Department of Hate

I still hate you

2008-09-04T10:02:00.000Z

That's right. Ol' Snotty's been down for more than a year, battling ulcers caused by the stress of your putrid existence. But I'm back, I'm bipedal, I'm biding my time, biased as ever and bygones will not be bygones. By God, watch this space.

A Trip to Work

2006-12-12T13:37:00.000Z

Beside me: a woman, asleep, mouth open, huge teeth, copy of Lonely Planet Morocco on her lap. Same woman that was on the train home last night, sitting beside me, asleep, mouth open, same book.

Opposite me: young bloke, gangsta, legs as wide as he can get them, backpack on, hand crassly down his grey sweatpants, won't budge an inch for the person that tries to sit down next to him.

On the platform: a guy in a grey and pink scarf huffing because someone's trying to get down the stairs into the crowd. He had trainers that exactly matched his scarf.

There's no hope for anyone.

Mailbag of Hate

2006-11-23T15:36:00.000Z

A reader writes:

Hello. I'm new to this whole Department of Hate thing, but I thought I'd chip in and share some things I hate. Not share as in let you have a piece of, no, that would be impossible although quite useful as then I'd have less of the things I hate in my life and you'd have more, which would be fine by me. Ha ha, no, that was a joke. Here is the real anecdote, trust me its very good and very full of hate.

So I am at work and I am doing my best to mind my own business, keep my head down, get on with the job etc but this guy keeps bothering me. He really annoys me, this guy. All day he's been bothering me. I mean, initially, he was ok. In fact, initially he gave me some money, which was nice, but then he just kept hanging around afterwards looking at me expectantly. It was a really awkward situation, what with the hanging around and the expectant looking and everything. So I avoided his eyes as best I could. After about half an hour or so of me avoiding his eyes as best I could, which I discovered was easiest done by shutting mine and singing in like a low voice and stuff? Well, after about half an hour of that he started coming right up to the counter and banging on it and saying that I owe him a hamburger and generally causing a ruckus. Having to deal with weirdos like this at work, this is what I hate.

'Listen,' I told him eventually, after he had gone on banging on the counter for an hour or so and my head was getting sore and the hamburgers behind me were rattling in their chutes. 'There are people here, mentioning no names, who are trying to keep their heads down and get on with their lives and so on and what you are doing is interrupting and spoiling it for everyone, i.e. me' . Unfortunately the guy had like a total lack of sympathy, or ability to empathise with the plight of others such as myself because at this point he started screaming and beating the counter with his fist some more and kept on with this whole crazy me owing him a hamburger thing.

As I am myself not lacking in the sympathy and/or empathy departments I felt sorry for him in a way, and not just because his face was slowly going a horrible red colour, possibly because he was tearing at his skin and rolling his eyes and making these low, weird moaning sounds as he pointed at the hamburgers behind me. I remember thinking, as I munched on my own hamburger, that this guy really needed to sort out his expectations in life. All this unreasonable hamburger-wanting was bound to cause unhappiness and anger and/or distress. You need to reassess some of your goals and priorities viz hamburger ownership, I told him. You need to move 'hamburger' from the box marked 'want' to the box marked 'can't have'. Then you'll be a lot happier. Sadly, he was too busy punching the large plastic clown that stands in the corner of the entrance of my work and crying to even bother paying attention to the important advice I had to say. I suppose this just goes to show some people are just too selfishly wrapped up in their own misery to accept help no matter how hard you try.

I remain yours etc.

Name and address supplied

Do YOU have a hateful experience to report? Email the Department of Hate at deptofhatemail AT gmail DOT com!

UPDATE! In comments, drooling sextagenarian troll Dave "Abe Simpson" Duff attempts unbelievably lame and predictable slight against the Department, appears to soil self in the process. File under colostomy bag mishaps.

In Memoriam: Jack Palance

2006-11-19T15:56:00.000Z

NON-SEQUITURS OF THE COMING DOOM

Sunday morning - there's a show on channel 5 about Sophie, the vicar's daughter. At dinner they stand on their chairs and sing "thank you god for this food, thank you god for this food, thank you gooooooo......oooood. Thankyougodforthisfood, dun dun du-dun". Sophie says when singing in the choir, make sure your voice doesn't drown out everyone else's. When the sermon gets too long you just "fiddle with your fingers". Her voice is that of a young Thatcher. She gets bullied because her dad's a vicar and wears a a dog collar. She prays for the bullies at church and tries to tell them that jesus loves them anyway. She has a guinea pig. She is only allowed eat sweets on Sunday at a particular time of the day as a special treat. She is only allowed watch half an hour tv a day and only on BBC programmes vetted by her parents. She only likes spiritual music. She knows "god's true" because "she has proved herself". The theme tune of the show is a strange drum and bass thing. The show was supposed to be about "Rosie, who has autism".

Nicholas Cage's face became odd and his hair became a wire wool wisp after he started calling himself Nicholas rather than Nick. Laurence Fishburne got fat and his face became more pock-marked when he stopped calling himself Larry. And Charlie Sheen's jaw got smaller when he tried calling himself Charles.

I don't trust people whose arms don't swing when they walk.

There are more mad people in Brockwell Park than Clissold Park. I saw a dude in Brockwell Park hiding in the bushes and hissing. He was holding a shower rail. A woman was talking to herself. I allowed myself a moment's hope that she was talking on a hands free kit. She had a bandage dangling from her leg. That was yesterday

Abandoned petrol stations should be a thing of joy, but they are not.

Recently I found myself being genuinely appalled when a newspaper article informed me that DfES was considering allowing kids to write english exam papers in text speak so long as it was clear they understood the material.

Snakes shed their eyelids.

There is a warning on the packaging of Mothercare "fun dough". It says "Remember, babies and young children have no idea what is dangerous or potentially harmful"

Condoleeza Rice. Paula Radcliffe.

Chris Cornell sings the new bond theme song.

Celebrity scissorhands. Sunday Grandstand's theme tune. The Nativity Story hits cinemas on December 9th. "Now... experience the first christmas". Your chopping board harbours 50 times more bacteria than your toilet seat. Peter Andre and Jordan have a single out. It's a cover of "A Whole New World" from Disney's Aladdin. A stylist knows that before something hot touches hair, it must be protected. A diver scared rigid by sharks undergoes shark therapy tonight at 6.30 on Channel 5.

