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Monday, December 19, 2005
 

We've Moved!


This humble “weblog” has moved to our spankin’ new “web” address--you will be redirected to our new "crib" in 15 seconds. Glory in today’s brilliant “post” or sift through our delicious archive at the new digs. And those of you who “link” to our humble “weblog,” don’t forget to switch your “links” to our new “site” on your “weblogroll.”

http://hatemongersquarterly.mu.nu
 
Friday, December 16, 2005
 

Our Gracious Concession Speech


Well, dear reader, it’s official. Our humble “weblog” must now endure the unfortunate humility of placing in dead last in the Best Humor/Comics Blog of the 2005 Weblog Awards. As such, it turns out that we most assuredly do not compose the most humorous or comical “weblog” on Al Gore’s Internet. There are at least 12 that are far superior.

As we noted yesterday, this realization has ushered in a period of malaise and ennui here at “Hatemonger’s Quarterly” Headquarters. We suck more than Madonna in the Chicago Bulls’ dressing room. And it hurts, dear reader; it hurts a lot.

Still, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” are nothing if not gracious. We aren’t the types of fellows and lasses who let a little thing like being totally humiliated get in the way of presenting shopworn pleasantries we don’t mean.

Accordingly, we have been working on our amiable concession speech for the better part of an hour. We may have been ignored like rice cakes in Roseanne Barr’s dressing room, but this won’t stop us from a cheerful concession.

Affixed below, then, you will find our Official Gracious Concession Speech for our dismal failure in the 2005 Weblog Awards. We hope that our vaunting of its resplendent magnificence fully lives up to our storied reputation for humility.

An Official Gracious Concession Speech by The Crack Young Staff of THMQ, Official Major-League Losers of the 2005 Weblog Awards

The great Don Ho once said, in some context or other, that “It’s not the size of the guitar that matters; it’s how many strings it has.” Frankly, that’s easy for him to say: He’s Hawaiian.

How, you may be asking yourself, does this relate to our predicament as the galactically mortified ultra-losers of the 2005 Weblog Awards? To be honest, we’re not entirely sure. Perhaps this is a typical example of our scatterbrained incompetence, which led us to such lows in the first place.

But let’s not blame ourselves for our miserable performance. As any “underrepresented” minority or woman knows, it’s a heck of a lot easier to foist the blame on white men. Trust us: It really cuts down on all the heart-rending introspection you must accomplish.

As much as we’d like—and as much as the world’s Affirmative Action Officers would esteem—we simply can’t blame whitey entirely for our dismal failures. There are many others who deserve a good drubbing.

First, why not take aim at the slack-jawed yokels who failed to recognize our genius? It’s amazing that you semi-retarded automatons manage to tie your shoes in the morning. Our humble musings must certainly have alienated you. Especially with their grandiloquent vocabulary—words like “and” and “the.” That must have sent you running for the Webster’s.

But we would be remiss if we did not also take a page out of the Official Arab and Muslim Playbook and blame Israel as well. Whilst Ariel Sharon and his evil minions likely didn’t have a direct impact on the 2005 Weblog Awards, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” are pretty certain they schemed against us behind the scenes.


Well, dear reader, that’s about as much cheerfulness and grace as we can take for one day. So we must simply bid adieu to the 2005 Weblog Awards, and hope that we can somehow drink a sufficient number of Zimas to forget our miserable failure.

In more upbeat news, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” will soon announce our move to a brand-spankin’-new “web” address. We’ll still be presenting the non-award-winning humor you haven’t come to love. But it’ll be in nicer surroundings than you’d expect from “Blogspot.”
 
Thursday, December 15, 2005
 

Polishing Up Our Concession Speech


Well, dear reader, today is the last day on which you can vote for us in the finals of the much-esteemed Best Humor/Comics Blog category in the 2005 Weblog Awards. We, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” would beg you to plump for us, but, quite frankly, a quick glance at the ole’ vote totals reveals that it’s all pretty hopeless. As of this “post’s” writing, our humble “weblog” is in absolute last place.

That’s right, dear reader: You can count all the “weblogs” we are beating on no fingers. Despite the best efforts of our seemingly paltry fan base, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” are soon to be remembered as the Jamaican bobsled team of the 2005 Weblog Awards. If our “website” were a movie, it’d clearly be Howard the Duck. We’re like the Polish team in the Mental Olympics.

Once we slipped into the caboose, so to say, we began thinking long and hard about our torrentially bad placement in the finals. Frankly, we handled this thing all wrong: Instead of groveling for votes like a two-bit Marion Barry, we should have played down the whole nomination. You know, the whole This-Idea-of-Complimenting-“Weblogs”-for-Supposedly-Being-the-Best-Is-a-Bunch-of-Garbage routine. That way, when we ineluctably came in dead last, we wouldn’t look like Nick Nolte in those DUI arrest photos.

Or maybe, like Phil Collins’ father, we should have pulled out. We could have earned all kinds of e-kudos for magnanimously stepping aside and backing, say, Six Meat Buffet.

But, no, we collectively weren’t bright enough to think things through, and thus we find ourselves in the un-lovely predicament of the It’s-Simply-an-Honor-To-Be-Here position. Ah, the agony, the agony.

