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Tuesday, May 31, 2005
 

You Is Dumb


Regular readers of this humble “weblog” will undoubtedly recall the fact that we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” detest bumper stickers. As far as we’re concerned, these vehicular eyesores are ineluctably moronic.

Recently, however, a senior editor here at “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly”—let’s just call him “Chip”—spied a bumper sticker that he found rather fetching. In fact, “Chip” believes that it is a real treasure.

The sticker in question reads:

Ignorance and Arrogance Is Not a Foreign Policy

It’s strikingly brilliant, is it not? “Ignorance and Arrogance Is Not a Foreign Policy.” No they isn’t, is they?

As far as we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” are concerned, if you are going to accuse someone of “ignorance,” you ought to demonstrate at least passing familiarity with the basic tenets of subject/verb agreement.

Naturally, dear reader, the chucklehead who was sporting this bumper sticker had a good laugh at such presidential gaffes as “Rarely is the question asked: Is our children learning?” Awfully funny, aren’t it?

We’re glad that the character with the “foreign policy” bumper sticker is too darn smart to make such errors.

Just in case (s)he isn’t, dear reader, we figured that we could sell her some similar bumper sticker slogans. You know the kind we mean: The sort that offers its owner the opportunity to seem superciliously superior, whilst amply demonstrating said owner’s brazen idiocy.

If you’re desperate to demonstrate your fearsome mental acumen, but are actually dumber than Jessica Simpson, we think you’ll enjoy these bumper sticker gems:

Peace Are Patriotic

Don’t Blame I, Me Voted for Kerry

Bush Lied, Millions Had Done Dying

and

Somewhere in Texas Their Are a Village Missing There Idiot.
 
Friday, May 27, 2005
 

Quitting the Day Job?


Naturally, dear reader, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” receive colossal piles of e-mail from rabid fans each and every day. Loveable scamps from as far away as Detroit constantly deluge us with delightful e-missives chalk-a-block with blandishments about the glories of our humble “website.”

Frankly, other than the uppers we take, these heartwarming e-epistles are what get us through the morning. Other than Tuesday, which is our coffee day.

A few weeks ago, however, we were on the receiving end of a rather less friendly e-mail. Some fellow, who would have remained nameless had we not decided to inform you that it’s Carl Meyer of Sarasota (FL), unpleasantly informed us that we, for lack of a better word, suck.

Unsurprisingly, dear reader, we found this e-letter quite distressing. In fact, it led to something of a crisis of conscience here at “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly.” In order to face the perspicacious criticism of Mr. Meyer, we were going to have to engage in a great deal of deep thinking.

Which, to be honest, is problematic, since we are pretty much shallow thinkers.

Anyway, dear reader, the Official Self-Conscious Ruminations Department here at “The Hatemonger’s Quartelry” spent the better part of the last fortnight pondering Mr. Meyer’s scabrous attack on the crack young staff.

Perhaps, the Official Ruminators opined, Mr. Meyer is really on to something. Perhaps, they further averred, the crack young staff, like Bruce Springsteen, has already experienced its “glory days.” Perhaps, they considered, the crack young staff, like Steve Winwood, would not find a way “back in the high life again.” Maybe we had peaked with our humble post about Bridget Newman’s vagina.

As you can imagine, these depressing thoughts were, in a word, depressing. And yet, they managed to get us thinking about alternative occupations. To be honest, despite our deep-pocketed financial backers, we haven’t exactly struck it rich. Could the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly” be frittering away its coruscating talent composing a feckless “weblog”?

Yeah, probably. But what job would be more suited to the talent(s) of our humble band of editors, authors, et al.?

As a result of all this painful cogitation, we decided to create a list of alternative career paths for the crack young staff. Below you’ll find this list of a few potential positions, along with our typical smart-aleck comments about them.

“The Hatemonger’s Quarterly” Official List of Potential Occupations, Along With Typical Smart-Aleck Comments About Them:

1. Stand-up Comics : This could be the most obvious career for manifold members of the crack young staff. After all, we have all kinds of deeply original stand-up material for potential audiences. For instance, did you realize that men and women are completely different in so many ways? We have, and boy are some of those ways really funny. In addition, the traffic in Los Angeles is a real bitch. And what’s with New Yorkers? They’ve got so much attitude.

2. Plumbers: These fellows make an awful lot of money. And yet, it would be rather depressing to spend our careers as high-powered versions of Drain-O. Plus, as much as we’re the crack young staff, we don’t delight in showing off our posteriors. Well, at least during the day.

3. College Professors: In many ways, this seems like the ideal job. Just like pretty much everyone else on God’s green earth, we enjoy pretending that we have embarked on a selfless career devoted to education, when in reality we really spend about three hours in the office per week. Luckily, approximately 47 percent of the crack young staff is from a so-called underrepresented minority. That will make it much easier to land a gig at some Ivy League institution. Or perhaps U Penn. Unfortunately, however, the underrepresented minority group from which they hail is Amish. As far as we can tell, there’s no rush to fill Media Studies Departments with buggy-loads of Amish folk.
 
Thursday, May 26, 2005
 

BBC: Bestiality Broadcasting Corporation, or My Pony and Me


We, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” like to fashion ourselves as savvy media professionals. Naturally, this is kind of like Jenny McCarthy fashioning herself as a Hegel scholar. Still, we pride ourselves on keeping up with matters journalistic.

Even so, dear reader, every once in a great while, a story crosses our collective desk that is something of a surprise. Such was certainly the case with a recent story from The Guardian, a British left-wing daily.

A correspondent from our London (UK) office sent us a copy of an article from this venerable publication penned by a reporter with the quarterback-esque name John Plunkett. We, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” feel as if the title of said piece says it all: “Ofcom says OK to sex with animals.”

Well, gee: How very nice. Ofcom, the BBC’s de facto Overseer of Public Morals, has deemed bestiality appropriate for Britain’s viewing public. The story begins:

Clean-up TV campaigners seeking succor in Ofcom’s new broadcasting rules suffered an immediate blow today when the regulator gave the all-clear to programmes about “sex with animals.”

Hmmm. We don’t mean to quibble with Mr. Plunkett’s journalese, but don’t you think it would be better, given the context of the passage, that the writer not use the phrase “suffered an immediate blow”? The piece continues:

The comments by Richard Hooper, the Ofcom deputy chairman, came at the unveiling of its long-awaited new broadcasting code and will have had the regulator’s spin doctors holding their heads in their hands.

May we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” humbly suggest that, given the context of the passage, Mr. Plunkett not employ the phrase “holding their heads in their hands”? The article resumes:

“[What about] a programme about sex with animals? Yes, it’s potentially possible. It all comes down to context,” he said….

Mr. Hooper’s comments recalled [the] Channel 4 bestiality documentary, Animal Passions, which featured a man who admitted to have [sic] sex with his pony and a woman who had sex with her dog.

Although it was cleared by Ofcom last year, it generated 75 complaints from viewers who said it “normalised bestiality” and could encourage copycat behaviour.


May we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” humbly suggest that, given the context of the passage, Mr. Plunkett not use the phrase “encourage copycat behaviour”?
 
Wednesday, May 25, 2005
 

Another Fruitless Scheme


Regular readers of this humble “weblog” may have noticed that “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly” is about as popular as jock itch. In fact, if we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” had a few more e-visits each day, we’d be about as in vogue as Latoya Jackson. Or maybe Tito.

As you can imagine, dear reader, our humble “website’s” leper-esque unpopularity has been the focus of much consternation. Frankly, we don’t much value being the Internet equivalent of the XFL.