Inside today's Mail on Sunday... a Madness CD called "The Edge of the Universe and Beyond"... Part 1.

Christopher Hitchens. Marmite. Allo Allo.

My brother once put pickle juice on his chips thinking it was vinegar. There's an undertakers in Streatham that looks like a burnt pub.

Someone, somewhere, right now, is giving someone a brazilian wax. That is their job.

Quiz Time: How Rotten Is Rumsfeld?

2006-08-31T13:16:00.000Z

I hear that Donald Rumsfeld is having trouble sleeping. Time for a quick game of "fill in the blanks", I think.

FALLON NAVAL AIR STATION, Nev. (AP) -- Defense Secretary Donald H. Rumsfeld said yesterday that he is deeply troubled by ________________.

"That's the thing that keeps me up at night," he said during a question-and-answer session with about 200 naval aviators and other U.S. Navy personnel at this flight training base for Navy and Marine pilots.

Any guesses? Here's a few of his greatest hits to get you started:

Answer here.

Good Idea. How 'Bout Some Sort of Armband?

2006-08-17T13:27:00.000Z

For the love of fuck:

A new Gallup poll finds that many Americans -- what it calls "substantial minorities" -- harbor "negative feelings or prejudices against people of the Muslim faith" in this country.

...

Almost four in ten, 39%, advocate that Muslims here should carry special I.D.

Hey ho. Welcome to fascism, meatheads!

Of course, there are many out there that would snort with laughter at the idea that our sophisticated industrialized societies (not unlike a certain "advanced political community with a highly trained, tightly disciplined police and civil service bureaucracy" discussed here) could possibly be responsible for such mass hatred. Luckily, these will be the same hysterical fucking halfwits that believe that "The West" is under any serious existential threat from a couple of dozen teenagers armed with some funky shampoo and no fucking passports, so their arguments can be safely disregarded like the racist ballhair they are.

Roy Edroso has some more 39-percenters for you in case you’re not depressed enough yet.

Thoughts on Animal Welfare

2006-08-15T14:37:00.000Z

A Proposal

So I was sitting on the can earlier thinking about the terrible plight of animals worldwide and it occurred to me that, while humans may continue to make improvements in the way we treat animals, the problem mainly stems from the way that we view animals vis-à-vis ourselves. And that will not change unless we stop crapping in little cubicles.

Since the second world war, during which, studies later estimated, only 15-20% of soldiers actually fired their weapons at the enemy, American military planners have recognised that in order to get your soldiers to kill you must encourage them to view the opposing force as less than human. The opposite is true for the relationship between homosapiens and the rest of the animal kingdom, but the principal is the same: in order to justify our cruelty we must de-animalise ourselves.

Clearly, for real change to occur it is necessary for this state of affairs to be tackled directly. This is why I am proposing, to Peta or the WWF or whoever, the following two-pronged campaign strategy for 2007:

1. We will lobby for the cubicles in all public buildings must be dismantled. No more shall we deny our essential identities as members of the animal kingdom, and no longer shall we be allowed to hide our basic bodily functions in shame. This will force us to confront the disgraceful dichotomy between the respect that we afford our own species and the lack of same that our brethren in the "non-cubicled" animal kingdom have suffered under for so long.

2. We will campaign, by way of petition, for a new UN resolution which will officially recognise human beings as pissing, shitting animals.

Alternatively, we could run a "Cubicles for Cattle" campaign, maybe, or at least get the other animals some trousers. Whatever, I haven’t worked out all the details yet, but in any case I am proud to be able to count myself as the first to add my name to this campaign.

Will you join me?

Just, Uh, Y'know - Be Careful

2006-08-11T23:51:00.000Z

Israel wants hastened shipment of US rockets

WASHINGTON (Reuters) - Israel has asked the Bush administration to hasten delivery of short-range anti-personnel rockets armed with cluster munitions, which it could use to strike Hizbollah missile sites in Lebanon, The New York Times reported on Friday.

Sourcing its report to two American officials, the newspaper said the request for M-26 artillery rockets, which are fired in barrages and carry hundreds of grenade-like bomblets that scatter and explode over a broad area, is likely to be approved shortly.

But the newspaper said some State Department officials want to delay approval because the rockets, while likely effective against hidden missile launchers, would also likely cause civilian casualties if used against targets in populated areas.

...

The shipment might be approved along with a directive to Israel that it must be especially careful about firing the rockets into populated areas, a senior official told the paper.

No News Today

2006-08-11T15:50:00.000Z

lenin:

…the first allegation of a threat of a potential attack in Britain at some unspecified point in the future, and suddenly we are encouraged to luxuriate in the fantasy prospect of annihilation ... The Blitzkrieg is upon Beirut, but we are supposed to imagine that little Nazis are flying over our heads

Channel 4 news last night was basically 50 minutes of Krishnan Guru Murphy standing in front of Heathrow pulling shit out of his arse, repeating over and over the scant details that we think we know, and going live to the C4 reporter waiting anxiously outside Scotland Yard every now and then in the hope that he might have even half a story yet, and what struck me about the whole affair was what a disgustingly privileged bunch of cunts we really are. "Luxuriate", says lenin, above, and that's exactly what's going on. We are positively wallowing in this shit. Isn't it all so fucking exciting?

Of course I realise that all of this sound and fury bullshit is intended to frighten me and my quaking bowels into crap-panted acquiescence, but honestly? I've never felt so fucking safe in my life. An entire programme dedicated to something that DID NOT EVEN ACTUALLY OCCUR is a fucking luxury indeed, available only to those who don’t have to wake up every day and deal with the rubble and ruined bodies of their friends and relatives. The two or so minutes of air-time they managed to find for images of smouldering Lebanon – no thrilling potential threats and close-shaves there, just actual daily death and destruction - only served to underline that fact.

Even terrorism of the unhyped variety isn’t a threat to us if we’re already good as dead.

Duty

2006-08-04T16:10:00.000Z

Marthambles:

An unspecified illness, "known as the marthambles at sea and griping of the guts by land" [NC]. Patrick O?Brian is said to have seen the word on a pamphlet of the era by the quack doctor, Dr Tufts. It appears to be contagious and deadly to Pacific islanders.