So what, you may be asking yourself, exactly happened? How did we become the Internet equivalent of leprosy? Why did our “weblog” have a similar shelf-life of popularity as that of the whilom pop band Living in a Box? Is it because we refer to such things as “the whilom pop band Living in a Box”? That certainly must be part of it.

Perhaps we have far more fans than we think, but these diehard devotees are too darned lazy to vote for us. It’s certainly possible that, like the Grateful Dead, we have oodles of supporters who are essentially shifty ne’er-do-wells. And dirty hippies, now that we think of it.

It also occurred to us that the topics of our resplendent musings aren’t exactly standing-room-only material. Whilst our competition was busy drawing yuks from the Tookie Williams execution, we were busy excoriating Cornel West. We don’t think that’s going to play well in Dubuque.

But let’s face it, dear reader: Our Official Luddite Technical Department has yet to master the frightening world of putting “pictures” up on our “website,” and maybe our complete lack of visual aids has rendered us about as attractive as Drew Carey naked smothered in egg yolks.

Okay, okay—enough of this miserable self-flagellating. We, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” must stop beating ourselves up. Sure, our performance in the 2005 Weblog Awards was about as impressive as a Dolph Lundgren film festival. But so what? We were in a tough category. Perhaps next year we’ll find ourselves with an easier field to beat—maybe in the Best Hat Design category.

For now, dear reader, we’re busy polishing up our concession speech. We’re not entirely sure what we’re going to say, but we’re certain of one thing: It won’t be funny.
 
 

This Garbage Is the Best? Or, Vote for Us, We Beg of You!


Note: This humble “post” will stay atop our humble “weblog” for the duration of the 2005 Weblog Awards voting. For newer material, see below.

Well, dear reader, we’re in deep trouble now. Apparently one of our readers nominated us for a 2005 Weblog Award—Best Humor/Comics Weblog (for which you can vote here). This means, quite naturally, that we are up against some stiff competition—and no, that isn’t a pornographic reference.

And so we need your help. To be downright honest, we stand about as much chance of winning as those Marxist goons who ran Grenada during Reagan’s invasion. Jackie Mason has a better shot of getting an award from CAIR.

Accordingly, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” humbly exhort you to plump for us, so that we don’t prove as unpopular as a Pete Dupont for President campaign. We know we’re likely to lose, but we don’t want to get beaten like a red-headed step-child.

So, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” suggest that you, our (un)devoted fan, cast your ballot in Mayor Daley fashion: Vote early, often, and even when deceased.

Just in case you aren’t entirely certain of our storied e-magnificence, we humbly offer the following blasts from the past, which, we feel, shall more than demonstrate our coruscating genius:

Bridget Newman Is More Than Her Vagina
The World's Greatest Norwegian
We Fear Bad Poetry
Gangsta' Haiku
Waxing Vulvic
Wonkette
Social Justice Camp?
Dana Cloud: Occupation: Academic Buffoon
A Special Twofer: Kenny Rogers & Kenny Rogers
Chidsey Dickson: Occupation: Academic Buffoon
Not-So-Hot Yoga, Part the First
On Ode to Eleanor Clift
The Irritating Jim Cramer
The Art of the Undergraduate Essay

And how about some e-greatness from 2004?:

The Complaints Department
Becoming a Famous Public Intellectual
Summer Interns Wanted
B. Dalton Books, The Moron's Bookstore
The Best a Man Can Get?
Should You Drink Yellow Snow?
Take the Patriotism Quiz
Edward Said: The Musical
Maoist Film Reviews?
Bush-Bashing with the Best of 'Em
Breastcasting

If this e-brilliance isn’t worth you’re vote, we collectively don’t know what is.

****UPDATE:****

Here are links to the rest of the nominees:

Day By Day by Chris Muir
Cox & Forkum
Jesus’ General
Iowahawk
Beautiful Atrocities
Scrappleface
Hog On Ice
The Dilbert Blog
Six Meat Buffet
Fafblog
IMAO
Protein Wisdom
The Comics Curmudgeon
Achewood
 
Wednesday, December 14, 2005
 

A Night on the Town with Wonkette


As befits a viciously unpopular “weblogging” outfit, “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly” possesses its own Washington office, which is home to a bevy of Washington correspondents. Naturally, we refer to the District of Columbia, not the state of Washington: We’d set up shop in the latter if we thought reports from Walla Walla would charm anyone, but, quite frankly, they won’t.

Most of the time, dear reader, our humble Washington correspondents offer no news. Apparently, not much is happening in the nation’s capital, with the exception of the fact that the Bush administration is turning our country into a police state. Or so we’re told.

Imagine our collective surprise, then, upon receiving a poorly wrought facsimile from our Official Washington Desk. One of our humble correspondents—let’s just call him “Chip”—had some gossip to share about an interesting night on the town he spent with numerous journalistic types. Among those hacks in attendance, dear reader, was none other than Wonkette, one of the great gifts Al Gore bestowed upon us when he invented the Internet. (The other, of course, is Internet pornography, and even Jerry Falwell prefers Internet porn to Wonkette.)

For those of you blissfully unaware of this woman, allow us to inform you that Wonkette is a famed DC-based gossip “weblogger,” who writes juicy tidbits about such fetching vixens as Barbara Boxer and Diane Feinstein. No wonder her “weblog” is really popular!