Accordingly, the Official Fruitless Schemes Department here at “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly” has spent a fair amount of time pondering myriad ways in which we can expand our e-audience. Other than changing our format to homosexual pornography—we think that would certainly prove popular, but it would probably leave us feeling a tad sordid. Probably.

After literally moments of thought, the Official Fruitless Schemes Department here at “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly” noticed something that was a key to our Blue Oyster Cult-like fan base. Unlike sundry other “weblogs,” “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly” does not make routine mention of other “webloggers.”

As dedicated prowlers of Al Gore’s World-Wide Web certainly realize, most of the Pajama Brigade offer incessant tips of the cap to fellow “webloggers.” For instance, some might suggest that their readers check out a high-quality “weblog” such as, say, the Llamabutchers. This will undoubtedly impress the Llamabutchers, who will return the compliment by offering some kind words about the former “website.” As a result, in a few short days, your humble “weblog” will be bigger than Elvis (literally and metaphorically).

The modus scribendi here at “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly” does not allow for such quotidian back scratching. Alas, our one-post-a-day format has drastically hampered our ability to suck up to other “webloggers,” and revel in the manifold links that we earn as a result of our inveterate sycophancy.

That is to say, until now. We, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” have endeavored to use today’s humble post as a veritable link-machine. Our Official “Weblog”-Browsing Department has culled the name of a few desultory “websites,” to which we shall offer overwrought kudos.

Bear in mind, dear reader, that we have picked these “weblogs” at random; we haven’t even laid eyes on most of them. Still, we feel as if our days working retail qualify us to present a number of unearned pleasantries.

Without further ado, then, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” are pleased as preening peacocks to present:

The Official “Hatemonger’s Quarterly” Examples of Spineless Sucking-Up, in Hopes That They Will Bring in More Hits Than Ike Turner Can Shake a Fist at:

1. Boy, Instapundit sure is a heck of a “website.” If the guy who runs it—Greg Kinnear?—isn’t one of the big “webloggers,” we think that’s a terrible oversight.

2. As far as we’re concerned, Wonkette is one talented writer. Our only quibble with her “website” is the fact that it’s too highbrow for our tastes. Can’t she add a little gossip into the mix?

3. If you think Michelle Malkin is a good pundit now, just imagine how marvelous she’ll be when she’s all grown up.

4. The Volokh Conspiracy is a fantastic “website.” But we only trust lawyers who advertise on television. After all, that’s how we got all that cash from workers’ comp.

5. We could listen to the dulcet tones of Ariana Huffington’s mellifluous voice all day.

6. Sullywatch sucks.

Well, dear reader, that should do it. We’ll just wait for our ineluctable “Instalaunch.”
 
Tuesday, May 24, 2005
 

The Left Hook Misses Again


A little while ago, dear reader, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” used this space to dilate on a ridiculous article pertaining to the Israeli-Palestinian conflict penned by a moronic tyro who edits the “radical youth journal” Left Hook. A few days ago, one of our intrepid interns—let’s just call him “Chip”—intrepidly headed back to Left Hook, in search of better fare.

Alas, dear reader, we must report that the article he found—“The Muslims Are Mad? Blame it on Newsweek”—was pretty much as feculent as the last piece of Left Hook hokum we excoriated on our humble “weblog.”

In fact, our opinion of Left Hook is so low that we found it deeply appropriate that the editors at this sordid e-rag have seen fit to offer a picture of Helen Keller on their “webpage,” in some sort of demonstration of solidarity. To be sure, we don’t know much about the late Ms. Keller’s politics, but we find the staff of Left Hook as tin-eared as she.

The article that “Chip” read, dear reader, is the work of one Jared McBride, a recent graduate of Northeastern University. As the title of the article suggests, the young Mr. McBride believes that it was fine and dandy for Newsweek magazine to print its erroneous story about the purported desecration of the Koran. As the young Mr. McBride, in a typical fit of pique, argues, “I, personally, am not even interested in discussing whether this particular story is true or not.” Well, gee: Why would it matter if it were true or not? We can’t think of a reason either.

Let us examine the young Mr. McBride’s curious description of the brouhaha:

To briefly summarize the events to date: In the illegal detention center known as Guantanamo Bay (or concentration camp, depending on how you view it) located on the soil of another sovereign nation (Cuba), an employee of the Pentagon or US soldier, while in the midst of a [sic] interrogation of a prisoner, was reported by Newsweek to have flushed a Koran, or part there of [sic], down the toilet. The unknown source supposedly got cold feet, and then Newsweek got colder feet, retracting their story after coming under attack by the White House, Pentagon, and other individuals and institutions which have been consistently responsible for perpetuating war crimes.

We know what you are thinking, dear reader: That about accurately sums up the situation. But wait; there seems to be a tiny problem with the young Mr. McBride’s rehash: It’s entirely inaccurate.

Never mind the fact that the young Mr. McBride’s first sentence opens with a whopper of a split infinitive. Apparently, the powers-that-be at Northeastern University were too busy indoctrinating the young Mr. McBride in the evils of Amerikkka to teach him any grammar lessons. Grammar is so patriarchal and oppressive, anyway.

We, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” were particularly intrigued by the whole Guantanamo Bay is a “concentration camp, depending on how you view it” bit. Well, we suppose it does matter “how you view it.” And may we humbly suggest that the young Mr. McBride’s view is that of a moral cretin?

This, however, is not our favorite part of the young Mr. McBride’s attempt to win the Zenith of Mongoloid Reasoning Award. As far as we’re concerned, nothing beats this:

[Pentagon spokesman Larry] Dirita (and the White House) believe that US forces are now “in danger” because Newsweek cited what they believed [erroneously] to be a reliable source, which subsequently sparked protests in Muslim countries. That is like throwing someone into a tank with a shark, and then blaming a passerby who accidentally drips blood into the tank for putting the person in danger. But then again, this is the logic of the Pentagon—the same people who brought you Vietnam.

Boy, that “shark tank” comparison is particularly apt, isn’t it? Naturally, the young Mr. McBride believes that the United States’ evil, illegal wars in Afghanistan and Iraq, along with its nettlesome regard for the safety of Israel, are to blame. Heck, we blame the backward views of Islamists, who would kill people as the result of the desecration of a book. And we blame Newsweek, too, for its phony reporting. But we suppose this all “depends on how you view it.”

May we humbly point out, dear reader, that the last sentence of the young Mr. McBride’s tirade is inaccurate? He writes “But then again, this is the logic of the Pentagon—the same people who brought you Vietnam.”

A curious locution, that. Perhaps the young Mr. McBride—as well read on foreign affairs as he no doubt is—does not realize that the Pentagon is not “people.” More importantly, the Pentagon is not “the same people who brought you Vietnam.”

Vietnam is a sovereign nation, not a construction of the Amerikkkan military-industrial complex. If the young Mr. McBride won’t respect Vietnam’s status as a sovereign nation, we think that’s downright despicable.
 
Monday, May 23, 2005
 

Country Music


Regular readers of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly” undoubtedly realize that today’s object of excoriation—country music—may land us in a spot of trouble. After all, careful fans of this humble “weblog” have certainly detected our ever-so-slight right-of-center views on a cornucopia of issues, on everything from missile defense (in favor) to speed reading (militantly opposed).

As a result, dear reader, complaints about the horrors of country music may irritate that part of our large audience that Karl Rove calls “the base.”

Perhaps, then, this is not the proper opportunity to declare that the crack young staff is in favor of euthanasia. In fact, we wholeheartedly support randomized, unwitting euthanasia.

And we also loathe NASCAR. Other than Dick Trickle, of course.

Before we begin our savage flogging of country music, we feel the compunction to inform our reader(s) that we do not detest this aesthetically-challenged detritus merely because we are an inveterate pack of Yankees.