Drunken Blogging (Remix)

2006-07-24T21:46:00.000Z

While waiting with great excitement for JOEL F KINNEY to deal most severely with my quivering ass, I decided to fill the ridiculous clown void by paying another visit to Drunken Blogging, home of chubby idiot j0nz and indispensable one-stop shop for those of us who like to know what's going on inside the tiny minds of all the slope-browed bigots that shuffle amongst us.

Unsurprisingly, there ain't much going on at all, if j0nz's latest is anything to go by.

Here, in attempting to deal with the complexities of the conflict in the Middle East, he reveals his method in admirably stark and honest terms: "I've been searching the net for hours for a good comment piece that reflects my feelings (I am woefully inarticulate and lack a public school education!)".

Translated from the arsehole-ese, this means: "Because I am basically a total raging moron, I have been hitting Google up for thoughts and opinions that I can cut and paste on to my blog as if they were my own". (And no, I've no idea why he thinks that articulacy is dependent on a public school education, either.)

The part about seeking an article that "reflects [his] feelings" is merely a neat update on the old playground ruse that goes "Wow! I was just about to say that myself", and the "feelings" that he's referring to are essentially just his prejudices and bigoted beliefs, although he would no doubt prefer us to believe that he is referring to his carefully considered philosophical musings. Just have another look at his fucking face again, and you should be disabused of that notion pretty goddamn sharpish.

Once he has found a suitable article (in this case, one that attempts to pre-emptively justify further civilian deaths not only in Lebanon, but also in Syria and Iran, through the "attacking targets of strategic value to Hezbollah which are located in non-Hezbollah areas") he then lifts it wholesale, without comment or criticism, and drops it like a hot turd right on the front of his blog. His only contribution is, quite unbelievably, to FUCKING COLOUR IT IN. If he could, he'd probably fill in the enclosed parts of the letters with a chewed up pencil, too, while desperately trying to conceal a spontaneous erection underneath the desk.

It also comes as no surprise that j0nz is so fucking stupid that he even needs his racism explained to him in pictorial form. He points to the following "diagram" in an effort to explain the staggering difference between Israeli and Lebanese casualties:

I'm not going to sit here and explain why this picture fucking sucks a bunch of cocks, but it's probably worth pointing out that it's not much use hiding behind a pram if your opponent is just going to bomb the shit out of everything in site anyway. Indeed, I might humbly suggest that the huge discrepancy in casualties maybe has a little bit more to do with, y'know, massive aerial bombardment by Israel of civilian areas in Lebanon than it has to do with any sneaky cartoon baby buggy hiding techniques. But what the fuck I do I know? Maybe I'll look for some guy on the internet who says something about this and borrow his shit, then you'll be sorry.

It's not all bad news, though. Maybe j0nz isn't such a lost cause after all - I'm thinking that the more altruistic among us might use his obvious preference for pretty pictures to try and communicate with him a little. By way of getting the ball-rolling, I thought I'd remix the right hand side of his picture to more accurately reflect the reality of the current situation.

See, it's all about talking to them on their level. And hey, j0nz? If this approach doesn't work I have a picture of my about-to-be-sued ass that you can print out and kiss.

"I Am Not A Rube", Says Rube

2006-07-22T21:50:00.000Z

Now in session: JOEL F KINNEY v MY ASS

JOEL F KINNEY is a grown man who spends a significant amount of his spare time pretending that he is fighting in the Vietnam war as 2nd Lieutenant of a made up platoon. Despite this, JOEL F KINNEY takes himself very fucking seriously indeed. In 2003, Rube Watch, the embryonic Department, posted an uncharacteristically restrained bit about the faintly disturbing practice of war re-enactment (which is essentially just like the children’s game of Cowboys & Indians, except with outwardly sane-looking human adults, real guns (or so I am reliably informed) and an absurdly inflated sense of self-importance) during which the rubism of one JOEL F KINNEY was briefly highlighted.

In keeping with his habit of fighting his battles many years after they have actually ended, JOEL F KINNEY has finally returned fire on the now defunct Rube Watch. He writes:

As humorous as your page may be, it is truly sad that you do not get the purpose of why many of us participate in War re-enacting. You actually have no right to make an educated judgement when you obviously have no expertise in the area and know NOTHING personally about myself or anyone associated with my organization. Although I am sure there are a few re-enactment groups that live out some sick fantasy, I assure you ours is not. Do not let your ignorance get in the way of enlightenment as there is a little truth in all things. You obviously have no clue what truth is or you would check yourself and shut your mouth. If you would actually take a second and read our mission statement, you would see that we are hardly Rubes. We wish to honor those who have not been honored. Our group does rifle firing details (that is a 21 gun salute for idiots like yourself) for the Vietnam Veteran's War Memorial every year. We would not do what we do if it were not for the support and endorsement of Vietnam Veterans themselves. The battle re-enactment is just a very small portion of what we do. We volunteer our time and services all the time for special events, parades and memorials. All of which is for free and without re-embursement of our time away from work and family. I ask you... when was the last time you took the time to give of yourself to something bigger than you, or are you too busy making fun of people who you know nothing about to make you feel better about your ugly face? You couldn't be farther off course. Our events are for our Fathers and brothers! One last thing, OUR GUNS AREN'T FAKE, THEY ARE REAL YOU IDIOT! I will give you one chance to remove my name from the site or I will sue your ass! I have several Vietnam War veteran friends who are attorneys who would love nothing more than to sue you for defamation of character just out of principle!

This is, of course, fucking great stuff. I would like to thank JOEL F KINNEY for brightening up my hangover by being such a giant polesmoker, but I am a little disappointed that Rube Watch’s first threatened defamation suit is for such a relatively tame piece. I mean, where is JOEL F KINNEY defamed in Slitzy’s post, really? Where’s the false statement about JOEL F KINNEY which causes him to suffer harm? That he’s an "asshole"? Is that it?