When we first learned that “Chip” had spent an evening with Wonkette, we felt a mite guilty. After all, we previously harped and harpied about her inane television appearances in this space. If we remember correctly—and we believe that we do—we referred to her as: “a thin, wan 30-something gal who looks as if she’s been genetically engineered to live in a bog. She makes an albino look like Isaac Hayes.”

As if that weren’t sufficiently nasty, we also opined that Wonkette “clearly resembles that girl from your kindergarten class who used to pick her nose and eat it.” Now that “Chip” had come (almost literally) face to face with this creature, we must admit that we were mildly embarrassed by our vituperations.

“Chip’s” report makes clear, however, that we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” had no reason to feel bad. Wonkette fully deserves all our contumely—and then some. In fact, since Wonkette enjoys offering up all kinds of dirt on Washington types, we figured that we should return the favor.

Accordingly, then, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” humbly present “Chip’s” missive from DC, which has been slightly edited for the purposes of euphony:

A Night Out With Wonkette

This past weekend I was out and about (as our Canadian friends say) with a few fellow journalists, enjoying some beers in an unbecoming tavern here in Washington. Whereas the other journos in attendance slaved away for such outfits as
The Daily Telegraph, NPR, and The Independent, I wowed them all with my status as an official junior Washington correspondent for “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly.” Apparently, our “weblog” is well-respected by the fourth estate.

Anyway, a few draughts into the evening none other than Wonkette arrives, joined by another female. To be perfectly honest, at first I only vaguely recognized her: She looked like some horrid gal or other who went out with me on a lousy date. On second glance, however, I realized that I was wrong: This was Wonkette, the Internet equivalent of a lousy date.

I immediately attempted to make some small talk with her. Whilst her friend was very pleasant, Wonkette was an obnoxious, self-important twit. She routinely ignored pleasantries the other guests offered, preferring to spend her entire night glued to her Blackberry.

On occasion, Wonkette peered up from her little gizmo, in order to wax ostentatious about her luminous career as an e-scribbler. “My father,” she declared, “wants me to sign copies of my forthcoming book for his friends. And I’m like: I don’t even know who these people are.”

As you can imagine, this did not go over well with her audience, which was slightly less interested in her execrable rantings than she. If by “slightly less interested” you mean “not interested at all.”

To make matters worse, in the middle of the evening, whilst others were fully enjoying a convivial atmosphere, Wonkette bellowed to us that she must leave, in order to meet up with her husband. Everyone in attendance must have thought: God bless that wretched man who’s married to this odious chucklehead.

About a half hour later, our party wended its way to another bar. And in this tavern was—lo and behold!—Wonkette, without her hubby. Just to make things more painful for her, we sat at the very next table, whilst she studiously ignored us.

For this reason, I am forced to agree with Cathy the Cakeeater, whose anti-Wonkette stance is as firm as anyone’s. Wonkette is truly a self-obsessed moron. In a just world, she’d be treated like a racehorse that outlived its usefulness.

Needless to say, then, this was a rather unpleasant experience. And it got worse. Anytime I told an acquaintance that I’d spent some time with Wonkette, my interlocutor either didn’t know who she is or found this entirely unremarkable. “I saw her a few weeks ago at a party to which she was not invited,” said one such pal.

It appears as if Wonkette attends every soiree in DC—even though she wasn’t invited to any of them. There’s some gossip for you.

Oh, and by the way, Wonkette
does resemble that girl from my kindergarten class who used to pick her nose and eat it.
 
Tuesday, December 13, 2005
 

Anti-Fascist Fascism, or The World Appears To Be Waiting


Whilst perusing The New York Times yesterday, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” came upon a rather curious full-page advertisement. Sponsored by the urgent sounding group “The World Can’t Wait,” this strange ad exhorted readers to “Drive Out the Bush Regime.”

Affixed to this incendiary anti-Bush agitprop was a series of reasons why right-thinking (i.e., Left-thinking) chaps should hunger to send the evil Bush junta packing. For example:

YOUR GOVERNMENT is moving each day closer to a theocracy, where a narrow and hateful brand of Christian fundamentalism will rule.

Frankly, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” found this particular point puzzling, given that the radicals behind The World Can’t Wait appear to have no problems with Muslim fundamentalists who aim to turn the entire world into a theocracy. After all, as the group’s “website” makes clear, it is an avowedly Communist group, and many of its members were opposed to uprooting the Taliban. As far as we can determine, then, to our pals at The World Can’t Wait, Osama bin Laden is a fine fellow, but Pat Robertson is awfully dangerous.

Think that point was rebarbative? Here’s another example of coruscating brilliance:

YOUR GOVERNMENT enforces a culture of greed, bigotry, intolerance and ignorance.

On this point, actually, we may be inclined to agree. One of the signers of this Communist drivel is Prof. Cornel West, ersatz “rap” star and ersatz scholar. Brother West, for those of you blissfully unaware of him, is a card-carrying Marxist. And he’s a card-carrying Marxist who makes bundles of money Mau-Mauing universities into offering him a large salary and embarking on extremely lucrative speaking tours. Is this the “culture of greed” that The World Can’t Wait contemns?

Or maybe, in regard to bigotry, they mean Prof. West’s despicable denunciation of Harvard President Lawrence Summers as the “Ariel Sharon of higher education.” President Summers is Jewish, and Brother West, mortified that Mr. Summers had the temerity to question the scholarly import of his “rap” CD, blasted back with a typical example of his charming anti-Semitism. If the Bush junta is enforcing this kind of bigotry, we’re opposed to it too.