If you must know, dear reader, approximately 47 percent of the crack young staff hails from south of the Mason-Dixon line. And a few of us grew up in southern New Jersey.

Even so, dear reader, we simply can’t stomach modern country music. As far as we’re concerned, it’s complete rubbish.

All the songs strike us as sub-par nursery rhymes sung with an irksome twang. To make matters worse, the “stars” of country music appear to have missed the memo that informed the American populace that the Randy Johnson hairstyle is officially out of style.

Even country music devotees are fond of making fun of Billy Ray Cyrus. But we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” can’t figure this out. As far as we’re concerned, all contemporary country music sounds just like that horrible “Ache-y Brake-y” ditty of his.

This doesn’t imply, dear reader, that we haven’t any respect for the roots of country music. But, if you ask us, this genre was far better when its practitioners sang songs about catching and eating armadillos. Frankly, we think that the old tunes make contemporary country singers’ feathered hairdos seem awfully “city-slicker.”

Naturally, dear reader, even though we detest the slide guitar as much as we disesteem George Galloway, we have nothing but deep—nay, profound—respect for the trailer-park white-trash inbreds who enjoy country music.
 
Friday, May 20, 2005
 

The Weight Room


We, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” are lucky to possess deep-pocketed financial backers for our humble “weblog.” Without our nefarious corporate sponsors, we wouldn’t be able to maintain our official headquarters, or any of our sundry regional offices.

Unfortunately, however, our generous financial backers proved too parsimonious to shell out the big bucks for a state-of-the-art weight training facility in the humble “Hatemonger’s Quarterly” headquarters. As a result, dear reader, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” must make undignified trips to the local undignified gymnasium if we want to maintain a suitable level of physical fitness.

As you can imagine, dear reader, this causes all kinds of problems. Those Americans who are not suitably attached to weightlifting to wear de facto clown pants to the gym know what an indignity a daily spot of exercise can be.

The gymnasium closest to “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly” headquarters is a perfect case in point. Like pretty much every workout facility in these here United States of America, this gym plays a hotchpotch of simply unbearable music.

As far as we’re concerned, physical fitness is, if not next to godliness, at least in the general proximity. And yet it seems to us that listening to endless iterations of Peter Frampton’s “I Want You To Show Me the Way” is an awfully high price to pay to stay in shape.

In fact, dear reader, a trip to our local gymnasium is likely to force one to endure Steve Miller’s feculent tune about being a “midnight toker,” the Red Hot Chili Pepper’s feculent cover of Stevie Wonder’s “Higher Ground,” and C&C Music Factory’s unspeakably atrocious “Everybody Dance Now.”

With appalling music like that, it’s no wonder that so many Americans are fat.

As if this aesthetic torture weren’t enough, we are compelled to take in the noxious perambulatory preening of the local gym rats. Each workout facility is home to at least a handful of no-necked pituitary cases that appear to spend their entire waking lives at the gym.

These human peacocks never seem to work out, either. Rather, they simply strut in front of various mirrors, and demonstrate their consummate dedication to physical fitness by greeting other sufficiently in-shape regulars with a variety of grunts.

And then, of course, there’s the gear fancied by most of the ladies. As far as we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” are concerned, posterior penmanship almost makes Peter Frampton seem palatable by comparison. Almost.

As if the risqué gear of the distaff elements in the gym weren’t suitably irksome, there’s always the raunchy piece of nautilus equipment we call “The Yes/No Machine.”

You probably know what we are talking about, dear reader: The machine used only by women and assorted emasculated males that strengthens one’s inner thigh muscles through a spread-eagle-to-close-legged motion. Just looking at that outré contraption is enough to make us deeply uncomfortable.

Naturally, dear reader, the gal utilizing the old “Yes/No Machine” is clad in ridiculously infinitesimal shorts and a sports bra. In essence, she makes Madonna appear like a fusty old prude.

And yet, dear reader, if any man dares to glance in her direction, she shoots back a particularly peevish scowl. Why, imagine the nerve of that fellow, she must be saying to herself. I’m just a scantily-clad gal sitting spread eagle on a piece of exercise equipment. What’s so odd about that?
 
Thursday, May 19, 2005
 

Social Justice Camp


As we recently noted in this space, dear reader, soon the academic year will be over, and your darling little graduate will be working a thankless 9-to-5 job like the rest of us. In addition, said graduate’s sex life will be more or less over. In a few short days, the only thing of his that will be dangling is a participle.

It’s highly unlikely, then, that your functionally illiterate college graduate will be particularly content in the short run. Or, for that matter, in the long run.

Yet why not ensure that your littlest ones fully enjoy their summer? Although your 22-year-old has the blues because he’s no longer majoring in date-rape drugs, there’s no reason why lil’ Johnny can’t have himself a ball.

That’s why we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” strongly exhort you to send your hebetic tykes to the Student Environmental Action Coalition’s Activist Training Camp.

A correspondent from our Bloomington (IN) office recently sent us a flyer for this magnificent Activist Training Camp, and believe you us, it seems as if it’s going to be rip-roarin’ fun.

The kind of fun, in fact, that one can only have watching old Ernest P. Worrell movies. Or at the dentist’s office. Or, better yet, at the local union boss’ office.

As a result, we strongly suggest you forgo Camp Trail of Tears this year in favor of Activist Training Camp. After all, why would a kid want to play tetherball with some noxious suburbanite-in-training when he could be busy “confronting the legacy of racism and other forms of oppression and their manifestations within the environmental movement today”?

We collectively can’t think of a reason either.

So drop your water wings, kids, and get ready for a “two-day anti-racism training, continued with forums for discussing and planning anti-oppression work.”

Sounds a bit oppressive, doesn’t it?

But, heck, we’re entirely sure that it beats the tar out of diving lessons. And just think of all those uplifting Fidel Castro stories you will take in at the campfire! While other kids are troubling themselves with the vicissitudes of Basic Rescue and Water Safety, you left-wing tots will be glorying in the work of Paul Ehrlich. And perhaps you can tell Bjorn Lomborg ghost stories. Fun, fun, fun, eh?

In fact, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” are so enraptured by the Student Environmental Action Coalition’s Activist Training Camp that we decided to come up with a catchy slogan for it:

Go to Student Environmental Action Coalition’s Activist Training Camp: Even the Kids at Fat Camp Will Make Fun of You.
 
Wednesday, May 18, 2005
 

The English Department: Why Study Anywhere Else?


As you may be aware, dear reader, university graduations are drawing apace, and soon your little ne’er-do-well, college diploma in hand, will be re-inhabiting your dank basement. Accordingly, these next few days may well be the end of his carefree years of drinking like an Irish longshoreman and engaging in strenuous bouts of acquaintance rape.

It gets one a bit misty-eyed, doesn’t it?

Yet we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” have taken the last few weeks of the university schedule to prowl around Al Gore’s World-Wide Web in order to keep up with the latest academic fashions. What, we collectively wondered, are hip college professors studying these days? What makes the Middle Eastern Studies Department tick? Other than that package from Hamas, of course.

Naturally, dear reader, one of the best ways to find out what’s au courant in academe is an investigation of dissertation topics. If soon-to-be-unemployed graduate students are studying it, you know it’s chic.

As such, the Official Academic Prowling Department here at “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly” spent well over an hour searching the Internet in the hunt for current dissertation projects at universities in these here United States of America.

During the midst of this investigation, dear reader, the Official Academic Prowling Department came upon a rather interesting conclusion. As far as we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quartery,” can tell, graduate students in English don’t study English literature.

Even more intriguingly, graduate students in Comparative Literature neither write about literature nor compare things.

Perhaps this is a rather old story for those venerable culture warriors among you. Many of today’s academic departments have eschewed their fields’ ostensible subject matters in favor or noxious political hectoring. Hence so many dissertation titles begin with the words “Queering the Other.”

