, we collectively asked ourselves, spend a bit of time discussing some of the more niggling troubles that plague modern life? Why most something be galactically wretched to earn our obloquy?

As a result of collectively peppering ourselves with these burning collective questions, we decided to inaugurate a new series of “posts” here at “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly.” Our Official Advertising Department—which was behind such key marketing coups as our slogans “We Hate Because We Love” and “We’re the Mormon Tabernacle Choir of Hatred”—has bestowed this new series with the fetching blurb “Peccadilloes That Pain.” Pretty nifty, eh?

So, dear reader, sit back, relax, and enjoy the first of our adolescent rants aimed at extremely inconsequential phenomena. Your febrile mind will thank you for it—if not now, then in a week or two.

Peccadilloes That Pain: Waiters and Waitresses Who Don’t Box Your Leftovers for You

Here’s a real first-world problem. (And, by “first world,” we mean “countries that aren’t total crap-holes.) Every once in a while, dear reader, we can’t finish the huge portions of refried Riblets we order at the local Applebee’s. This happens with great frequency to the women on staff, since they tend to eat less than their male comrades (yet, intriguingly enough, are by far heavier).

As such, on occasion we ask our waiters or waitresses to box up our victuals for later consumption. After all, although we don’t keep up with the news much, we hear that some African kids almost starved at a Bob Geldof concert.

Anyway, darn near half of the times we ask the wait-staff to put our meals in a box, they come back with some Styrofoam container, and foist it upon us. Although said waiter never utters such a sentiment, clearly he is thinking “You put it in a box yourself, you dolt.”

As far as we’re concerned, hardly anything is more irksome. We mean, come on: When you head to a mechanic and ask him to fix your car’s brakes, he doesn’t simply hand you some brake pads, now does he? When you travel to your barber for a clip, he doesn’t hand you a pair of scissors, does he?

Well, other than if you get your haircut at Supercuts.
 
Monday, July 18, 2005
 

Warning: Another Extreme Opinion


A few days ago, dear reader, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” offered up what we believed to be a markedly immoderate opinion—namely, that all rock-n-roll musicians should be killed. Frankly, we were a bit hesitant about the brouhaha that such a view might stir up.

Perhaps you may not know this, but a goodly portion of our readership is made up of erstwhile pop music divas, and we had no idea whether we would offend them.

As it turns out, dear reader, quite the contrary. Not one soul sent us an e-mail of chastisement or contumely. In fact, one reader even suggested that our whole “kill rock musicians” shtick was actually quite tepid. If this, our correspondent brayed, is the kind of opinion you deem “extreme,” you folks are awfully tame.

To be honest, dear reader, this e-missive riled us up a bit. Are we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” really a gaggle of spineless jellyfish? Do we merely pretend to pour scorn and opprobrium on others?

Those are the kinds of thoughts that are likely to drive a good man insane. Or a good woman, for that matter.

Accordingly, dear reader, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” decided to regroup. We were going to come up with a far more extreme opinion, if it took all week. We were going to show this correspondent that we’re more offensive than Bea Arthur in a thong.

Without any further ado, then, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” blithely present:

Extreme Opinion the Second: In Praise of Anorexia

Now, dear reader, the females here at “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly”—who make up roughly 47 percent of the staff—want you to know that we don’t esteem hardcore anorexia. We don’t want anyone to wind up in a hospital or anything. And we’ve always thought well of Simone Weil.

But mild anorexia doesn’t bother us at all. In fact, we quite like it.

Those women who suffer from a clement form of anorexia are merely attempting to become sufficiently thin so that they don’t have to date anyone who earns less than $100,000 per year. The males here at “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly”—who make up roughly 47 percent of the staff—find this very irksome.

So, fine, Ms. Thin: Don’t date a fellow without a lot of cash. We’re going to take our thin wallets and buy ourselves a sandwich.
 