As if the ad’s pernicious rhetoric weren’t already sufficiently malign, the folks at The World Can’t Wait simply can’t wait to up the ante:

People look at all this [the Bush Administration has done] and think of Hitler—and they are right to do so. The Bush regime is setting out to radically remake society very quickly, in a fascist way, and for generations to come.

Ah, no crazy lefty rant is complete without the obligatory reference to Hitler, now is it? What impressive political acumen the signers of this nonsense must possess! Couldn’t they lowball their estimations a bit, and merely claim that Bush is akin to Mussolini? Or how about Pinochet? If memory serves, when he was in power he wasn’t that great a guy either.

Clearly, though, the loveable scamps at The World Can’t Wait found the Nazis to be the closest and most illuminating parallel to the Bush administration. Bravo. Hey, if Lawrence Summers is Ariel Sharon, why can’t Bush be Hitler? And maybe Demi Moore could be Tony Blair, and Gary Coleman could be Yao Ming?

Surely the most delicious part of the advert is the following:

There is not going to be a savior from the Democratic Party. This whole idea of putting our hopes and energies into “leaders” who tell us to seek common ground with fascists and religious fanatics is proving every day to be a disaster, and actually serves to demobilize people.

Do the dolts at The World Can’t Wait realize that they are speaking about themselves? In regard to worldwide terrorism, they are the “‘leaders’ who tell us to seek common ground with fascists and religious fanatics”—al Qaeda, Hamas, Islamic Jihad, &c. To be sure, their ideas are dangerous and disastrous, but it appears as if they don’t know it.

So, you ask, what is the point of this dimwitted advertisement? Well, the eminences at The World Can’t Wait aim to “Bring the Noise.” No, that doesn’t mean they hope you can join them in a faux-Broadway tap routine. They appear to have no interest in you “Bringing the Funk.” Or even “Brining da’ Funk.”

Rather, the ad explains: “At 9:00 PM EST, just as Bush starts to speak, everywhere we will bring the noise. In a cacophony of sound we will drown out his address with music….”

Now, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” don’t want to seem like a bunch of spoilsports, but this all strikes us as distinctly fascistic. Not Hitler-esque, mind you, but troublesome all the same. If you oppose President Bush, wouldn’t it be better to listen to him, and then explain why you disagree?

One might expect such childish buffoonery from signers such as Ed Begley Jr. He was really great in Amazon Women on the Moon, but that doesn’t mean that we are inclined to trust his political acumen. And it is nice to see that Mumia Abu-Jamal also signed on with the campaign; clearly, when he’s not busy killing police officers, he is deeply worried about the health of our great nation. How very sweet.

But Brother West? This fellow’s a professor at Princeton, for crying out loud. One might have thought that likening Bush to Hitler would seem a bit obtuse for his tastes. After all, that’s kind of like likening Brother West to Buckwheat.

And, as anyone knows, that comparison’s inapt: Buckwheat was intentionally funny, whereas Brother West is only unintentionally funny.

We must admit a certain similarity in hairstyles, though.
 
Monday, December 12, 2005
 

The Office Gossip


We, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” don’t tend to dilate on the work environment here at our Official Headquarters. And, quite frankly, there’s a reason for this: What’s so darned interesting about an office full of well over 250 editors and interns, each neatly tucked in his own velour cubicle? We couldn’t think of anything, either.

In today’s humble “post,” however, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” decided finally to discuss an aspect of the lifestyle here at the ole’ Headquarters that we firmly believe warrants mention. For those of you strangely incapable of reading the title of today’s humble “post,” we mean our resident office gossip.

It seems as if every workplace is home to such a chatterbox, and she ineluctably has a body shaped like the Liberty Bell. This, of course, ensures that she isn’t going to be the subject of much tittle-tattle herself—unless you count getting into your pants with a crane tittle-tattle. And we collectively don’t.

A few weeks ago, dear reader, the deep-pocketed financial backers here at “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly” gave us the official green light to hire yet another secretary. (Apparently, our deep-pocketed financial backers have extra-deep pockets of late; perhaps it has something to do with a transaction of blood for oil. That really enriched their coffers.)

Anyway, after a scorching series of oral interviews (if you do or do not catch our drift), we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” picked a woman named Winnie as the woman for the job. To be honest, we had to go against our collective better judgment on this one: We’ve always thought that a proper secretary should be named Flo. But, as no one fitting that nomenclature applied, we were stuck with the equine-sounding Winnie instead.

At first, Winnie proved to be a marvelous hire. She did everything one could reasonably expect of an office manager. There was a sufficient stock of erasers and push-pins at the Headquarters, which ensured that the staff could make all the “push-pin pigs” it desired. It was, in short, a little slice of heaven.

And yet, and yet, and yet. Apparently, this Winnie woman—who seemed so delightful at first—turns out to be quite a pill. Although seemingly congenitally genial, our pal Winnie has a penchant for office gossip.

We, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” must inform you that our Official Headquarters isn’t exactly a prime locale to get a little dirt. After all, what kind of buzz do you expect to hear about an office whose employees all appear to be named “Chip”? Not much, we hope.