Call us behind the curve, but we still find this a rather odd situation. After all, you don’t very well see Mathematics students writing dissertations on the aesthetics of music. And those in Business Administration don’t tend to write about William Faulkner.

So why do those in English and Comparative Literature feel as if their training miraculously transforms them into experts on practically everything? Why do English professors appear to believe that they are the world’s leading experts on the World Trade Organization, origami, transgender bathrooms, and NASCAR?

The answer, of course, is what contemporary graduate students call—without a trace of irony, alas—theory. Apparently, a few reader-proof pages of Jacques Lacan turn anyone into an instant authority on particle physics, Tampax, neo-conservatism, and the War of 1812.

This has all compelled us, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” to urge universities nationwide to disband all academic departments besides English and Comparative Literature. With these omnipotent experts on board, why would a college require any other faculty members?
 
Tuesday, May 17, 2005
 

Enforcing Inequality—the Magazine


It was a typical Tuesday, dear reader. One of the senior editors here at “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly”—let’s just call him “Chip”—was sitting down to read Workforce Diversity for Engineering and IT Professionals magazine.

In months past, “Chip” spent his Tuesday afternoons perusing Newsweek. Yet, ever since said rag’s biased and inaccurate coverage caused the death of 15 people in Afghanistan, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” have figured that Newsweek was strictly last week. If Newsweek’s famed Conventional Wisdom box featured Newsweek in its section, we have the feeling that the arrow would be pointing down.

And so, dear reader, we have collectively given the heave-ho to News Weak in favor of a more respectable publication. Hence “Chip’s” poring over the Winter 2004/2005 number of Workforce Diversity for Engineering and IT Professionals. After all, “Chip” figured, anything with as catchy a name as that simply has to be a great read.

Unfortunately, dear reader, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” are dismayed to report to you that Workforce Diversity for Engineering and IT Professionals is a bit of a downer. Normally, we are enraptured by pseudo-journalism aimed at enforcing legalized discrimination.

But this time it left us feeling a mite unsatisfied.

And why’s that, you ask? Well, dear reader, “Chip” first noted that the editor of Workforce Diversity for Engineering and IT Professionals is white. How disgraceful!

Granted, dear reader, the editor is a woman. But how are we supposed to take a magazine dedicated to social gerrymandering seriously when its own staff is run by a lily-white college graduate? Come on, Workforce Diversity for Engineering and IT Professionals magazine! Practice what you preach, for crying out loud.

We know what you are thinking, dear reader. Perhaps a white woman is suitably “diverse.”

To which we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quareterly,” respond: Au contraire, you fascist. Workforce Diversity for Engineering and IT Professionals magazine is the outfit of Equal Opportunity Publications, Inc. Couldn’t our friends at this holier-than-thou-sounding publishing outfit find a suitably talented transgender Samoan to run its flagship journal?

After all, dear reader, Equal Opportunity Publications, Inc. is the progenitor of such readable rags as African-American Career World, Careers & the Disabled, Equal Opportunity, Hispanic Career World, Minority Engineer, and Woman Engineer. As far as we’re concerned, such a saintly publisher should only hire quadriplegic Senegalese.

In addition, dear reader, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” don’t find Equal Opportunity Publications, Inc.’s list of titles suitably “diverse.” What’s with the narrow focus on engineers? Doesn’t anyone dig ditches for a living anymore? If you ask us, Equal Opportunity Publications, Inc. is a deeply anti-blue-collar outfit.

That’s where we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” come in. We’re pleased as punch to offer a prospective list of new magazine titles for our friends at Equal Opportunity Publications, Inc.

“The Hatemonger’s Quarterly” Official List of Prospective Magazine Titles for the Unsuitably Diverse Equal Opportunity Publications, Inc.

1. Lesbian Taxidermist Monthly

2. Narcoleptic Polish Big-Game Hunter Quarterly

3. Today’s Zoroastrian Plumber

4. WASP Middle-Management Weekly

5. The Wheel-Chair-Bound Hawaiian Carnie Journal
 
Monday, May 16, 2005
 

Practice Random Acts of Kindness, You Jackass


About a fortnight ago, dear reader, one of the senior editors here at “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly”—let’s just call him “Chip”—found himself at the local food co-operative. “Chip” was in the midst of a search for a bucket full of tofu and a copy of The New Criterion.

Well, dear reader, it turns out that said food co-operative didn’t carry The New Criterion. Apparently, said journal doesn’t prove as popular with the wheat-grass crowd as Yoga Weekly and Urine Therapy Today. Who would have guessed it?

Anyway, whilst scampering around said food co-operative in a vain hunt for soy bean curd and Stefan Beck reviews, “Chip” had an interesting thought. This food co-operative, as the bumper stickers out in its parking lot announced, is home to some of the most Left-of-Dennis-Kucinich folks you’ll find this side of the Harvard faculty club. Why is it, “Chip” contemplated, that everyone here is so uncivil and abrasive?

After all, members of the “Free Mumia” Left are well known for their touting of such feckless slogans as “Practice Random Acts of Kindness,” “Peace Is Patriotic,” and “Make Love, Not War.” Why are so many of these political peaceniks crotchety goons?

This thought triggered “Chip” to ponder related questions. If the MoveOn crowd believes that the United States of America must demonstrate its kindness to the world, why can’t the MoveOn crowd demonstrate its kindness to the poor sods that work at their local food co-operative?

Why must John Bolton be on his very best behavior in his discussions with such peaceable folks as the Saudi Arabian ambassador to the UN, but the Howard Deaniacs can feel free to browbeat a benighted stock boy?

Don’t think this is the case, dear reader? Then we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” propose that you attempt a little experiment.

Everyone knows that food co-operatives are always playing the music of some sort of moribund culture, in order to demonstrate a false sense of kinship with the “oppressed.” Nothing makes a pseudo-revolutionary feel better than some uninspired noodling from a Brazilian favela. It’s the musical equivalent of Ben & Jerry’s “We Destroyed the Rainforest Crunch.”

We humbly exhort you to switch this music with a radio broadcast of Fox News. May we humbly suggest that the “Give Peace a Chance” mob won’t react with great calmness?

As far as we’re concerned, such hypocritical folks should have to pay some sort of price for their random acts of unkindness. Perhaps we could replace their bumper stickers with ones that read “Everyone But Me Should Practice Random Acts of Kindness; I’ll Be Busy Chewing Out an 18-Year-Old Cashier.”

It’s not exactly catchy, but we think it’s much closer to the truth.
 
Friday, May 13, 2005
 

The Noam Chomsky Outsourcing Scandal


Many Americans are undoubtedly aware of Noam Chomsky, the MIT linguist-cum-political propagandist. For decades, the delightful Mr. Chomsky has fashioned himself as a bona fide lefter-than-thou academic guru.

No matter how odious a dictatorship, no matter how disgraceful a regime, Mr. Chomsky is in love with it—provided it has a suitable distaste for America, and its proxy state, Israel.

Smarmy humanities graduate students ineluctably have an infatuation with Mr. Chomsky. They are too enraptured by Baudrillard to know who Pol Pot is, so what’s wrong if Mr. Chomsky has pleasant things to say about the Kmer Rouge? They were pretty good, weren’t they?

Accordingly, various pseudo-avant-garde youngsters are enraptured by Mr. Chomsky’s brazen denunciations of all things American. Mr. Chomsky’s sundry easily-digestible books have become a rite of passage for many of this country’s youth.

His work is the intellectual equivalent of a tongue piercing: It’ll piss off your parents, but it’s totally useless.