Friday, July 15, 2005
 

Warning: Extreme Opinion Below


Every once in a while, dear reader, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” receive a slightly puzzling e-mail. As you would expect, we must tolerate a veritable avalanche of quotidian fan mail. And yet, as pleasant as wading through an e-trough of laudatory e-missives may be, on occasion the odder e-mails have the ability to stick with us.

For instance, dear reader, a few short days ago we were on the receiving end of an e-letter from some fellow who chose not to offer his name. This correspondent—whom we shall call Herman for the purposes of euphony—averred that our humble “website” presents its readers with too many milquetoast messages.

Well, perhaps he didn’t use that language exactly, but we still got the distinct impression that this character found our views on current affairs disappointingly plebian. Can’t we, he seemed to be asking, offer any really meaty opinions? Can’t we ruffle some feathers?

The answer to that question is hopefully contained in today’s humble “post.” After literally minutes of careless thought, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” have fashioned an argument that is likely to make the more thin-skinned among you deeply upset. In fact, our idea was so harsh that a few of the staff members threatened to quit their jobs and work for the Maximum Leader.

Accordingly, dear reader, we need not warn you that you read the following sentiments at your own peril. The faint of heart are unlikely to stomach these ideas, if we may mix our metaphors.

A Refreshingly Extreme Opinion: Kill All Rock Musicians

As pretty much anyone unfortunate enough to own MTV must know, rock-n-roll musicians have become particularly irksome of late. To be sure, their noxious children’s music has bothered discriminating listeners for decades. And yet there is something particularly irritating about a passel of ultra-wealthy nitwits enjoining Western taxpayers to flip the bill for Africa’s hopeful recovery.

Now, dear reader, don’t get us wrong: We very much hope that Africa recovers. But we have a hunch that if these preening pseudo-musicians would give up their mansions, their prostitutes, their costly drug habits, and their fleets of luxury automobiles, Africa would be, as they say, in the black.

So why don’t the artistic geniuses behind “Green Day” live together in a one-room flat if they care about Africa so much? Our friends in Mozambique could surely use “Green Day’s” cash.

But obviously, dear reader, they won’t do that: Rock musicians are too narcissistic to think that they must sacrifice anything. After all, they joined up with Live 8 as a cheap way for some publicity.

As far as we’re concerned, this is simply unacceptable. Accordingly, we believe that all rock-n-roll musicians should be killed. What effect—other than aural delight—would the loss of these aesthetic barbarians have? None at all, as far as we can surmise. Well, other than on the pregnancy rate.

And so they all must go. Billy Joel first.
 
Thursday, July 14, 2005
 

No, We Are Not All Palestinians


On the very day of the terrorist attacks in London—or, as our friends at the BBC would say, the “bombing attacks”—we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” announced our Official Worst Bumper Sticker Contest. Given the murderous acts in Britain, however, the response to our new competition was a tad lukewarm.

To be sure, dear reader, a few entries to our humble contest have trickled in. And yet, we hope to exhort you to submit more fetching exempla of horrendous bumper stickers. After all, if they can successfully demolish our contest, then the terrorists have most surely won.

Accordingly, dear reader, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” have spent the better part of the last few days hunting for particularly appalling bumper stickers, in the hopes that our discussion of such vehicular eyesores will compel you to enter our humble competition.

Just yesterday, one of the junior editors here at “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly”—let’s just call him “Chip”—happened upon a curious bumper sticker whilst driving to work in his crack young Honda Civic. Splashed on the back of an old Volkswagen, the sticker in question read: “We Are All Palestinians.”

At first, “Chip” found this back-bumper bromide a tad confusing. Unless “Chip” had done far worse in middle-school geography than he recalled, it didn’t seem possible that “We Are All Palestinians.” Maybe the owner of this automobile was complaining about the vicissitudes of Palestinian imperialism?