Still, Winnie kept prying. She gleefully spread the rumor that one of the senior editors here at “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly”—let’s just call him “Chip”—has a little thing for a youngish intern—let’s just call her “Chip.” To our intrepid secretary, this was a real scandal. It’s kind of like Tom Cruise being a diminutive homosexual.

We mean, come on: What reasonable fellow actually thinks to himself “I don’t want to date women when they are young and attractive, I want ugly, dilapidated ladies instead. That way, we can chat about all kinds of scintillating things, such as the first time she got genital warts”?

Frankly, dear reader, if you ask us—and we know that, technically speaking, you didn’t—good ole’ Winnie’s going to have to come up with a better scoop than that. As it is, Winnie’s gossip is less impressive than an elocution lesson from Magic Johnson. It’s less impressive than Pauly Shore’s career. And that, friends, is saying something.
 
Friday, December 09, 2005
 

Just Look at What We’ve Become


As we have mentioned umpteen times, dear reader, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” are up for the glorious title of Best Humor/Comics Weblog in the 2005 Weblog Awards. And, as we have also mentioned umpteen times, it ain’t exactly a dogfight. Currently, we’re less popular than the guy who opposed Saddam Hussein the election before Ted Kennedy’s Coalition of the Bribed deposed the Butcher of Baghdad.

What’s even worse, dear reader, is the sorry fact that this minor e-notoreity—fleeting as it ineluctably is—has brought out the worst in us. Our humble “posts”—humble as they ineluctably are—have become mired in obsessive navel-gazing, as if “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly” were the most important thing on Al Gore’s World-Wide Web.

Naturally, dear reader, this is quite unfortunate. The Weblog Awards have allowed us, like Cyndi Lauper, to show our true colors, and, like Cyndi Lauper’s, they aren’t that good. Pretty soon we’ll be compelled to call in Captain Lou Albano to save our sinking moral ship.

And, to add fuel to our pathetic egotism, we have discovered that we’ve recently received our 100,000th “hit.” As if we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” required another reason for a pitiful exercise in self-celebration.

Sad, isn’t it? It’s even sadder, given that our nomination in the Weblog Awards has led us to be trounced in a way with which only Lyndon LaRouche can properly empathize. Or perhaps Ashlee Simpson. Moreover, 100,000 “hits” isn’t that impressive an e-mark. We, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” are pretty certain that Tina Turner has had more than 100,000 hits (in more ways than one). And she, like a big wheel, keeps on turnin’.

So, dear reader, we have decided that we yearn to ditch our pitiable e-narcissism. Eschewing our recent access of self-puffery, we have determined to get down to proverbial brass tacks. We pine to use our considerable e-powers for good, not evil. In short, we aim to help people.

But how could we do it? As William Shakespeare and Mickey Rourke would say (albeit in different contexts): Ay, there’s the rub.

How about selflessly endorsing a few other wonderful “weblogs” for the 2005 Weblog Awards? Granted, that isn’t exactly going to feed the starving children in fat camp. But, on the plus side, it won’t do any harm either, which is more than you can say for Kofi Annan.

Delighted by our idea, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” had a special, clandestine meeting, at which staffers offered their own suggestions for our official endorsements.

To be honest, it proved to be a more difficult endeavor than we had planned. A few staffers felt sufficiently attached to “weblogs” in the No One Reads Them or Even Gets This Far Down the Page To Vote for Them category to get a bit violent with dissenters. In fact, there were very few categories that didn’t inspire fisticuffs. We, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” take the Internet seriously, and the Best Australia or New Zealand Blog category brings out the wup-ass in many of us. (What, no Fiji this year?)

And so, dear reader, we were left with a few tepid endorsements. They are as follows:

Best New Blog: Wuzzadem. Hands down! Come on, that guy’s a genius.

Best Conservative Blog: The Jawa Report. Just because Dr. Rusty won’t vote for himself doesn’t mean that we can’t vote for him.

Best Culture/Gossip Blog: The Llamabutchers. Frankly, we didn’t know a thing about culture or gossip until we started reading Steve and Robbo’s musings. Now we are experts in German expressionism, and we’re well aware that Britney Spears' marriage, like a James Bond double bourbon, is on the rocks.

Best Military Blog: Froggy Ruminations. We can’t get enough of froggy.

Best Canadian Blog: The Crazy Rants of Samantha Burns. So good, we didn’t even realize she’s Canadian. Now that’s an endorsement.

Best of the Top 501-1000 Blogs: Vince aut Morire. Excellent use of the passive imperative.

Best of the Top 1751-2500 Blogs: 21st Century Paladin. Because the 20th Century Paladin is so last century.
 
Thursday, December 08, 2005
 

The Dade County Weblog Awards


Dutiful devotees of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly” who are keeping up to speed with our spot in the 2005 Weblog Awards race for Best Humor/Comics Blog undoubtedly recognize that we, like Marv Albert’s girlfriends, are getting spanked. In all honesty, dear reader, it’s pretty brutal.

In fact, it’s sufficiently brutal that you should vote for us daily in order to reduce the hurtin’. Our beat-down is so fierce that a few “weblogs” that haven’t even been nominated are beating us.