In order to demonstrate his deep regard for the poor and oppressed, Mr. Chomsky calls the tony purlieus of Lexington, Massachusetts his home. Sure, he’s hell-bent on an anarchist revolution and all, but he doesn’t actually want to live near poor people. The impoverished are so very sordid.

In short, Mr. Chomsky may prefer the mullocracy of Iran to the “democracy” of the United States, but he also desires to inhabit a town in which one can find a good latte. Even ultra-radical anarchists like smoothies, we suppose.

We, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quartelry,” had reason to reflect on Mr. Chomsky’s career as a radical agitator anew when we took a gander at his “official website,” Chomsky.info.

Frankly, dear reader, we were shocked by what we found. As a card-carrying left-wing political extremist, Mr. Chomsky naturally loathes outsourcing as much as most Americans loathe Lou Dobbs.

And yet, dear reader, Mr. Chomsky has outsourced his own “official website.” As Chomsky.info makes clear, the fledgling “website” is run by a swarthy, shaggy-maned Italian named Pablo Stafforini. Upsetting, isn’t it?

Mr. Stafforini, whose own “webpage” makes clear that he’s the perfect example of a self-impressed tyro, has taken to running Mr. Chomsky’s “official website” for him. And we bet that this poor wog isn’t even being paid.

The Grand Old Man of the radical Left has outsourced his “website” to some intellectually impoverished Italian? How unspeakable!

We, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” officially demand that Mr. Chomsky hire an American worker for his “website.” As any academic knows these days, left-wing professors use their own graduate students as slave labor—not narcissistic Italians.
 
Thursday, May 12, 2005
 

Political Correctness: A Humble Plea


Many of our friends on the political Right are often bleating about the ridiculousness of political correctness. For well nigh two decades—ever since acid wash jeans and Gary Hart were popular (and ever since Michael Hardt was not popular)—conservatives have ridiculed the rise of what they have deemed PC thought control.

Yet we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” happen to think that PC is just fine and dandy. Sure, you can’t refer to your friend Philip as a “homosexual” anymore; rather, thanks to the gift of PC-speak, you have to call him “heterosexually challenged.”

And, sure, you can’t call your African-American friend a “colored person” anymore; rather, you have to label him a “person of color.” For some reason, “colored person” is a ghastly affront and “person of color” is more PC than a transgender wheelchair.

Sounds good to us.

Given our collective esteem for political correctness, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” are devoting today’s humble post to a deeply un-PC phenomenon in contemporary America that has long perturbed us. We hope that this humble post, unlike the UN, can change the world.

Sundry readers are undoubtedly aware of Kraft, the heavenly snack company that brings bundles of joy and Triskets to us all. But perhaps they are unaware that one of Kraft’s popular products is as militantly offensive and anti-PC as it comes.

We refer, naturally, to Cheese Nips, the mouth-watering, orange-hued snack. Perhaps, dear reader, you didn’t know that these savorous bits first received their name shortly after the start of World War II. In fact, their original name makes it crystal clear how insensitive were the executives at Kraft: “Emperor Stinko-Hito’s Fanatical Cheese Nips.”

Obviously, dear reader, these rectangular morsels were meant to be vicious anti-Asian propaganda bits. And darn tasty ones too.

We, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” don’t know about you, dear reader, but we’re offended, distraught, and upset. In fact, we are sufficiently disquieted to launch our own anti-Kraft crusade. Or, better yet, we’ll write the CEO of the Kraft Corporation.

Our letter will go a little something like this.

From: The Crack Young Staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly”
To: The Greedy White Guy Who’s the CEO of Kraft
Re: Your Company’s Complete Insensitivity

Dear Greedy White Guy Who’s the CEO of Kraft,

For many years, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” have been deeply offended by the name of one of your fine products. Frankly, said snack has made it difficult for us to enjoy your manifold savory confections.

We refer, naturally, to Cheese Nips, which you formerly titled “Emperor Stinko-Hito’s Fanatical Cheese Nips.”

To any right-thinking person, this is simply unacceptable. Would you ever dare to upset other minority groups with such offensive snack names? Such as “Chief Longhair’s Fire-Water Biscuits,” or “Guinness”?

Obviously, sir, you would not. Accordingly, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” urge you to change the name of Cheese Nips to the less patently offensive “Cheese Japanese.”

We think you’ll agree that the internal rhyme in “Cheese Japanese” will more than make up for the removal of the old title’s racial slur.

Yours Truly,
The Crack Young Staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly”
 
Wednesday, May 11, 2005
 

Professional Help


For the most part, dear reader, the assorted e-mails we receive at “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly” headquarters are delightful messages of praise, acclamation, and laudation. After all, as pretty much everyone on the World-Wide Web recognizes, dear reader, our humble “website” is the envy of acne-faced twelve-year-olds everywhere.

As we’ve undoubtedly mentioned previously, ours is the kind of “weblog” that men want to be, and women want to be with.

Every once in a great while, however, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quartelry,” come upon a slightly less complementary e-missive. You know the sort of thing we’re talking about, dear reader. An e-epistle that reads something like “You guys suck.” Or, “F*** you.”

Oddly, since such e-mails always contain asterisks, we haven’t any clue what “F***” means. Perhaps we’ll figure it out someday.

Anyway, the few negative reviews our humble “website” receives has given us a certain amount of agitation. We don’t want to come across as a passel of neurotic poofs, but, quite frankly, we’re very troubled. After all, words hurt.

In fact, dear reader, the few negative appraisals of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly” that we’ve received have compelled us to improve the quality of our humble “weblog.”

Perhaps it’s impossible to please everyone all the time. But, heck, John Tesh has done it. And if his saccharine pseudo-Muzak can earn the praise of all and sundry, so can “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly.”

Naturally, dear reader, all we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” require is some professional help.

To this end, we hastily got our collective hands on a copy of Humor: International Journal of Humor Research. This fusty academic rag would provide us with the latest advances in rib-tickling hilarity.

Just take in its mad-cap editorial board. The Editor-in-Chief is Salvatore Attardo, a professor of English at the prestigious Youngstown State University. He’s Italian: What could be funnier than that? And check out that last name, for crying out loud! It’s practically screaming for a pun.

Among the eminences on the editorial board at Humor, dear reader, are such doyens of hilarity as Lawrence E. Mintz of the prestigious University of Maryland, and Willibald Ruch of the prestigious University of Zurich. As far as we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quartelry,” are concerned, nothing’s funnier than Switzerland.

Clearly, then, we were in good hands. As such, we hastily turned to an article that would inspire our latent comic geniuses, our inner Redd Foxxes. Luckily, a 2004 number of Humor is home to a zany-sounding article entitled “Lexical and syntactic ambiguity as a source of humor: The case of newspaper headlines.”

Hmmm, we thought to ourselves. That sounds simply uproarious. It’s author—who was clearly employing a humorous nom de plume—is one Chiara Bucaria. Now that’s comedy. The guy’s (girl’s?) mere name is pretty much the nomenclatural equivalent of a Bob Saget routine.

But then we checked out the paper’s abstract, which reads, in part, as follows:

The paper analyzes some forms of linguistic ambiguity in English in a specific register, i.e. newspaper headlines. In particular, the focus of the research is on examples of lexical and syntactic ambiguity that result in sources of voluntary or involuntary humor. The study is based on a corpus of 135 verbally ambiguous headlines found on web sites presenting humorous bits of information. The linguistic phenomena that contribute to create this kind of semantic confusion in headlines will be analyzed and divided into three main categories of lexical, syntactic, and phonological ambiguity, and examples from the corpus will be discussed for each category.

We know what you’re thinking, dear reader: This isn’t terribly funny. In fact, it makes our lesser lucubrations seem downright hysterical.