But then “Chip” thought that the bumper sticker might be some sort of allegory. You know, it’s like Le Monde’s famous statement that “We Are All Americans,” which was cleverly placed in a newspaper that never misses an opportunity to broadcast anti-Americanism.

As far as we were concerned, though, the allegory is fatuous. After all, We Are All Canadians, too, but that doesn’t mean too darn much—other than we all have really splendid healthcare, that is.

We don’t mean to be arch, but We Are All Israelis, too, although we have the distinct impression that the owner of this Volkswagen (a rather interesting choice of cars for such a rabid fan of the Palestinians) would not like to be reminded of it.

After taking a gander at this abysmal vehicular blight, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” pined to offer our response to it: “We Are Not All Michael Moore, But, If You Put Us All on a Scale Together, We Are Roughly the Same Weight.” It’s not particularly catchy, but it has the added bonus of being true.

So, dear reader, if you think you have happened upon a more annoying bumper sticker, send us a “link” to an advertisement for said sticker, by clicking the “Contact Us” sign at the top right-hand of your computer screen.

You may all be Palestinians, but you all are not going to win this contest.
 
Wednesday, July 13, 2005
 

Senator Dick


As has been covered ad nauseam in the American press, Senator Dick Durbin of Illinois ruffled feathers by blithely comparing the American detainment facility at Gitmo to Nazi concentration camps and the Soviet gulag. Such a collation was so shockingly obtuse that it may have compelled George Voinovich to cease his three-month cry-fest over the nomination of John Bolton.

Like any God-fearing citizens of these here United States of America, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” were appalled by Senator Durbin’s obscenely inapt comparison. What, we collectively thought to ourselves, was this tomato-headed nincompoop thinking?

Just the other day, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” had the misfortune to take in another Dick Durbin performance. And frankly, the addlebrained Senator from Illinois was so irksome that we positively pined for more Nazi comparisons. Come on, Dick, we mused, call Karen Hughs a wanna-be Heinrich Himmler. But stop pontificating on national television.

What, you may be asking yourself, was Dicky D doing that disturbed us so? Well, we’re glad you asked.

Senator Durbin was browbeating the bigwigs at the Corporation for Public Broadcasting for merely suggesting—perish the thought!—that PBS and NPR aren’t exactly paragons of ideological evenhandedness. To Senator Durbin, the fact that NPR has become Al Jazeera with a less perceptible accent means that it must be completely bias-free.

After taking in this Dick’s display, we found ourselves hurling large objects at our staff television. We know it may seem a bit overwrought. But Senator Durbin was belittling the notion that Bill Moyers—PBS’s answer to Karl Marx—is engaged in liberal advocacy journalism! Is this man certifiably insane?

A little while later, dear reader, we collectively calmed down. To be honest, we’re a bit embarrassed that Senator Dick got our dander up. After all, there’s something more than faintly ridiculous about an elected official who wants the government to interfere in all matters—except public television.

Attempting, as usual, to make lemons out of lemons, we decided to offer a list of potential shows that Dicky D would consider acceptably unbiased. Although we have not run this imagined program guide past Senator Dick’s office, we have the distinct impression that he’d dig it.

Without further ado, then, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” proudly present:

Senator Dick Durbin’s Dream PBS Lineup:

1. “Current Affairs with the Editorial Collective of Social Text

2. “White Flight from Mr. Kucinich’s Neighborhood”

3. “Howard Zinn Reports”

4. “Racism Today with Louis Farrakhan”

5. “Tom Paulin’s ‘Kill the Zionists’ Hour”

6. “Charlie Rose”

7. “Are You Being Bombed?” (a sit-com written by Harold Pinter)

8. “The Anti-American Road Show”
 
Tuesday, July 12, 2005
 

July’s “Hatemonger’s Qurarterly” Academic of the Month


As diligent readers of this humble “weblog” well know, last month we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” inaugurated a new feature: Our Official Academic of the Month. We figured that our humble effort to recognize great intellectual and pedagogical achievements would enliven the revolutionary agitators on college campuses who spend well-nigh seven months of their years lecturing on the evils of capitalism.