It turns out that many of our competitors for this prestigious award have readerships that are a little bit bigger than ours. Like on a one million-to-one scale. To be downright honest, we didn’t see this coming. Accordingly, we shall soon have to rehash the old Leonardo DiCaprio falsehoods: You know, the tired “It’s an honor simply to be nominated” retreads. In short, we’ve been polishing up our “We suck” speech.

Yet an astute reader of this humble “weblog” has recently made us aware of a surprising error on the part of the 2005 Weblog Awards staff. A close inspection of the official ballots—and, quite frankly, even an un-close inspection of the official ballots—demonstrates that the folks at Wizbang have wretchedly screwed up our nomenclature. They erroneously refer to us as “Hate Mongers Quarterly,” and not by our true name, “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly.”

What the heck is “Hate Mongers Quarterly”? We don’t know either. We’ve collectively never heard of it.

As you can imagine, dear reader, this is rather confusing to those millions (we presume) who aim to plump for us. In fact, if you ask us, this is all disturbingly similar to the brouhaha over those nettlesome butterfly ballots down in Florida a few years back. Only this time, given the stakes involved in the voting, people actually care.

Sundry readers have informed us that they mistakenly cast their ballots in the Best Humor/Comics Blog category for Pat Buchanan. And this is very strange, since Pat Buchanan is only unintentionally humorous. Frankly, if you’re going to vote for television personalities, you might as well support Susan Estrich, who’s even funnier than Buchanan. (Have you ever heard her voice?)

Right now, dear reader, the Official Legal Team of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly” is pondering its options. We have even hired a wheel-chair-bound advocate to act as the spokesperson for our grievances, in order to win the most sympathy from CNN.

We don’t know where all of this is going to take us, and we are reluctant to drag the country through some sort of fiasco. But we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” feel as if the very heart of American democracy is at stake. If we don’t fix this contest, then the terrorists have won.
 
Wednesday, December 07, 2005
 

You Fortune Is Bright


Right around the corner from “Hatemonger’s Quarterly” Headquarters is a delightful Chinese food establishment called “Panda Food,” “Eat the Panda,” “Devouring Panda,” or some such. Every once in a great while—well, every once in a week, if you must know—a few members of our staff grab their lunches at this eatery, and shovel it in before the afternoon deadlines.

Unfortunately, we must report that the food at this local restaurant is well nigh inedible. The cuisine is about as authentically Chinese as Denzel Washington. No matter what you order, it ends up feeling as if you ate a heaping helping of “Disagreeing with Your Stomach” instead. If General Tsao would find out what they have done to his chicken, he’d be deeply upset.

You may be wondering, dear reader, why any staffers would take themselves to such a miserable establishment. Well, the best rationale we can come up with is: We forget on occasion. Although we ineluctably regret every meal we consume from this horrid place, it appears as if the recollection of this regret only lasts about a week. So, when, say, next Thursday rolls around, you can bet that a couple of junior and senior staffers will head to “Panda Snacks”—and spend an unfortunate afternoon on the toilet.

Yet we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” don’t want to spend today’s “post” complaining about the un-comestible victuals at this dive. Rather, we aim to spend today’s “post” complaining about the ridiculous fortunes we have received in recent fortune cookies. That, we figure, is a much classier topic of conversation.

After all, even an execrable Chinese food outfit such as “The Edible Panda” has the typical fortune cookies. They’re the one part of the meal even they can’t screw up.

And yet, as one of the junior editors here at “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly”—let’s just call him “Chip”—discovered, the folks at “Kill the Panda” can even ruin a perfectly good fortune cookie.

Don’t believe us, dear reader? Well, then take a gander at this odd fortune found in “Chip’s” latest cookie: “Opportunity always ahead if you look and think.”

Uh, that’s not even a sentence. And it’s not a fortune, either. Frankly, it doesn’t even make that much sense. If you ask us, the people at the fortune cookie factory are coasting. When we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” break open a fortune cookie, we want to see something like “You will murder your second cousin on your father’s side,” or “You won’t be the next Billy Joel.”

You know: Real fortunes. None of this preachy “You should appreciate life/A man with a friend is a happy man” garbage. If we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” wanted hackneyed, ungrammatical bromides about the essential goodness of life, we’d watch Dr. Phil.
 
Tuesday, December 06, 2005
 

“The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” Internet Equivalent of the Orrin Hatch for President Campaign


As we have already mentioned at length, dear reader, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” have been sufficiently fortunate to be an official finalist in the Best Humor/Comics Blog category in the 2005 Weblog Awards. Naturally, then, we’ve exhorted our colossal readership to vote once per diem for our humble “website,” as the contest rules allow.

Dutiful devotees of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly” may have noted that it took exactly three seconds for this whole nomination business to go to our collective head. A few of our colossal readers may recall that, last year, upon being nominated for jack-bone nothing, we made light of the whole awards business. It’s a moronic, subjective waste of time, we sniffed.

Now, however, we’ve become a bunch of self-promoting lamebrains. We’re like the Internet’s Omorosa. (Except we have better bone structure, and aren’t as mannish.) What a difference a year makes!

All the same, there are certainly limits to our pathetic Weblog Awards egotism. After all, a quick perusal of the current vote tally demonstrates that we’re about as popular as the Orrin Hatch for President campaign—you know, that ill-starred stab at the limelight that yielded about one percent in Iowa. And, unlike Hatch, we can’t complain that our popularity is hampered by any spirit of renegade Mormonism.