And so, dear reader, if you ever think we’re lacking in the humor department, we urge you to check out Humor magazine. Your local paper’s obituary page is likely to be funnier.
 
Tuesday, May 10, 2005
 

The Women’s Center Asks the Tough Questions


Quotidian readers of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly” are probably well aware of iris magazine, the esteemed publication of the University of Virginia’s Women’s Center.

Like pretty much all Women’s Centers at colleges nationwide, UVA’s feminist redoubt is bent on offering more than a source of incessant misandry. In addition, it aims at discussing some of the crucial intellectual questions that college students face.

Or so we gathered from a leaflet we received from a correspondent in our Charlottesville (VA) office. Said correspondent—let’s just call him “Chip”—sent us iris’ latest call for papers. And frankly, dear reader, if it doesn’t establish UVA’s Women’s Center as an intellectual powerhouse, pretty much nothing will.

The leaflet reads as follows:

Pop

Is Britney’s music toxic to your ears or do you see her as a girl-power sex symbol? Do you have a feminist defense of I Want a Famous Face or does the boob job boom make you ill? Are you a People person or does Terry Gross keep you In Touch?

Whether you eat it up or can’t keep it down, we want to hear your take on pop culture. Please send us your stories, articles, poetry, and art for the next issue of iris: Pop.


Pretty serious stuff, is it not? No wonder academicians consider Women’s Centers paragons of intellectual respectability. We, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” are certain that this kind of serious endeavor is fully worthy of massive amounts of student funds. After all, who else is going to ask the deep, important questions?

In fact, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” found iris’ leaflet so compelling that we decided to offer our own humble submission.

Since we’re not much in the way of poetasters, and we draw about as well as the average autistic owl, we decided to compose an essay for the scintillating “Pop” issue of iris. We hope that it fully lives up to the intellectual heft of the entire “Pop” theme.

We call the essay “We, Like, Totally Love Britney,” and it goes a little something like this:

We, Like, Totally Love Britney by the Crack Young Staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly”

We, like, totally love Britney. We mean, come on! She’s so awesome! We would collectively love to move like her!

Anyone who disses Britney is, like, so jealous. It’s not even funny. As if they could move like she does! As if!

And her boob job? Puh-lease. That is like so not the point. She looks great, and she has taught us things that are, like, totally important.

You know, like putting out. And stuff.

Britney makes us feel totally great about ourselves. She’s like our hero, or something. She’s like awesome. In fact, we have all cultivated anorexia in order to, like, be more like her.
 
Monday, May 09, 2005
 

Ultra-Semites?


A junior editor here at “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly”—let’s just call him “Chip”—was recently trolling the World-Wide Web in search of fodder for our inimitably delicious excoriations. In the midst of his e-travels, “Chip” came upon an article on the left-of-Louis-Farrakhan “website” Left Hook that was jaw-droppingly obtuse.

For those of you unfamiliar with Left Hook, let us inform you that it is what those in the journalism business call a “double threat”: It is militantly left-wing, and it calls itself a “youth journal.” Anything penned by world-weary college sophomores-cum-Marxists ought to be good, right?

That’s what we collectively supposed. But then, alas, we took a gander at “Anti-Semitism or Ultra-Semitism?: The Politics of Smears and Self-Absorption,” which was penned by one M. Junaid Alam. Mr. Alam, who is the 22-year-old co-editor of Left Hook, appears to be about as informed on the Middle East conflict as the average semi-retarded iguana.

Think that’s a bit rough? Just check out this mind-bogglingly stupid snippet from his article:

Furthermore, no pro-Palestinian activist cares about Israel one way or the other in the absract. Zionists flatter themselves in thinking otherwise.

Not a single pro-Palestinian activist has an iota of concern regarding the future of Israel? Gosh. Nothing says “I’ve never read anything before in my life because I’m a dribbling, spoon-fed moron” quite like this putrid palaver.

In fact, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” consider the young Mr. Alam so woefully uninformed that we’ve decided to offer him a bit of advice: Check out those loveable scamps in Hamas. If we recall correctly, they have some rather strong feelings about Israel “in the abstract.”

Now that you have an idea of the caliber of writer Mr. Alam is, you are no doubt eager to know what his “Anti-Semitism and Ultra-Semitism?” “thought” piece is all about. Well, it seems to boil down to a defense of every anti-Israeli agitator. According to the esteemed Mr. Alam, each and every anti-Israeli propagandist is not an anti-Semite. There’s not one in the whole lot of them.

We can imagine Mr. Alam going through a mental checklist of potential anti-Semites: David Duke? No. Pat Buchanan? Nope. Osama bin Laden? No, sir.

Mr. Alam seems to believe that anti-Semitism, like unicorns, simply doesn’t exist. In fact, it’s merely an epithet used by evil Zionists, who are, one and all, racists. In order to prove his reasonable point, he gives a curious label to supporters of Israel: “Ultra-Semites.” We, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” suppose that an “ultra-Semite” is just like a regular Semite, yet possesses special Middle-Eastern powers.

Hmmm. This is a rather subtle argument, no? Let’s see if we can get it straight. Not a single anti-Israeli activist is an anti-Semite; every single defender of Israel is a racist.

Well, gee: That’s awfully believable. We’re glad that someone could finally capture all the nuances of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict.
 
Friday, May 06, 2005
 

We (heart) Your Vagina


A few days ago, dear reader, one of the senior editors here at “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly”—let’s just call him “Chip”—saw a bumper sticker that intrigued him. It read: “Feminism Is the Radical Idea That Women Are People.”

Gee, “Chip” thought to himself. Does the owner of this vehicle know anything about the feminist movement? As far as we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” can tell, modern feminism—or postmodern feminisms, if you prefer—has very little to do with establishing the fact that women are human beings.

In fact, not even so-called first wave feminism was dead-set on determining the “humanness” of women; those who opposed it didn’t tend to think women were monkeys, after all. Or even head lice.

So how could any sentient person believe that Women’s Studies professors who are constantly nattering on about the “dyadic mirror phase” and the “male gaze” believe that these cranks are merely suggesting that women are human?

We, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” had reason to reflect on this anew when we took a gander at an eye-catching news item. In its entirety, it reads as follows:

STUDENTS’ PROFESSED LOVE FOR THEIR VAGINA SPARKS SUSPENSION

WINONA, MN. – Two high school students have been suspended for wearing buttons that proclaim “I (heart) My Vagina.” The buttons were apparently inspired by the show, “The Vagina Monologues.”

Student Carrie Rethlefsen saw the show last month. Afterwards, she and her fellow student, Emily Nixon, began wearing the buttons at school. The ACLU has offered to help the students fight the consequences of their actions.

In addition, over 100 students have shown their support for girls by ordering t-shirts that read, “I Love My Vagina” as well as, “I Support Your Vagina.”


We, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quartelry,” are bold enough to postulate that this fiasco has more to do with (post)modern feminism(s) than that whole “Women Are Human Beings” thesis.

And that’s too bad, as far as we’re concerned. For, informal polling around the office water-cooler has determined that pretty much every member of the crack young staff—male and female alike—thinks that women are people. Ted was the lone dissenter, but his notion that women are some strange feline-reptile hybrid didn’t convince anyone.

Now, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” don’t want to leave those people of the feminine persuasion with the misimpression that we don’t want them to (heart) their vaginas. And we, just like granny panties, support your vagina.

But why should women only (heart) their vaginas? Why stick to using one suit in the deck?

We, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” believe that those rabid teenage feminists in Winona, Minnesota should print up a few other T-shirts, with slogans such as:

“I (spade) My Vagina”

and

“I (club) My Vagina.”

Now there’s some slogans Bridget Newman could support.
 