After all, heading to the office at least twice a week isn’t an easy gig, and it’s well past time that someone touts our under-funded university pedants. We averred that we were ready for a little touting.

Accordingly, dear reader, we are always on the lookout for an academic who deserves our copious praise. A reader who preferred to remain nameless—but who actually possesses a name—sent us word about a scintillating teacher at the University of Texas at Austin who thoroughly deserves our July, 2005 Academic of the Month Award.

The academic in question, one Dana L. Cloud, is an associate professor at the Department of Communication Studies at UT. (Does anyone else think that “Department of Communication Studies” is a bit of a clunky moniker for a passel of experts in communications?) Her delightful homepage helpfully displays what an even-keeled character she must be in the classroom.

According to her charming “website,” Ms. Cloud “happily attended public schools where she was one of only a few white native speakers of English.” Well, bully for her. It’s nice to see Ms. Cloud brag about her radical bona fides. We collectively wonder if she would have mentioned that she “happily attended private schools at which she was one of many white native speakers of English.” Does an absence of white people mean a good education? An intriguing question, isn’t it?

Ms. Cloud’s “webpage” also informs us that she is a deeply serious scholar, who is undoubtedly a fair-minded critic. After all, in her graduate studies, “she concentrated in the areas of the criticism of racism and sexism in popular culture, Marxist and feminist social theory, and ideology critique.” We’re sure that such an ivory tower intellectual would never use her classroom as a bully pulpit.

What’s more, Ms. Cloud’s homepage also tells us that “In her spare time, Professor Cloud enjoys agitating for social change.” Why only in her spare time? Come on, Ms. Cloud: Get with the program! Your entire career—all three hours a week in your tony office—should be spent “agitating for social change.” How else are you going to put unsuspecting undergraduates off of the life of the mind?

And then there’s the matter of Ms. Cloud’s impressive publications. We don’t mean to make anyone jealous, but a forthcoming issue of Critical Cultural Communications Studies will feature her learned contribution entitled “The Matrix and Critical Theory’s Desertion of the Real.” We collectively can’t wait.

Even more impressively, in 2000 Ms. Cloud had a piece published in Transformation called “Queer Theory and Family Values.” Gee: We wonder which one she favors. But surely the acme of Ms. Cloud’s academic career is her forthcoming chapter “The First Lady’s Privates: Queering Eleanor Roosevelt for Public Address Studies.” That does sound fetching, doesn’t it?

And so, dear reader, if you know an academic equally dedicated to indoctrinating children and penning worthless politicized rants dolled up in academic jargon, drop us a line at “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly.” We aim to laud the professorate one teacher at a time.
 
Monday, July 11, 2005
 

We Have a Fan


A few short days ago, dear reader, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” bemoaned our humble “website’s” discouraging anonymity. After more than a full year of toiling away on Al Gore’s World-Wide Web, we are still about as popular as genital warts.

Recently, however, we received a piece of fan mail that made us collectively pine to be as anonymous as we previously believed. Said e-mail, which came from a fellow who chose not to share his name with us (but whose e-address is britt505@netzero.com), was somewhat condemning of our efforts.

Below we have reproduced this e-mail, to which we have affixed our own humble commentary. Titled “your website,” the missive in question begins:

I saw your little website, and I'm unimpressed. Despite your earnest efforts to prove how wordy you are (I'm sure you stay up late at night with your dictionary, finding more obscure words to impress us with) you might as well face it: you're not an intellectual, and your website sucks bigtime [sic].

Gosh, someone is a tad angry, isn’t he? Or, a quick check of the staff thesaurus would determine that he is a tad choleric. How’s that for a ten-dollar word?