To be honest, we look a little bit like a Pop Warner football team taking on the Indianapolis Colts. Or, come to think, a bit like the Houston Texans taking on the Indianapolis Colts.

As such, dear reader, we must again humbly exhort you to plump for us each day. Not, we daresay, so that we shall wind up in the e-victor’s circle, drinking e-milk. Rather, so that we aren’t smacked down like Richard Simmons taking on Attila the Hun. Currently, our vote total is so low it appears as if our own mothers have cast their ballots for Six Meat Buffet.

In the coming days, dear reader, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” shall offer our official endorsements of other Weblog Award finalists. Given our impressive vote total, we’re certain that manifold “webloggers” are waiting with bated breath for our prestigious endorsement. It’s much like David Duke backing your political campaign: Alert the local media!

Many of our longtime readers are undoubtedly wondering “Will coming in dead last in such a contest affect the rapier wit of the crack young staff?” Or words to that effect.

The answer, we are pleased to pronounce, is a definite No. We were unfunny before the Weblog Awards, and we’ve got plenty of time to be unfunny afterward.

In the meantime, we’ll be crafting our magnanimous acceptance speech. Just because we’re about as popular as the Christian Falangist Party doesn’t mean we can’t start polishing up our rhetorical fireworks.
 
Monday, December 05, 2005
 

When Is a Mistake Not a Mistake?


Dutiful devotees of this humble “weblog” undoubtedly recognize that we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” enjoy ridiculing The New York Times on many an occasion. It seems, in fact, that any time the Paper of Record makes the slightest mistake, or displays the slightest inkling of partisan hackery, we greatly esteem heaping scorn upon it.

Nor, we have noted, are we the only ones who have taken to criticizing the Gray Lady. Perhaps you didn’t realize this, but there’s a veritable cottage industry of anti-Times criticism. Who would have thunk it?

And it is not confined to our friends on the political Right. The loveably deranged scamps over at radical Left outfits such as The Nation take great pride in disparaging the Gray Lady for inadvertently championing capitalism, or some such grave offense against all things “progressive.”

Frankly, dear reader, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” are close to fed up with all this anti-Times nattering and criticizing. Sure, the Paper of Record has committed its share of sins in the past. But who—other than Jim Bakker—hasn’t?

In addition, it’s not as if running America’s most storied daily is an easy task. Believe us: We tried it for a few weeks. It was a real bitch. That Frank Rich never meets his deadlines.

In order to counter this ferocious spirit of attack against the Times, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” have decided to dedicate today’s humble “post” to demonstrating this wonderful rag’s essential goodness. In fact, we shall demonstrate that sometimes, even when the Gray Lady admits its own errors, it has not actually committed an error in the first place.

Allow us to offer a modicum of proof. In the December 1st number of this storied paper, the following appeared in the oddly titled “Corrections: For the Record” section:

Because of an editing error, a sports article on Sunday about the stability of the Seattle Seahawks organization misstated the last time a pro team from that city won a title. It was 2004, when the Storm won the Women’s National Basketball Association championship, not 1979, when the SuperSonics won the N.B.A. title.

To us, dear reader, if that’s a mistake, it’s the most forgivable mistake we’ve heard of in a long, long time. We mean, come on: What self-respecting non-lesbian has ever heard of the Seattle Storm? Actually, what self-respecting lesbian has ever heard of the Seattle Storm? Until we took a gander at this tepid nostra culpa, we would have thought that the Seattle Storm was some defunct XFL outfit.

Perhaps the editorial department at the Gray Lady also forgot some other unforgettable highlights in Seattle professional athletics:

(1) The Seattle Mist’s stunning victory in the national 1994 three-legged dogsled race.

(2) The first-place award won by local Seattle native Noel Tooky in the 1980 installment of the “Get Away From Mt. St. Helens Race.”

(3) The Seattle Grunge’s surprise upset of the Arizona Turkeys in the 1985 beach volleyball and tailoring tournament.

We fully expect to see the Gray Lady apologize for these lapses in a future version of its peculiarly titled “Corrections: For the Record” section.

So, allow us to say something for the record: No reasonable human being would be upset by the suggestion that the 1979 SuperSonics were the last professional team from Seattle to win a title, Seattle Storm accomplishments notwithstanding. We, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” simply want to know who informed the staff of the Times of its supposed gaffe. We bet she’s a real piece of work.
 
Friday, December 02, 2005
 

The Indignities of Keeping Fit


We, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” have dedicated a few of our humble “posts” to expatiating on the various irritants one encounters when attempting to do one’s body a little good. If we recall correctly, dear reader, we made a particular fuss about a phenomenon we labeled “posterior penmanship,” which is often displayed at the local gymnasium.

Yet we feel as if we have not exhausted the full list of vexations associated with the world of “working out.” In fact, this became crystal clear to one of our senior editors—let’s just call him “Chip”—who spends many moons getting fitter than a fiddle.

A few days ago, “Chip” headed to his small local gym, at an hour that was far from popular with those who are not toothless derelicts. Having arrived at said facility, he was immediately greeted by the typical bothers: The staff at said gym—even at this ungodly hour in the morning—was playing the typical work-out fare, rock that is ironically labeled “classic.”