Thursday, May 05, 2005
 

The “Hatemonger’s Quarterly” Second Annual Horrible College-Student Poetry Contest: And the Winner Is…


At last, dear reader, the moment you have been waiting for with bated breath (and baited breasts) has arrived. We, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” are prepared to announce the winner of our Second Annual Horrible College-Student Poetry Contest.

Frankly, dear reader, we thought that this moment might never come. Since this humble “weblog” has a colossal and fanatical fan base, you would undoubtedly expect that our humble contest would draw a lot of entries. But, to be totally honest, dear reader, we didn’t know that we were collectively this big. We’re like the Wilt Chamberlain of Blogger, for crying out loud.

As a result, our official contest judge and poet of the ages, Anonymous, was bombarded with a veritable cornucopia of submissions. The situation soon proved so overwhelming, in fact, that we were compelled to hire an assistant, Unknown, who’s a dandy of a poet in his own right.

Naturally, dear reader, it took days and days for Anonymous and Unknown to sift through the treacle that was our lofty submissions pile. Given the fact that both Anonymous and Unknown have managed to acquire sinecures in English departments at fancy universities, it’s the first lick of real work they’ve done in well-nigh two decades.

The job proved so toilsome that Anonymous and Unknown almost passed it on to their impoverished graduate students. As anyone who is familiar with contemporary academia knows, college professors are incessantly bleating about the “oppression” of peoples thousands of miles away from them; meanwhile, however, they don’t seem troubled by their own oppression of feckless, underpaid graduate students.

But enough of our saucy impertinence. Before we get to the awards presentation, dear reader, we must offer a word of condolence for those of you who offered up a poem, and do not find yourselves among the winners. Unfortunately, your number is legion.

We received so much atrocious balladry that we simply couldn’t recognize everyone’s excruciating non-talent. Rest assured, however, that your poem was terrible, although not sufficiently horrible to receive specific mention. There, don’t you feel better?

With that in mind, dear reader, we can move on to the big winners.

THIRD RUNNER-UP:

This year’s third runner-up is none other than Gordon, the Internet dynamo also known as the Cranky Neocon. (And, no, we didn’t call him “the Internet dynamo also known as the Cranky Neocon” in order to compel Gordon to quote us on the “Critics Rave” portion of his “website.”) Gordo’s abysmal poem is the following (as is the case with all of the poems we received, all of the errors are presumably intentional):

Under The Florescent Moon by Gordon

Dull glowing,
never changing.
I see the eternal glow
of the florescent light
above my cubicle.

The landscape of corporatist dehumanization
like a box without hinges, key or lid.
Yet inside a soul is hid.

I work for the Man.


Pretty wretched, n’est pas? Even so, we thought that this poem offers the impression that the average college student is far more farsighted than he actually is. After all, this piece of doggerel presumes that said college student understands that he will eventually work for a living. This quotidian reality tends not to dawn upon the composer of collegiate verse, who seems to believe that organic chemistry is as trying as life can become. All the same, we simply loved the “landscape of corporatist dehumanization” line.

SECOND RUNNER-UP:

The second runner-up is one Mona Narstan, a woman who seems to be in tune with the literary theory side of the undergraduate experience.

Not For $ale by Mona Narstan

not mine; not yours;
Can’t be bought,
can’t pay for it;
“your money means nothing here”;

you can’t just ignore me!
you can’t just ignore she !
you can’t just ignore he!

you can’t pay for silance—the bombastic bombs shatter sensless selfishness.
.
.
.

WAKE UP!!
don’t you see?

don’t –YOU—SEE?

there’s something bigger there
than you
than me
REALITY

(a)wake to global consisiousness


Ah, that’s the stuff! Delicious misspellings; hackneyed clichés; pathetic use of parenthesis—it’s all here! Clearly, the first runner-up and the contest winner must have produced some vomit-worthy balladry.

FIRST RUNNER-UP:

A fellow who goes by the name Commander Cool sent us a particularly wretched verse that well earns first runner-up status.

What is real? by Commander Cool

Whats real?
What IS real?

Is it a film reel?
An even keel?
Or is it an OIL steal?

Sometimes we all feel
Alone and afeared
But none so like those
Wiping away Zionist tears

They tell us are God gave us the land
But then why is it also claimed by those people from sand
-y places that have there own God and he gave it to them too?…
I ask you.

A crow shrieks in the darkness
No one heres it
But a small child weeping

Is war real?
Or is WAR real?

When the sheeple finally open their eyes

we’ll.

look around one bright day and wonder;
What Isreal?


Darn, that’s good stuff. It’s simply spot-on. The grammatical lapses are just right. And the failed attempt to indict Israel through an inept play-on-words (“Isreal”) is simply sublime. Who could possibly top this piece of garbage?

THE WINNER

Regular readers of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly” won’t be surprised to learn that the man who came out on top is Michael E. Lopez, Esq., a fellow with an uncanny knack for parodying atrocious collegiate poetry. Since the esteemed Mr. Lopez, Esq. won last year’s contest, Anonymous and Unknown were loath to toss him another crown. But we simply couldn’t offer runner-up status to the following piece, which is clearly another minor masterpiece of satire:

be a man by Michael E. Lopez, Esq.


my Ears burn with blood as
BusHitler walks across the stage (bodies)
smiles stolen
from the crowds and raped childrenhoods
here and elsewhere in his their
Patriarchal Hegemony

his their limpid cocks
shining grease from domination
gotta be a man
strip the snowy vistas
shackle up your womb (bodies)
force his their seed to grow on tax breaks for the top two percent



?why me?
i never knew his their family
?why me?
i never was rich my parents struggled
vacations in provoh not aspen
?why me?
i always loved my dog and fed him
and wept for Etheopia and Sudan (bodies)
?why me?
i only think the silent truth
words that he they dont want to hear
love beauty moon touch gentle
and truth to power
fuck him then

lots of U.S. deserve the pain and pillage
supersized lives drenched in a desert of misery
grown fat on the cries of pain we see
not me but lots of U.S.

but he they dont care if we deserve it
bend over
it hurts
march into the ovens, the Patriot Acts (bodies)
just because
and become an ash coating the
screaming shrieking desolation

of the amerikkan dream (so many bodies)



Oh, man! All we can say is, hand that man his award! What heavenly hokum! What fabulous feculence!

We, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” are delighted to crown Michael E. Lopez, Esq. the reigning champion of our Horrible College-Student Poetry Contest.

Can this man be beaten? We suppose we’ll find out next year.
 
Wednesday, May 04, 2005
 

Ten Maoists To the Rescue


Many citizens of these here United States of America are undoubtedly familiar with Ward Churchill, the erstwhile chair of Ethnic Studies at the University of Colorado at Boulder. Mr. Churchill, who claimed to be a bona fide Native American, turns out to be as authentically Native American as Silvio Berlusconi.

But Mr. Churchill’s chief claim to fame is an incendiary article, in which he compared the victims of 9/11 to reviled Nazi war criminal Adolf Eichmann. Since this charming example of professorial obtuseness came to light, Mr. Churchill has been the whipping boy of many conservative pundits and columnists.

The American Left, to its credit, has mostly kept its mouth shut: Churchill is obviously a moral cretin, and there seems to be little reason to defend his vacuous sermonizing.

That is, dear reader, until now. Recently, the headquarters of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly” received the April 15-30, 2005 number of MIM Notes: The Official Newsletter of the Maoist Internationalist Movement (MIM). And said issue offers a ringing endorsement of Mr. Churchill’s “thought.”

We know what you are thinking, dear reader: Now that a respected heavy-hitter in the American political establishment has backed Ward Churchill, the unsavory likes of The Wall Street Journal editorial page and Bill O’Reilly are bound to back off.