Alas, we aren’t suitably “intellectual” for this fine fellow’s tastes. Also, we had the impression that our new friend was being faintly derogatory when referring to our “little website.” But how could we make the thing bigger? Why doesn’t he just buy a larger computer?

You are typical of all neo-fascists: you piss and moan like a baby about liberals, but never offer any solutions about today's problems. You whine when Bob Geldof and Paul McCartney try to prod the world's richest nations to do something about millions of starving africans [sic], but offer no solutions yourself. What's your plan? To let them rot? Why don't you just admit that you could care less if people with black skin die? After all, it's not your problem.

We found this part a bit vexing. We mean, come on: We’re not typical of all neo-fascists; there must be a few who differ from us, however slightly. In addition, we hardly think our tepid criticism of Live 8 demonstrated that we yearn to let millions of “starving africans [sic]” go hungry. Geez: Someone took our Pink Floyd gags a bit too seriously.

If you could just admit that utopia for you would be a white, totalitarian country presided over by a newly-cloned Ronald Reagan, (with Adolf Hitler as v.p.) then I might have some respect for you.

Boy oh boy. It just gets better, doesn’t it? Although we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” clearly aren’t as intellectual as our new pal, we find that he isn’t exactly interested in arguing fairly.

In addition, his criticisms make no sense. Why would we want Hitler to be Vice President? He’s just going to start a coup and seize power from poor, “newly-cloned” Ronald Reagan. By the way, we suppose our new buddy’s comparison of Hitler and Reagan makes him an intellectually luminous member of the smart set.

Like all fascists and nazis [sic], you realized (as did King George the second [sic]) that the important thing is propaganda, not the truth. By the way, you use "feculant" [sic] way too much. You need to learn a new Word for the Day, and I just know that you'll get that gold star on your forehead you've been lusting after.

Dear, oh dear: This part really depressed us. Although he’s certainly correct that we use the word “feculent” a great deal, apparently we have not employed it enough for him to learn how to spell it. So much for his gold star.

Also, need we point out that our new comrade has ended his epistle in a preposition? Rather sub-par, isn’t it?

As you might imagine, dear reader, after taking in this vituperative e-mail, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” were aghast. How could someone so dislike us? To make matters worse, how could the fellow who so dislikes us be so darn smart? It wasn’t fair; it wasn’t fair at all.

Still, we felt as if we had to write this chap back. Our e-missive went as follows:

Dear britt5050,

We’re sorry you dislike our humble humor “website.”

Cordially,
The Crack Young Staff of THMQ


If you ask us, that was pretty nice of us. And we didn’t even use the word “feculent.”
 
Friday, July 08, 2005
 

It’s All Our Fault


We, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” earnestly believed that the senseless and savage acts of terrorism in London would have prompted our friends on the radical Left to take a few days break from carping on the evils of the West. After all, the machinations of dastardly jihadis had just cost the lives of numerous innocent Brits. If this didn’t make the Not In Our Name folks put a temporary sock in it, what else would?

Alas, dear reader, a quick perusal of the far-left-of-reality “website” Democratic Underground instantly dashed our collective hopes that these dime-store Chomskys would lay low for a bit. The various participants in e-chats predictably blamed the “real terrorists” for the attacks. Tony Blair and George W. Bush, that is.

Clearly, the Democratic Undergrounders aver that the lovable scamps who aim to destroy Western civilization and convert us all to radical Islam by the sword would never have attacked us if we hadn’t been so impetuous and struck back. Well, gee: It makes a certain sense, doesn’t it? Our bad, our bad.

Curiously, dear reader, the slightly-to-the-left-of-Howard-Zinn crowd always believes that a given atrocity is the fault of the “Western axis of evil”—America, Israel, and Britain. We’re responsible for everything from high oil prices to Jason Giambi. Caught in a red light? Blame Zionism; it’ll make you feel better.