Well that's just an opinion, and one which I happen to share: I think that JOEL F KINNEY is a fucking asshole and pompous fool. So what? What harm have I caused JOEL F KINNEY to suffer? JOEL F KINNEY’s lawyer friends should probably tell him to stop going around making pathetic threats of lawsuits against stupid 3-year old blogposts, but then they are Vietnam war re-enactors too and therefore clearly a bunch of fucking idiots, so who knows kind of fucked up advice they are giving him. In any case, they are more than welcome to contact the Department’s lawyer, Professor Lovehandle, at deptofhatemail at gmail dot com.

Slitzy could have gone much further. For instance, I imagine that JOEL F KINNEY is the sort of man who, like our old buddy (and real marine) Partisan Pundit, doesn’t like to have his sexuality questioned. So Slitzy might have pointed out that any grown man who puts that many photos of himself looking like America's Next Top GI Model on the internets is clearly a giant homosexual. In fact, JOEL F KINNEY’s macho poses are merely a boner shot removed from those of original Military Stud Jeff Gannon (notwithstanding the fact that JOEL F KINNEY is, himself, a fucking boner). Both Jeff and JOEL F KINNEY are basically trying to get other men to look at them, because you can guarantee that no self-respecting woman is ever going to spend any amount of time looking at pictures of a bunch of po-faced clowns squatting in a forest pretending to listen out for imaginary gooks. In fact, just ask JOEL F KINNEY: "Our events are for our Fathers and brothers", he tells us proudly, just after admitting that he frequently gives of himself to something larger than him.

"JOEL F KINNEY is posing for the boys", Slitzy might have opined, but of course he did not. Neither did he point out the inherent gayness of a bunch of guys running around in the woods blowing the shit out of each other, but none of this would have amounted to a case for defamation anyway, so JOEL F KINNEY can basically stick his lawsuit up his fucking cunt.

Case dismissed.

UPDATE! Slitzy responds!

Bloggers 1, Military Industrial Complex 0

2006-06-29T12:57:00.000Z

Daily Kos guy speaks:

MY GIRLFRIEND JUST FOUND OUT ABOUT ALL MY BOYFRIENDS

My girlfriend doesn't read Daily Kos, and probably never will. She depends on me to tell her what's going on in online news, what actions we need to take, what new ideas are out there, what issues are percolating.... My girlfriend didn't know that I had posted a diary awhile ago and I was too chicken to tell her. (That's how far outside my comfort zone it was!) Well, I told her about a week ago and she was really excited! Even though she's not even an infrequent lurker, she knows Kos. She knows from bits and pieces - from other articles she's read, from things on the radio, and mostly from me and my daily news briefings over dinner. Anyway, she knew it was a big deal. So I showed her my diary and of all things - she cried! (I didn't expect that....) She was moved by the great support of the community, she was moved by my heartfelt Thank You, she was moved by all of the relationships - known or unknown - that Daily Kos has fostered. And she was moved by how far I've come in terms of my own awareness, my own informed citizenry.

In your face, Cheney! Prepare to have your gate crashed, motherfucker!

Fucking Journalism

2006-06-15T12:41:00.000Z

The Sun exclusively reveals that the entrance of golden ticket housemate Susie Verrico into the Big Brother house may be a fix. Nestlé are distancing themselves from the affair, and a Big Brother spokeswoman denies the charges, but refuses to comment on whether or not Susie was subject to the regulation police check. Investigative journalists Sara Nathan and Ian King are doggedly pursuing the case, aided by Emma Cox and Colin Robertson. This explosive story could blow up like a pair of grotesque fake tits at 30,000 feet.

Meanwhile, in a dark corner of the internet, crazy conspiracy theorist Greg Palast reports on that other Big Brother:

But how do I know Kerry won? The whole BBC team did an incredible investigation, and we found 3.6 million votes cast but not counted. It was called "spoilage" - and that’s everything from hanging chads to paper ballots that have extra marks, and are junked and thrown away – you name it.

But it’s not just anyone’s ballot that doesn’t count. Whose votes are they? We did a precinct-by-precinct analysis of whose votes were thrown away. If you are in a black majority precinct, the chance that your vote will be thrown in the electoral dumpster is 900% higher than if you’re in a white precinct. If you are Hispanic - 500% higher than if you’re in a white precinct. This also includes something called "rejected provisional ballots," a whole new gimmick. A million people were shunted to back-of-the-bus ballots called provisional ballots. And over half a million of those were never counted – never counted. And who made the decision not to count them? The Secretaries of State, like the Secretary of State of Ohio, who is also the head of the Bush reelection campaign.

Whose votes are thrown out? It’s black voters and poor voters. That’s why the Armed Madhouse subtitle says "Dispatches from the Front Lines of the Class War." Vote theft is class war by other means. Not everyone’s vote gets thrown out. In fact, do the arithmetic nationwide. 54% of the votes in the electoral dumpster are cast by black voters. Another third cast by Hispanic voters? Something like only one in five lost votes is cast by white voters, and those are the poor white voters. The electoral dumpster is filled with basically a Democratic pile of uncounted votes. That’s how they did it. And they’re planning to do a better job of not counting those votes in 2008. It’s the non-count of the vote – it’s not the count – that picks our president.

...

ChoicePoint is the biggest data mining outfit – it basically has the biggest data mine in the United States – at minimum, 16 billion records on Americans. It’s illegal for the U.S. government to keep those records, but ChoicePoint as a private company can. Then the U.S. government simply dips into the data mine and pulls out the nuggets it wants. We saw this in 2000, with them falsely attacking people as felons.

In 2004, completely unreported in the U.S. press, but big news from our BBC investigation -- and it’s in Madhouse -- are the caging lists, in which again we know hundreds of thousands of people were tagged as having so-called suspect addresses. Suspect addresses, in case you’re wondering, causing people to lose their vote, included page after page after page of black soldiers sent overseas, so that their home address was now suspect.

If they've got the databases, they’ve got the election. And they’re getting the databases from the war on terror and the war on immigrants. 3.6 million votes were cast and not counted last time. Look for 5 million in 2008.

And:

What about black soldiers? Here's what they did. They sent, we found out – here's now what we've just found out. They sent first-class letters to the homes of African-American soldiers shipped overseas. They wrote on the envelopes "Do not forward. Return to addressee." Well, of course, they're shipped overseas, so the letter can't be forwarded, to Baghdad or Germany, or wherever. Letters are sent back to the Republican National Committee, filtered back out to the state committees, and then elections officials are told, 'These people don't live at that address. We have evidence that they're falsely registered.'

