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Date: Friday, 06 Jan 2006 14:10

We've Moved!


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

http://hatemongersquarterly.mu.nu
Author: "The Crack Young Staff (noreply@blogger.com)"
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Date: Saturday, 17 Dec 2005 14:43

Our Gracious Concession Speech


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

In more upbeat news, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” will soon announce our move to a brand-spankin’-new “web” address. We’ll still be presenting the non-award-winning humor you haven’t come to love. But it’ll be in nicer surroundings than you’d expect from “Blogspot.”
Author: "The Crack Young Staff (noreply@blogger.com)"
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Date: Wednesday, 14 Dec 2005 23:59

Polishing Up Our Concession Speech


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

For now, dear reader, we’re busy polishing up our concession speech. We’re not entirely sure what we’re going to say, but we’re certain of one thing: It won’t be funny.
Author: "The Crack Young Staff (noreply@blogger.com)"
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Date: Wednesday, 14 Dec 2005 12:30

A Night on the Town with Wonkette


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A Night Out With Wonkette

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, and by the way, Wonkette
does resemble that girl from my kindergarten class who used to pick her nose and eat it.
Author: "The Crack Young Staff (noreply@blogger.com)"
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Date: Monday, 12 Dec 2005 23:42

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

We must admit a certain similarity in hairstyles, though.
Author: "The Crack Young Staff (noreply@blogger.com)"
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Date: Monday, 12 Dec 2005 01:12

The Office Gossip


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Frankly, dear reader, if you ask us—and we know that, technically speaking, you didn’t—good ole’ Winnie’s going to have to come up with a better scoop than that. As it is, Winnie’s gossip is less impressive than an elocution lesson from Magic Johnson. It’s less impressive than Pauly Shore’s career. And that, friends, is saying something.
Author: "The Crack Young Staff (noreply@blogger.com)"
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Date: Thursday, 08 Dec 2005 21:12

Just Look at What We’ve Become


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Best of the Top 1751-2500 Blogs: 21st Century Paladin. Because the 20th Century Paladin is so last century.
Author: "The Crack Young Staff (noreply@blogger.com)"
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Date: Wednesday, 07 Dec 2005 23:10

The Dade County Weblog Awards


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

We don’t know where all of this is going to take us, and we are reluctant to drag the country through some sort of fiasco. But we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” feel as if the very heart of American democracy is at stake. If we don’t fix this contest, then the terrorists have won.
Author: "The Crack Young Staff (noreply@blogger.com)"
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Date: Tuesday, 06 Dec 2005 22:00

You Fortune Is Bright


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You know: Real fortunes. None of this preachy “You should appreciate life/A man with a friend is a happy man” garbage. If we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” wanted hackneyed, ungrammatical bromides about the essential goodness of life, we’d watch Dr. Phil.
Author: "The Crack Young Staff (noreply@blogger.com)"
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Date: Tuesday, 06 Dec 2005 11:49

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

In the meantime, we’ll be crafting our magnanimous acceptance speech. Just because we’re about as popular as the Christian Falangist Party doesn’t mean we can’t start polishing up our rhetorical fireworks.
Author: "The Crack Young Staff (noreply@blogger.com)"
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Date: Tuesday, 06 Dec 2005 11:37

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And how about some e-greatness from 2004?:

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

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

****UPDATE:****

Here are links to the rest of the nominees:

Day By Day by Chris Muir
Cox & Forkum
Jesus’ General
Iowahawk
Beautiful Atrocities
Scrappleface
Hog On Ice
The Dilbert Blog
Six Meat Buffet
Fafblog
IMAO
Protein Wisdom
The Comics Curmudgeon
Achewood
Author: "The Crack Young Staff (noreply@blogger.com)"
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Date: Sunday, 04 Dec 2005 23:57

When Is a Mistake Not a Mistake?