Apparently, our friends on the radical Left feel as if they can only champion their fanatical “allies” in the Middle East if they absolve them of any and all agency. To them, one aids the “freedom fighter” by treating him like an infant.

One can see our Harold Pinters say: “There, there, little Akhbar: It’s all our fault. It’s always our fault. You simply couldn’t control yourself.”

Whilst we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” were (literally) kicking these thoughts around in our heads, it collectively occurred to us: It isn’t very easy to blame the West for everything. It actually takes a certain soupcon of skill.

Accordingly, dear reader, we asked various members of the crack young staff to come up with a list of blights, imperfections, and annoyances that plague modern life. And then we determined to find a way to blame the West for the irritants in question. This way, the New Left Review crowd won’t have anything on us.

Without too much in the way of further ado, then, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” blithely present our desultory list of annoyances and the reasons why the West is responsible for them:

A Desultory List of Annoyances and the Reasons Why the West Is Responsible for Them:

Item One: Acne

As anyone who reads Mother Jones realizes, acne is a holdover from European imperialism. In fact, if it weren’t for the Dutch East India Company, everyone’s skin would be as blemish-free as a model for an Oxy commercial.

Item Two: Soft Rock

Soft rock is ultimately the creation of greedy Zionists, who aim to take over the world through an assortment of Phil Collins tunes. Anyone who doubts that soft rock is a Zionist plot should reflect on these two words: Barry Manilow.

Item Three: Racism

Oh, come on! That one is very, very easy. It’s an insult, actually. As every expert in so-called Cultural Studies will tell you, racism was invented by Europeans in 1373—the year before Petrarch’s death. Non-westerners have been entirely free of this blight. If you don’t believe, us, just take a gander at Egyptian state television.

Item Four: Burnt Toast

Ooh, now there’s a tough one. If we recall correctly, burnt toast is a symptom of false consciousness on the part of the Western ruling classes. An end to capitalism would mean the end of burnt toast.
 
Thursday, July 07, 2005
 

Introducing “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly” Official Worst Bumper Sticker Contest


Do you, dear reader, detest the pithy bromides that grace well-nigh every bumper sticker? Do you grit your teeth at the execrable vehicular eyesores that your friends consider witty? Do you detest any automotive accoutrement that reads “Visualize World Peace” or “Visualize Whirled Peas”?

If you answered “Yes” to any of the above queries, dear reader, than there’s a heck of chance that you hate bumper stickers. And we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” want you, our treasured reader, to know that you are not alone.

We don’t mean that we’re currently creeping up behind you, or anything kind of creepy like that. Rather, we want to inform you that we too cringe at the sight of bumper stickers.

In fact, our antipathy for these little back bumper buggers is so intense that we collectively wondered what we could do to halt the manufacturing of them. Unfortunately, dear reader, we came up blank. We suppose we’re not terribly creative.

Just as we were collectively losing faith in our collective selves, an idea collectively struck us like a brick: Why not hold an Official Worst Bumper Sticker Contest, and thereby spread the word about the general asininity of these vehicular blights?

We know what you are thinking, dear reader: That’s a darn fine idea. If we weren’t so modest, we’d say so ourselves.

Accordingly, it is with uncommon fervor that we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” officially announce our Official Worst Bumper Sticker Contest. By means of this humble competition, we aim to announce the world’s most abysmal bumper sticker.

Right about now, dear reader, you are undoubtedly wondering: What must I do to enter this Ben Affleck of contests? How can I send my horrid bumper sticker of choice to the crack young staff?

Don’t fret: Almost nothing—including Britney Spears—could be easier. All you must do is “surf” the World-Wide Web in search of a bumper sticker you particularly abhor. After all, we’re going to need e-proof that your bumper sticker is legit.

Having “copied” the “page” at which this rancid bumper sticker slogan is found, you then simply “e-mail” it to us via the “Contact Us” link at the top right-hand corner of your computer screen. Submissions to the contest must be sent by 5:00pm EST on July 20th. Late entries and submissions in Turkish will not be read.