...

I mean, the U.S. Civil Rights Commission, called, by the way, for a criminal investigation when I began showing this evidence. I don't give them my sources, but I do give them the public evidence, with the BBC's approval. You'll see it in the book. They did vote for criminal investigations. This never got reported in America. The reaction of the Justice Department was to completely ignore the demand for a criminal investigation, and George Bush fired every member of the Civil Rights Commission that voted for the criminal investigation. Do you like that?

Here's hoping Palast will stop wasting his inquisitive mind on this trivial nonsense and join the Sun's crack team to work on the golden ticket scandal. Season 7 could be the best one yet!

Fucking Boss

2006-06-14T13:44:00.000Z

Ben Metcalf:

Before I attempt to fill these pages with my disgust, which the odd reader who knows me will surely expect, I am obliged to address a preliminary concern, which that same odd reader may safely ignore. Some time has passed since I last raised my voice to the multitude, and whereas literary taste does not seem to have advanced much in the interim, and I assume is still arrayed so as to engage only the weak-minded and dull, I find that I am no longer able to discern with any accuracy where the bounds of simple human decency lie. This would bother me even less than does the taste issue were it not for the fact that ground gained or lost in the theater of decency tends now and then to affect the law, and it has long been a personal goal of mine to avoid capture and imprisonment.

I am therefore led to wonder what the common citizen is allowed to “say” anymore, in print or otherwise, and still feel reasonably sure that some indignant team of G-men, or else a pair of gung-ho local screws, will not drag him away to a detention center, there to act out, with the detainee as a prop, that familiar scene in which one hero cop or another is patriotically unable to resist certain outbursts against the detainee and what were once imagined to be the detainee's constitutional rights. Because I am loath to violate whatever fresh new mores the people have agreed upon, or have been told they agree upon, and because I do not care to have my ass kicked repeatedly in a holding cell while I beg to see a lawyer, I almost hesitate to ask the following question. I will ask it, though, out of what used to be called simple human decency:

Am I allowed to write that I would like to hunt down George W. Bush, the president of the United States, and kill him with my bare hands?

Read on!

Put Your Money Shot Where Your Mouth Is

2006-06-09T18:58:00.000Z

I will tell you right now as Snotty McShot, as a man who doesn’t like to mince her words, that this blogging business has me a bit uneasy.

Like white people felt when all those far-off countries started developing The Bomb, blogspot’s made it possible for any old crepuscular shitheel to see his words published, and because it’s in the same format as the online Telegraphs, Chicago Tribunes, Financial Times or Le Figaros, it’s somehow equal in weight, depth and scope.

To blogs is extended the same thought behind television that, if it’s being broadcast, it must be real. And with that extension has come the ubiquitous comment board, allowing people to create a small, insular community they believe to be Pangea. I submit that this false sense of community gives just enough positive reinforcement for many to adopt the distorted notion that their links to the Guardian or National Review are modern muckraking and are changing the world one link at a time.

I can only hope I articulate this as well as it sounds in my misty medulla at the end of an afternoon and evening of drinking, but blogging – blogging to make a difference – is like these self-serving Saturday anti-war marches through permit-secured side streets, state-sanctioned "get it off your chest" zones, after which we all go home and watch "Strictly Come Dancing", our civic duty fulfilled. Meaning well just isn’t enough anymore. Like chronic drunks and masturbators, that energy needs to be channelled into more productive emotions for it to be worth its expense. Not to say that a good beat-off won’t clear the mind, but it’s only with a little tactical patience that you’ll fuck something up. Turn that energy into outrage. Into hate.

Anger is the greatest litmus test we have, but we tell ourselves we must suppress it. Show no emotion. More often than not we are most honest with ourselves and others when we fly off the handle. Hate is anger, anger is pain, and pain is information. And that’s why the bad guys are always more successful. I always rooted for Darth Vader because he gave into his hate and he was at least being honest. If those rebels a long time ago in a galaxy far, far away were part of today’s crowd, Luke would post on a blog he ran from his sustainable farm in Degobah, Leia would play bass in an emo band, while C3PO would be the queen. No one would be fighting the empire.

The distant, impersonal nature of blogs has neutralised the editless spontaneity of natural outrage. Anger should not be diluted with links. It should be read on the face, not on messageboards and leaflets. Our crimson cheeks are the most meaningful scarlet letters we have.

These blogs make it easier for us to stop testing ourselves. If we can come home from work and post 300 words after dinner about how Rumsfeld’s comments in The Guardian contradict his pre-Iraq press conferences, and we know that, because of the great vastness of the internet, these words can potentially be read by billions, we feel like we’ve done our part. In reality, however, we’re just one guy standing in the vast expanse of space, turning on a flashlight for an hour everyday at 7:30 in the midst of all the other stars who believe their words, too, are celestial.

And in that sense blogs really suck an ass. They’ve turned civil disobedience into something private, like masturbating in the work toilet. Something a lot of people could know about, and should know about, but they don’t. Blogs are, though well intended, a collective tug at the cock of commitment. Like a Saturday march through police-approved zones that disrupts no corporate trading, a blog post offers the safe middle ground of posing no threat to its targets and no sacrifice to us.

And so to Jason and Jessica and every other asshole like me, I ask, how committed are you? If they took the blogs away, what would we do? How far would you go to secure the ideals you write about under your funny nickname?

Let’s say your phone rings right now and a raspy growl says, "It’s Dick Cheney." Mr. Cheney, you gasp. He says, "We need you in Washington. A plane is ready. Your driver will be at the door in five minutes. Pack a few outfits." What gives, you’d probably say. "The world depends on it."

Like me, you’d probably go, if anything because despite his propensity for ordering the slaughter of hundreds of thousands of people, you wouldn’t expect the vice president of the United States to order yours.

You arrive in Washington and Cheney, decked in his jacket and tie (for the cameras) and Puma track bottoms, is waiting on the tarmac and levels with you.