As if this were not enough (and believe us, it was), “Chip” became even more enraged upon taking a gander at the only other current patron in the gymnasium. This was a woman on a treadmill, who was huffing and puffing away on a brisk stroll of sorts. Dripping with sweat, this gal was certainly no less than 200 pounds, and was clad—horror of horrors!—in spandex leggings and a tube top.

Okay, so it wasn’t the most delightful scene to take in early in the morning, but it was nice to see an overweight woman bettering herself by getting off the couch and working off those extra calories. In fact, “Chip” was much happier that the wearer of this inappropriate outfit was a heavy lady, rather than the fit, buxom show-offs who regularly enjoy prancing around in such things. At least she wasn’t trying to make “Chip” jealous. (Or, if she was, it wasn’t working—much.)

So, you may be asking yourself, what’s so darned troublesome about this woman? Why did we find her such a horrid complement to the Loverboy “music” playing in the background?

Well, the answer to that query can be found in the television program to which she was tuned whilst hopping away on her treadmill. This heavy gal—who deserved a prize for making an effort to be fit—was tuned in to the Food Network. To make matters worse, said network was airing a program about fattening desserts, which appears to have captivated this particular female treadmiller.

Admittedly, this isn’t exactly a grave sin; rather, it’s a mere peccadillo. But it irked “Chip” nonetheless. Never mind the fact that this was a ridiculously silly thing to watch on any occasion. There appeared to be something mildly ironic about a fat broad chugging away on a treadmill whilst salivating over a recipe for fried ice cream.

We mean, come on: What kind of dedication does that demonstrate? As far as we could tell, this lady was going to complete her workout and then gorge herself on angel food cake.

Naturally, “Chip” changed the channel: He wanted to inspire her to do better. We hope she liked that episode of “Ally McBeal” instead.
 
Thursday, December 01, 2005
 

Spelunking through Oppression


As even casual observers of American academia well know, freedom of thought is a cardinal virtue in the hallowed halls of the ivory tower. In order to ensure that its faculty members and students devote themselves to the disinterested pursuit of knowledge, a given university does its best to ensure that it fosters an intellectual climate welcoming to a rich array of perspectives.

And what better way to welcome a rich array of perspectives than force-feed incoming students with rebarbative “orientation sessions” designed to compel them to adopt a radical worldview? If you are a college administrator, your answer to that question should be “There is no better way.” Or words to that effect.

We, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” had reason to reflect on this anew when we received a kindly e-missive from one of our readers, which pointed us in the direction of the “Tunnel of Oppression.” Although said Tunnel was briefly featured on Charles Johnson’s luminous Little Green Footballs “weblog,” we found it so delightfully offensive that we deigned to discuss it at greater length.

What, you may or may not be asking yourself, is a “Tunnel of Oppression”? And what the heck does it have to do with American academia? Those are darned good queries. Why don’t we let the progenitors of this Tunnel tell us in their own inimitable prose?

Since its original debut in the mid-1990s, the Tunnel of Oppression has become a nationally recognized program offered at a number of college campuses including The Ohio State University, the University of Wisconsin at Eau Claire, and The University of Nevada at Las Vegas.

Well, gee: If it’s good enough for an academic powerhouse like UNLV, it should be good enough for us, eh? Not only can UNLV students get a degree in casino management, they can experience a Tunnel of Oppression as well. What dedication to the liberal arts!

Some campuses use it as an element of diversity training within the residence halls while others have fully incorporated the idea into their campus programming efforts. Campuses have implemented the program in various ways, incorporated various themes, and have realized varying levels of success. Following the interactive portion of the Tunnel, many campuses offer students an outlet for processing the activity including panel discussions with faculty and staff members.

We know what you are thinking, dear reader: If the genius prose stylists who wrote this palaver are in charge of the Tunnel of Oppression program, you desperately hope your child is compelled to undergo their hazing at his school. After all, what says good times quite like a Tunnel of Oppression? We couldn’t think of anything either.

But what does the program entail? What is this Tunnel of Fun? Our e-brochure continues:

As part of the program, participants are led through museum style series of connected rooms which each ask the participants to experience various forms of oppression. Participants are challenged to consider how oppression and advantages have an effect on them, as well as the individuals and groups around them.

This year’s themes include:
(1) Tools of Oppression
(2) Women’s Issues
(3) Racial Oppression
(4) LGBT Issues
(5) Religious Oppression ***this room is pending***.


Sounds like a blast, doesn’t it? Personally, we can’t wait to learn what Tools of Oppression are. Can they be purchased at the local Home Depot? Or, given its shady treatment of employees, does Wal-Mart alone stock them?

We found it particularly delicious that the “Religious Oppression” train-car is still “pending.” Do the eminences behind the Tunnel of Oppression disagree about the nature of religious oppression? Do some of them believe that such an issue doesn’t deserve their ham-fisted treatment—even if the Religious Oppression room is merely the caboose?

Naturally, we are quite certain that said Religious Oppression train-car won’t feature the anti-Christian bigotry espoused by countless “diversity” training commissars. That’s not the kind of oppression they have in mind.

And this leads us to a question for the brilliant boosters of the Tunnel of Oppression. Why not have a “Radical Indoctrinators Oppression” train-car? Surely the students, after passing through the moronic Tunnel of Oppression, are going to realize that the only real oppression they’ve experienced is that of the intolerant chuckleheads who sponsored this program in the first place.
 

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