After all, this is the celebrated Maoist Internationalist Movement we’re talking about. This isn’t some pathetic grouping of the lunatic fringe in support of a manifestly discredited ideology. No, sir! These are the folks who label America “Amerika,” call women “wimmin,” and even rail against Hillary Klinton. No passel of marginalized kooks here.

For those of you unaware of the political and cultural power that is the Maoist Internationalist Movement, we refer you to a discussion we offered some time ago in this space on MIM’s stirring film reviews. It seems as if our friends at MIM found Patch Adams insufficiently revolutionary.

That’s funny: We, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quartelry,” didn’t like Patch Adams either. But it didn’t have anything to do with its insufficiently “progressive” message. Rather, we thought that it sucked. And, to make matters worse, Robin Williams was in it; he makes all thoughtful people immediately break out in hives.

Clearly, dear reader, the Maoist Internationalist Movement is a force to be reckoned with. Or, as our grammatical sticklers would put it, it is a force with which to be reckoned.

And so, dear reader, it was with great excitement that we read “Report from Boston Campaign for Churchill,” which offers a scintillating look at MIM’s Bay State protest in favor of the inflammatory ersatz Indian.

The first sentence of said article speaks volumes about the political wrecking ball that is MIM:

CAMBRIDGE, MA April 16—The rally for Ward Churchill at Harvard University had a disappointing turnout of 10 people, but the basis for future work is in place with hundreds of Boston area signatures collected and a five digit figure of posters, flyers and newspapers going out.

10 measly people? Oh, come on: Mao killed more than 10 people every quarter second. What kind of Communist movement has less public support than a Benedict Arnold fan club?

If you can’t get more than 10 people to join your Maoist organization in the People’s Republic of Cambridge, what chances do you have outside Massachusetts’ answer to Stalingrad?

But just wait, dear reader: The article somehow manages to become even more humorous:

Not all reactions to the Ward Churchill campaign are positive. One passer-by said Ward Churchill “should be executed.” One womyn [sic] walking through Harvard Yard said she wished she could fire him herself and another womyn [sic] said much the same.

Well, gee. Some people don’t take too kindly to Mr. Churchill’s likening of the victims of terrorism to Nazis. Who would have thunk it?

We suppose that MIM, when it takes over the world, will have these people killed first.
 
Tuesday, May 03, 2005
 

Support Their Troops


We, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” have noted that many of our friends on the radical Left have become irritated by the “Support Our Troops” stickers found on the backsides of countless vehicles. To the Tariq Ali and Noam Chomsky crowd, such demonstrations of endorsement for the American military industrial complex are simply beyond the pale. (Or, for that matter, the pail.)

Yet our friends on the radical Left, for all their militant hatred for the American military, seem deeply concerned about being labeled “unpatriotic.” Never mind the fact that we have never heard anyone label them “unpatriotic”; that doesn’t seem to work its way into the equation at all.

In fact, as far as we can tell, the radical Left in the USA is so obsessed with seeming patriotic that they’re well-nigh jingoistic. Accordingly, their automobiles proudly tout bumper stickers with inane slogans such as “Peace Is Patriotic.”

To which we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” respond: Not if your country has been attacked, you dolt.

And this brings us to our topic for today. We, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” hoped that we could aid our friends on the radical Left. We figured that we could design a bumper sticker for their sundry Volvos and Saabs that would counter the “Support Our Troops” stickers, which they consider so offensive.

Yet this, dear reader, presents something of a problem. What kind of bumper sticker referring to military affairs would both appeal to the American radical Left and seem suitably patriotic? It’s not an easy question to answer, is it, smarty pants?

After all, pretty much anyone can come up with clever lefty bumper stickers. You know, the ones with catchy slogans like “I’m a Democrat Opposed to the Spread of Democracy,” or “Saddam Hussein Is My Kind of Democrat,” or “Somewhere in Texas There’s a Village Missing its Idiot, and That Idiot Keeps on Defeating My Political Candidates of Choice.”

But those kinds of stickers aren’t very well going to cancel out all those “Support Our Troops” banners, now are they?

First, one of the senior editors here at “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly”—let’s just call him “Chip”—came up with an idea: A sticker that reads “Support Our Troops: Abolish the American Military.” But then it occurred to us that forcing all those poor soldiers into unemployment lines wasn’t so, in a word, patriotic.

And then it collectively hit us. We, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” want to market our own “Support Their Troops” bumper stickers. We think they’ll prove extremely popular with our friends on the radical Left.

And unlike all those other radical lefty stickers—“Howard Dean for President,” “Feminists for the Taliban”—these stickers will never become obsolete. For, regardless of the conflict in which the United States is involved, our friends on the radical Left ineluctably support the opposition’s troops.

So, with “Support Their Troops” stickers plastered on their Range Rovers, radical lefties can demonstrate their undying patriotic zeal. For Iran.
 
Monday, May 02, 2005
 

Open Minds, Open Legs


Imagine, dear reader, that a creature from outer space—let’s just say the planet Mars—could only learn about the greenish-blue orb we refer to as the earth from personal advertisements found in newspapers.

Let us further suppose that said Martian—let’s just call him “Chip”—quickly mastered the elaborate set of abbreviations that go hand in hand with the personal ads. You know, somehow he figured that HPTW stands for “height proportionate to weight,” and REROH means “really enjoys riboflavin on holiday.”

We, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” have the feeling that said Martian would get a very strange idea of our world from his investigation of personal advertisements. But that’s not to say that said Martian would be misinformed about everything.

We, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” had reason to reflect on this uninteresting and unlikely hypothetical situation, thanks to a personal advertisement one of our interns espied.

Now, dear reader, before you get the wrong impression, let us note that one of our interns is specifically assigned to “personal ads duty,” and must scour national and international newspapers in search of material. Said intern—let’s just call him “Chip”—is not some sort of desperate loser.

We’re glad we got that off of our collective chests. Now we feel much better.

Anyway, dear reader, we have taken you through this lengthy, meandering, longwinded, and vaguely unhelpful introduction for an important reason. We feel as if the personal ad that “Chip” came upon says much about the current state of American culture.

The following is a reasonable facsimile of said advertisement:

Herpes-Hindered

If you know what that’s like, we’ve already got something in common. Smart, sexy, free-spirited critical thinker, 39, seeks long-term love. Please be leftist, into books, films, changing the world.

We know what you are thinking, dear reader: This chick sounds mighty classy. In fact, we found it surprising that such a critical thinker who aims to “change the world” would be herpes-stricken. Who would have thought that she would be a leftist?

Clearly, this advertisement says a great deal about the current state of American politics. We don’t want to make assumptions based on anecdotal evidence, but we think that this ad makes clear that every Democrat has herpes.

As far as we can tell, this lady’s sufficiently “free-spirited” to have a nasty sexually transmitted disease, but insufficiently “free-spirited” to enjoy the company of a conservative.

Hey: We all have our limits. Hers just happens to be right after herpes, and right before conservative.

And just imagine how glorious it would be to have a relationship with Ms. Herpes. Sure, you may not enjoy each other’s presence. You may even grow to detest one another. But, heck, you both have herpes, and that’ll always keep you close.

Frankly, dear reader, if we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” had herpes, we would compose a personal ad that looked a heck of a lot different from Ms. Herpes’ scribbling. Our advertisement would look more like the following:

Looking for Lover, Cure

If you know what it’s like to have herpes, then you are probably as “free-spirited” as we are. Crack young staff with inclination for making horrible decisions regarding our personal lives seeks long-term love, cure for herpes. Please be leftist, into books, films, changing the world. Also, please discover a cure for herpes.
 

Heterodox views for the beleaguered hatemonger.

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