Still smiling at the flashbulbs, he squeaks through gritted teeth: "George is a bit unstable these days. The drug cocktails are less effective everyday. He’s more paranoid than ever. He wants to nuke the world’s financial capitals and all of Europe. He’s got the missiles programmed, and these days it’s all a matter of distraction. But he’s got this strange fetish he mentions in his sleep that we think might help us subdue him. Can you help us?"

Doing what, you’d probably ask.

"The fate of the world depends on it. Does it really matter?"

Why me?

"Because you’re his type."

I would look at him quizzically, but that’s just me.

"We need you to lie on the grass in the Rose Garden - Kentucky bluegrass, very soft and delicate - and allow the president to stand over your neck and chest. We need you to take his penis into your mouth and fellate him with your tongue and slight pumps with your hand over his shaft until he begins reciting Bible passages, which are actually just Creedence lyrics he’s come to believe are the word of God. He is now about to ejaculate. You will need to stimulate his testicles with your fingertips, which will encourage the president to release the contents of his bowels onto your sternum."

You will look at him blankly.

"The world depends on you."

Why me? you would probably reiterate.

"We’ve read your blog. You’re a sensitive soul. You’re kind. You care. You stand for freedom of expression, and this is something the president really needs to express. Only when he has double discharged does the president see the world as an island of hope in an as yet undiscovered universe. Only then does he see the blind pursuit of power as fruitless and recognise that the true strength of man is the energy within us, the original life force that expanded with the initial atom and pulses through the hearts and minds of animal, plant and man. We are one, and we are free. But only if the president can come in your mouth and shit on your chest."

So if I don’t submit to this, the world ends, you’d repeat.

"The world as we know it, yes."

I’m guessing you would agree to this atypical nuclear disarmament. I would. I mean, for God’s sake, would you let your family die?! You can wash your chest and brush your teeth. You’d do it and the world would be thankful. You’d feel quite good about yourself. And so you ask Dick where you can get changed. For once in your life you’ve done something to make a difference.

* * *

You’re in the Lincoln bedroom of the White House and there’s a rap on the door. Dick Cheney pops his head in before you answer and sits down on the foot of the bed. He kneads the loose skin on your knee.

"Was it so bad?" he softly growls.

You pull the cover down from your face, and he smiles. The skin on his face is paper-thin and could tear at any moment. He stares at you long and intently. He knows you know something is up but he plays it off with smiles and more massage.

"You were very successful. The president played with his toy box all afternoon and never once said he wanted to be 'Parisless'."

You know there’s more, and that’s why Dick Cheney’s come to see you like this, so soon, so submissively. In your heart you know.

"But he’s getting bored with his toys."

Can’t you get him new toys? you’d say.

He shrugs his shoulders and fondles an autographed Texas Rangers’ baseball on the nightstand next to you.

"What do you get the man who has everything? Listen, we need you to visit the president everyday at lunch. It’s the only way."

The only way?

"I’m sorry."

I’m guessing you would clasp your heart with your trembling hand, touching that defiled hole in the centre of you.

It will be dirtied and soiled no matter what choice you make.

Manifesto Destiny

2006-04-28T20:12:00.000Z

Seems like every arsehole in the place is writing his own piece of shit manifesto these days, so I made one too.

This Is Pete Doherty

2006-04-24T19:40:00.000Z

Pete Doherty is poop.

He's a grating, flaking, chafing, stain of cum piss pushing his way through the arse side of the pants that shield society's dicks and assholes.

His music sounds like the grotesque caterwaul of a cauldron of boiling apes.

His hair looks like a regurgitated breakfast of day-old coffee grounds and rope.

His face simpers like ours might had primates evolved into Mongoloids who learned how to snarl and smoke cigarettes.

His sentences pillow fight each other for the crown of most puerile.

This modern troubadour, as he is billed, eats away a little piece of my crotch every time he vomits a lyric. I only hope he lives a long, fruitless life in Cell Block D getting raped through the holes in his arms by murderers and tax evaders, alike, because the moment the drugs liberate us from him, though we will have won the drug war, the victory will be Pyrrhic. We need no more rock martyrs, least of all this dickshit.

Fuck forever? Fuck you, Pete Doherty. You're a big steaming pile.

The Ugliest Blogger on the Internets

2006-04-19T23:47:00.000Z

Extract from Minutes of Departmental Meeting
19 April 2006

Snotty: Below is a picture of "j0nz", the guy in charge of all the crazy random font sizes at spoof Muslim-baiting website Drunken Blogging. He effortlessly lampoons the current trend in hysterical "Clash of Civilizations" arse-piss with fiendishly economical satire such as this:

"There's a lot of Toonophobia going around in the world at the moment, Toonophobes coming out of the woodwork everywhere. We must combat Toonophobia with all our might." [Emphasis his]

Snotty: Devastating stuff, eh? In three lines he makes you realise the fucking balls-aching stupidity of the entire "terrifying Muslim threat" cock-knockery.
Hugs: Uh, okay sure, but ... but, holy fucking fuck. His face is so big he has two dimples on each cheek.
Snotty: Yeah! And that little mouth with the cheeky little pursed-lipped smile. He looks like someone's just slipped a finger up his arsehole and he realises he’s enjoying it.
Hugs: "Carlsberg don’t do literacy tests, but if they did..."
Snotty: And he misspelled Carlsberg.
Hugs: Yeah, that's what I meant. You know what though? I appreciate that little beard that delineates where his face stops and where the rest of the planet starts. It’s very considerate.
Snotty: Makes him look like a sumo wrestler at a Craig David fan club convention, though.
Hugs: Or the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man in a Backstreet Boy costume.
Snotty: And who does he think he’s kidding, by the way, wearing that jumper? You wear a jumper with a design like that, you know people are gonna stare at your breasts. He’ll probably complain when somebody does, too. Bloody typical.
Hugs: I don’t know, man. Are you sure this guy is joking?
Snotty: Well, he’s fucking gotta be, right? Anybody that posts the lyrics of The Housemartins’ "Caravan of Love" under the heading "Most Poignant & Moving Song Ever?" is bound to be taking the fucking piss. Aren’t they? Huh?
Hugs: ...
Snotty: Ah shit.