The winning entry will win world-wide acclaim through its publication on this uproariously unpopular “website.”

So, dear reader, what are you waiting for? Or, to put that a bit better, for what are you waiting? Fame—albeit not fortune—awaits. Send in a submission today.
 
Wednesday, July 06, 2005
 

Meeting Expectations


Every once in a while, dear reader, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” receive a variation on the same general e-mail. “How,” our e-mailing friend queries, “have you managed to last over one year and still remain dismally unpopular?” Or words to that effect.

Frankly, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” have long pondered this very question ourselves. After all, with an editorial staff of well over 250 and enough interns that we have forced one of them to spend his entire day reading The New York Post, you’d think that our humble “website” would prove to be one of the most popular in the e-land. Kind of like the Internet equivalent of wicker.

But no: For over one full annum, this humble “website” has remained slightly lower on the Truth Laid Bear Ecosystem than gout. We’re about as in vogue as En Vogue. We’re about as respected as Joseph Liebermann at a CAIR rally.

So, how do we do it? To be honest, dear reader, we’re not entirely certain. Even so, we think that we can point to a few things. In fact, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” have decided to offer our secrets in list form, so that other prospective “webloggers” can easily ape our record of proven failure.

Without too much in the way of further ado, then, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” are pleased as pristine pewter to present:

How To Maintain an Unpopular “Weblog”:

1. Make sure that you discuss topics nobody cares about. When the whole World-Wide Web is off dilating on the Supreme Court, offer a disquisition on Gore Vidal instead. That ought to drag ‘em in.

2. Offer a Dutch version of your “website” (in our case, named “De Haatmonijer Qvarterootheit.” That way, native Dutch-speakers who can’t read English can enjoy your humble animadversions.

3. Seldom extend the number of “weblogs” to which you “link.” While the Llamabutchers and Gordo are out rustling up new e-pals, make sure that your Luddite Technical Department fails to “weblogroll” new “websites.”

4. Lots of posts about American astronomer George Ellery Hale.

5. Continue to offer posts in a tired “Top Ten List” format. That way, e-strollers will realize that your feculent “website” is merely a David Letterman wannabe.

6. Don’t be funny.
 
Tuesday, July 05, 2005
 

Live 8


Call it a typical Generation Y conceit: Many of the dimwits who attended the different manifestations of Bob Geldof’s Live 8 concerts appear to have believed that ending poverty in Africa is as simple as listening to a handful of old Bon Jovi tunes. Or, perhaps more accurately, as difficult.

Yet, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” simply can’t buy the notion that Live 8 was really about ridding the world of the scourge of destitution. After all, if it were, David Lee Roth would have performed.

We mean, come on: That guy’s career could use a big jump-start; he hasn’t eaten since his rancid version of “Just a Gigolo” fell off the charts. And he certainly needs a few bucks for more hair-dye.

Now don’t get us wrong, dear reader: We, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” utterly detest poverty. And, as official members of the Microwave Ramen Noodle Impoverishment Club, we think we know about the subject of impecuniosity first hand.

In fact, we have a collective hunch that we care more about ridding Africa of penury than does, say, Robert Mugabe. But we simply don’t think a handful of feculent concerts featuring Paul McCartney’s tired retreads of Beatles ditties is really going to do that much.

As those who diligently followed the vicissitudes of Live 8 well know, the concerts weren’t even indebted to raising money for Africa. Rather, they were intended as a kind of sub-musical passive-aggressiveness aimed at the world’s G-8 nations. It’s Bjork’s way of bitching.

Now, dear reader, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” are not George W. Bush or Tony Blair. Believe us: We checked. Accordingly, dear reader, we aren’t exactly the intended audience of Live 8. And yet we feel as if the concerts have raised some vexatious quandaries.