Ridiculous Asshole News

2006-04-18T09:39:00.000Z

Australian Creationist Hosts Genius Convention

Bishop Wayne Malcolm, leader of the Christian Life City church in Hackney, east London, disputes the scientific evidence for evolution. "There is clearly an absence in the fossil record for intermediate levels of development. If a frog turned into a monkey, shouldn't you have lots of fronkies?"

Well, it’s hard to argue with a quip like that, but I note it’s not a new one.

The Book of Genesis tells us that everything was created by God—nothing "evolved." Every creature was given the ability to reproduce after its own kind as is stated ten times in Genesis. Dogs do not produce cats. Neither do cats and dogs have a common ancestry. Dogs began as dogs and are still dogs. They vary in species from Chihuahuas to Saint Bernards, but you will not find a "dat" or a "cog" (part cat/dog) throughout God’s creation. Frogs don’t reproduce oysters, cows don’t have lambs, and pregnant pigs don’t give birth to rabbits. God made monkeys as monkeys, and man as man.

The Living Waters site features other killer arguments, which are apparently meant to be taken seriously. Like this:

The banana -- the atheist's nightmare

Note that the banana:

1. Is shaped for human hand
2. Has non-slip surface
3. Has outward indicators of inward content:
Green-too early,
Yellow-just right,
Black-too late.
4. Has a tab for removal of wrapper
5. Is perforated on wrapper
6. Bio-degradable wrapper
7. Is shaped for human mouth
8. Has a point at top for ease of entry
9. Is pleasing to taste buds
10. Is curved towards the face to make eating process easy

Christ!

EXTRA!

SUPER BONUS RIDICULOUS ASSHOLE UPDATE!

George W Bush gives us the skinny on presidentin':

"I hear the voices, and I read the front page, and I know the speculation. But I'm the decider, and I decide what is best"

Great stuff. Anybody wanna shop any more assholes?

Profit & Loss

2006-04-13T19:26:00.000Z

The Ideal Citizen Show

2006-04-03T23:19:00.000Z

Bunch of Monkeys

2006-03-02T21:54:00.000Z

I was just reading the judgment in the Kitzmiller v Dover case. You know the one, the latest in a string of cases going back to 1926 and the Scopes trial representing the ongoing battle between good and evil. Evolution and creationism, or vice versa, depending on your viewpoint.

Easy, there, ya fuckin bible wielding bum smeller, I’m not going to get into it. We’ve done that before. Yes, smelled bums. Suffice it to say that the judgment is well worth a read if only for this cheeky as fuck quote from Judge Jones:

“…ID and teaching about “gaps” and “problems” in evolutionary theory are creationist, religious strategies that evolved from earlier forms of creationism”

What a beautiful man.

Anyway, he goes into a pretty damning case-history of the attempts of the fundamentalists to oust evolution, from banning it being taught in schools to getting equal time for creationism in science lessons, to “creation science” to intelligent design. All of which responses to the ever sophisticated arguments against creationism as a load of hooey. Yes, you heard it, Mr. O'Toole Goes to Washington. HOOEY! Luckily for kids in the US they have the Establishment Clause of the First amendment which pretty much fucks the creationists from the get-go. And the Supreme Court knows it.

Anyway, I thought I wasn’t going to get into it. I’m not. Here’s the point. The big difference between ID and creationism is that ID’s official stance is that they don’t say God is the creator, or intelligent designer. (Intelligent designer? Whoo…I can imagine all the hack comedians and their scrotum jokes already)

So, this begs the question. Who? Or, ok, what?

Two of the alternatives, on record, on fucking court record in the Dover case are: Aliens and, I love this…a time travelling cell biologist.

A time travelling cell biologist. Some ID heads believe that one, or at least suggest it to throw us off their cooky scent.

Let’s consider that and see where it takes us in our understanding of ourselves and the almighty. What they’re suggesting is a time loop of some sort that we’re in. In other words, they go back, we evolve to the stage where time travel is possible, they go back, etc. Thing is…it’s not about, say, the END of the world as we know it, as in Twelve Monkeys, for example, nor about something along the way, like Donnie Darko. It’s about the very beginning. That creates all sorts of logical problems that lead us to only one conclusion if we follow the path that the cell biologist believers advocate.

Time loops require a way in, so what you end up with is something that looks like this:

Or this, if the person goes too far back in time and steps in something:

The process suggested here, however, they think, looks like this:

But in fact, it’s more like this…and clearly nonsense:

So, if we look back to fig 3., the ID futuristic cell biologist proposition, we see that it could not begin in the first place without some bastard setting it up…a creator!

So, either they are full of pure, sweaty shite, or a further designer is required. And if he designed THAT world, the only solution is this:

God’s a dork.

FYI

2006-02-26T21:32:00.000Z

Further to the post below, I should probably point out that I had nothing whatsoever to do with this.

Personally, I suspect 'David Duff'.

The Gayest Blogger on the Internets

2006-02-20T18:53:00.000Z

The furore over the Danish cartoons has, along with acres of bogus "Clash of Civlisations" editorials, occasionally resulted in some really interesting and inciteful pieces. Few of these managed to top the deep analysis and culturally sensitive musings of Partisan Pundit:

I find myself wondering what would happen if these riots caught hold here? I have this image of a Korean shopkeeper on the roof of his store with a bulletproof vest and a .308. Next door is a black guy who owns a barber shop wielding a Mossberg in one hand and a meat cleaver in the other. A pissed-off muslim rioter cocks back a molotav, and suddenly a large exit wound blossoms in the middle of his back, as the pungent smell of gunpowder residue fills the air. Three, four more fall, and suddenly, rioting in the streets loses its luster. Defending Mohammed's honor against a cartoonist's scribbles suddenly seems less important than avoiding a face full of double-ought buckshot. A rock flies through a display window, and almost like a ricochet, an angry retired fire-fighter comes flying back out swinging a Louisville Slugger like to put a smile on Babe Ruth's face.

Beautiful. Inspired by PP's mastery of the issues, I took a look around his website to see what other gems I could unearth. Here, I was heartened to find that he has dealt with similar issues previously, and with the same thoughtful, rational prose:

The Black Community's attempts to be viewed with any degree of compassion or intellectual equality on the national stage is certainly not in any measure enhanced by the repeated actions of select portions of its constituency wilding through middle-class businesses like a bunch of Somali thugs hyped up on kat, careening through neighborhood streets in the back of technicals.