For instance, it is awfully difficult to take seriously pleas to reduce poverty when they are offered by ersatz musicians who, in a just world, would themselves be impoverished. After all, what kind of cruel universe rewards Jay-Z with squillions of dollars?

A moronic Music Television “video jockey” did offer one highlight for us from the Live 8 festivities, however. After taking in a geriatric performance by the superannuated members of Pink Floyd, this pinhead marveled at the fact that this group’s ditties had remained fresh so long. Some of those songs are close to 30 years old, he mused.

Well, gee: We suppose we’ll have to relay that message to J.S. Bach. We bet he’ll be really impressed.
 
Friday, July 01, 2005
 

The Nation of Chickenhawks


The latest issue of The Nation, everyone’s favorite unhinged left-wing rag, has recently appeared, and we, like the Bush=Hitler crowd, were extremely excited. As regular readers of this humble “website” may know, we enjoy perusing The Nation as much as most pigs enjoy bathing in excrement. (Actually, that’s a pretty apt analogy, if you ask us.)

Normally, dear reader, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” glory in the argumentative genius that is the staff of The Nation. We mean, come on: If anyone can spin a “thought” piece as well as Patricia “Mad Law Professor” Williams, we would collectively love to meet him. Or, in the case of the humorously named Alexander Cockburn, her.

Imagine our surprise, then, when we turned our collective attention to “Generation Chickenhawk,” an article by one Max Blumenthal. If any piece does not deserve a place in the hallowed halls of great Nation journalism, it is certainly this feculent waste of darkened wood-pulp.

In said example of hackwork, Mr. Blumenthal reports his snide take on the College Republican National Convention, which he found—mirabile dictu—was a little bit to the Right of his political tastes. In addition to a couple of quick paragraphs dedicated to describing the right-wing mise-en-scene, Mr. Blumenthal uses his article as an opportunity to showcase the one purportedly clever question he asked many of the collegiate attendees.

Over and over again, dear reader, Mr. Blumenthal reports that he peppered the College Republicans with a variation on the same query: “If you support the war so much, why aren’t you over in Iraq fighting it?” By the end of the piece, the reader is given the unmistakable impression that these sordid college righties are nothing but a passel of pussies. They just don’t have the guts required of a correspondent for The Nation.

We hate to quibble with Mr. Blumenthal’s logic, but we have a feeling that matters are a mite more complex than he lets on. After all, if Mr. Blumenthal has ever supported any US or UN military action—say, in opposition to the genocide in Darfur—we could just as easily ask him the same question: Why, Mr. High-and-Mighty, are you boldly penning attack pieces in The Nation instead of going off to fight? Are you, Mr. Blumenthal, a prime example of the “Generation Chickenhawk” you so despise?

It’s not as if Mr. Blumenthal wouldn’t have fun peacekeeping in Africa for the sake of the UN. If the reports are true, Mr. Blumenthal could always rape underage girls in the Sudan. It seems as if such behavior is becoming de rigueur at the good ole’ UN.

Regardless of the degree to which Mr. Blumenthal is or is not a “chickenhawk,” we still believe that the implicit argument behind his query requires some more criticism.

It appears as if Mr. Blumenthal, by showcasing his Why-Aren’t-You-Fighting-Then-Smarty-Pants question, is making a rather strange point. He seems to believe that an American citizen cannot support any action on the part of his government, unless he himself helps provide the governmental service in question. One cannot, that is to say, support the war in Iraq if you don’t sign up to fight.

This seems to us, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” to be an argument that only a simpleton would offer. (And Mr. Blumethal, as far as we can discern, is a simpleton’s simpleton.) Does one need to be an employee at the Department of Motor Vehicles in order to support state examinations for automobile licenses?

If so, why is Mr. Blumenthal penning pathetic agitprop for The Nation instead of doing a 9-to-5 at the local DMV? Is he some kind of vehicular “chickenhawk”?
 

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ANOTHER DAY IN PARADISE
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