Guys, my fellow Americans of color, a word of advice from whitey: If you want us to listen to you like rational human beings, STOP BURNING SHIT DOWN. Stop throwing off the oppressive yoke of civilization at every hint of social instability.

...

Here's a newsflash for the Rainbow Coalition: If you smash in MY storefront, you’ll get a 12-guage welcome. Not because I’m behaving like a racist, but because YOU are behaving like a raving lunatic.

But from whence springs forth this well of humanity, this spiritual yearning for a better life for those who are persecuted? What fuels this one-man quest for justice and truth for those who have laboured long in the darkness? More specifically, what's the fucking story with this asshole?

My first guess would be the bullying: "People that hijack websites ... are the same ones who, in high school or the frat in college, would offer you a drink of their soda, only to find out it was the can they were using for their tobacco spit, or maybe even filled with piss". Jesus, he drank a soda can full of piss, the poor bastard. That would tend to make anybody a fucking sociopath. The experience has evidently also completely destroyed any sense of perspective, as he continues: "Ambush sites are terrorism, plain and simple. Maybe planes don't crash and burn, maybe buildings don't collapse, but the intent in the heart of the cyberterrorist is the same as any jihadist".

Are you listening to this, Mr Bush? After you are finished with al-Qaeda, PLEASE MAKE IT SO I DO NOT GET POP-UPS.

My second guess would definitely be the barely repressed homosexuality and attendant self-loathing. Partisan Pundit's writings are strongly obsessed with male sexual relationships, and he cannot decide whether he is as disgusted as The Party tells him to be or all warm and fuzzy in the crotch. In the tight-arsed and ridiculously homophobic world of right-wing bloggery this tends to result in a lot of dumb macho image reinforcement. To demonstrate, let's take a look at some of his other websites - see here, in a post in support of handbags for men, as PP wrestles with the issues:

Men need a bag, but a Manly Bag. Call it a tote. No, wait, I have it: men need a satchel. Satchels are not gay. Satchels are manly. John Wayne himself threw uncountable numbers of satchel charges into uncountable numbers of enemy pillboxes, usually doing so under a hail of murderous gunfire.

Quintessential manliness.

Even the WORD "purse" is inherently unmanly; you almost feel the need to lisp just saying it. "Satchel," on the other hand, is a virile, rugged, squinty-eyed-from-staring-into-the-desert-sun-for-too-long, fist-clenching, teeth-grittin', tear-off-a chunk-of-raw-meat-from-the-carcass-of-the-vicious-carnivore-you-just-killed-with-yer-bare-freakin'-HANDS kind of word. No lisping involved whatsoever.

Gosh. I'm getting a little hot under the collar imagining the tanned, rippling torso of rugged manly manliness conjured up by PP in this deeply erotic passage. I imagine him wearing naught but a pair of ripped jean shorts and white socks, clutching his macho manly man-satchel to his smooth, hairless chest.

Blowing my thesis out of the water, though, the same blog also features a post titled "Guys I'd Probably Like To Do If I Were Gay, Which I'm Not", a lengthy tribute to the mannish man-osity of Matthew McConaughey during which we discover that PP is definitely not gay, because he goes out of his way to tell us so, many times: "And that accent, I'm telling ya, if I was gay (which I'm not) that rolling, laid-back drawl of his would get me all a twitter. In theory, of course". Not gay, then. Got it.

PP has a third website, Don't Get Stuck On Stupid, the main page of which features the following heartbreaking farewell:

I saw myself as something of a crusader, trying to change people's minds by showing them the truth, as well as I was able. But you know what I realized? A great many people aren't interested in the truth. Changing minds is difficult when emotion is so wrapped up in a worldview that reason can't penetrate the folds.

To which he then adds, helpfully: "I'm sure I suffer to some degree from this problem, but hey". Here's some of PP's crusading truthful manliness, penetrating the folds and further establishing his unassailable lady-lovin' credentials:

Getting the icky willies at the thought of two hairy men going to town on each other's exit onlys, or getting queasy at the site of two guys playing tonsil hockey on a public park bench doesn't make me intolerant or homophobic.

It makes me heterosexual.

This is a firm admission that he is entirely adjusted to the fact that something "icky" happens to his willy whenever he kicks back and thinks about two hirsute men making sweet love to eachother. This is a sure sign of someone who is comfortable with his sexuality, and I whole heartedly apologise for ever having suggested that PP is anything other than a handbag-sporting macho racist arsehole with a soft spot for Matthew McConaughey's delectable accent.

To make it up to Partisan P for the entire tone of this post, I'll happily point out his keen scientific mind (whose ID-Evolution pieces are a veritable Algonquin round-table in the comments and feature such fiendish arguments as linking to a picture of a bacterial flagellum and saying "I mean seriously, come ON people").

Brains and brawn - quite the catch, eh ladies? Too bad he's, uh, married. What? What did you think I was going to say?

Oh, shame on you.

UPDATE: PP's obsessive internal struggle continues, as he battles to categorise everything in his life as either "gay" or "manly", as if he isn't a textbook example of the two co-existing relatively comfortably. On the "gay" list we have old favourites like "open-toed sandals", "frappucinos" and, of course, "anal sex" (apparently all anal sex is gay now), but there are a few new additions: base jumping is gay now, along with loofas and placemats. Oh, and lip balm is gay, but only if flavoured.

"Manly" stuff includes fixing the lawnmower, scratching in public and stupid bullshit like that, but because PP is over-compensating wildly we also get stuff like "claymores" and "concealed-carry". How gay do you gotta be that you need fucking weapons to reinforce your rapidly dispersing heterosexual smokescreen? Just suck a cock already, dude! It's cool, nobody gives a shit.

Let's end with a competition. See if you can guess which categories PP sorts the following into:

A. "Smashing that big freakin' spider"
B. "Cleaving Orcs in twain"

Yes that's right, both are, apparently, manly activities. Now, I'm not into this "gay/manly" game, but if I was (which I'm not), then statements about Orcs, in ye olde nerde speake, would definitely be in the GAY category. Really though, who could stand to live their life like this, constantly worrying about the gayness or otherwise of one's actions and possessions? Something's gotta give - watch this space!