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So, allow us to say something for the record: No reasonable human being would be upset by the suggestion that the 1979 SuperSonics were the last professional team from Seattle to win a title, Seattle Storm accomplishments notwithstanding. We, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” simply want to know who informed the staff of the Times of its supposed gaffe. We bet she’s a real piece of work.
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Date: Thursday, 01 Dec 2005 23:21

The Indignities of Keeping Fit


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Naturally, “Chip” changed the channel: He wanted to inspire her to do better. We hope she liked that episode of “Ally McBeal” instead.
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Date: Thursday, 01 Dec 2005 11:34

Spelunking through Oppression


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

And this leads us to a question for the brilliant boosters of the Tunnel of Oppression. Why not have a “Radical Indoctrinators Oppression” train-car? Surely the students, after passing through the moronic Tunnel of Oppression, are going to realize that the only real oppression they’ve experienced is that of the intolerant chuckleheads who sponsored this program in the first place.
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Date: Thursday, 01 Dec 2005 11:34

The November Academic of the Month


We, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” know what you are thinking, dear reader: The month of November has almost come and gone, and we have yet to elect an Official Academic of the Month. Yet fear not such a horrid oversight. We, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” are pleased as peaches to use today’s humble “post” to put yet another glorious example of the professoriate up to the usual slings and arrows of outrageous calumny.

That is to say (albeit in a less highfalutin manner), we have picked our November Academic of the Month. Frankly, dear reader, it took a bit of time to do so. For the past few months, we have lauded our share of professorial dimwits and moronic pedants. Yet we still haven’t taken on someone really spine-tinglingly offensive—someone who’s more pernicious than the typical “Gendering the Other”-type boobs we usually excoriate.

Until now. We, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” blithely champion one Mona Baker as our Official November Academic of the Month.

And who, you are undoubtedly asking yourself, is Mona Baker? Well, she’s the Director of the Centre for Translation and Intercultural Studies at a university in England called Umist. (As in, “You-Missed” hiring a reasonable professor when you picked this chucklehead.)

Okay, so Ms. Baker is an academic in jolly old England. What—besides the bad dental work—is so bad about that? Well, unfortunately Ms. Baker is a rather reprehensible figure.

Allow us to explain. A few years ago, a gaggle of dimwitted British professors gathered steam for an official boycott of Israeli academics. As David Tell discussed a while back in The Weekly Standard,

Sometime around late April [2002], a petition began circulating in British universities calling for a full-scale academic boycott of Israel—specifically, for a European Union moratorium on funding of Israeli scholarship until the Sharon government proves willing to abandon the use of force in response to Palestinian terrorist attacks.

In essence, then, the ignoramuses who signed such a petition were untroubled by the anti-Israeli violence of those peaceable Palestinians, but Israel’s attempts at self-defense are simply beyond the pale. As such, these doyens (and doyennes) of academic freedom saw fit to support an official boycott of one country’s academics—even though that country is in a region chock-a-block with prime offenders against human rights.

Ms. Baker, our Official Academic of the Month, took this whole blatantly anti-Semitic hullabaloo one step further. The Egyptian Ms. Baker signed the petition and then decided to take her own personal steps to ensure that the academic world was Judenrein. She forcibly removed two Israeli academics from editorial and advisory boards of two journals she edits.

On her “website,” the repugnant Ms. Baker informs us: “There followed a barrage of hate mail (now a common tactic of the Zionist lobby)—some of it explicitly condoned by supposedly reputable institutions such as the University of Pennsylvania.” To which we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” add: Way to go, University of Pennsylvania! Who would have thought you had it in you?

In the pages of Britain’s left-wing Guardian, columnist Rod Liddle wrote:

Professor Mona Baker “unappointed” two Israeli academics from the journal for which she worked. She hopes that, nonetheless, she can still be friends with them. I hope they punch her in the nose. Her husband, Ken, whined that they had received 15,000 emails in 24 hours, many “abusive and obscene.” Just 15,000, huh? Better keep them coming.

That, we feel, is exactly right. Mona Baker is a racist and so disgusting that she is actually a disgrace to academia. And that, in the world of such tomfoolery as Judith Butler’s obnoxiously opaque prose and Cornel West’s obnoxiously ugly hair, is saying something.

Do you, dear reader, have an idea for a future Academic of the Month? If so, please send us an e-line by pressing the “Contact Us” “link” at the top right-hand corner of your computer screen. There are so many academics to detest, and so little time.
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Date: Tuesday, 29 Nov 2005 14:03

Aiding an Oppressor?


A few “posts” ago, dear reader, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” informed you that we were officially sick and tired of carping and caterwauling about the many things we detest. In fact, upon careless reflection, we decided that we pine to use our considerable e-powers for good.

To this end, we asked our sizeable readership how we could be of some service. Like your mother, we aim to please.

Naturally, dear reader, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” received an outpouring of e-missives from concerned fans figuratively dying to get our advice. Car mortgages; shotgun weddings; grout work—no cause was too dire to stop our colossal readership from seeking our counsel.

Accordingly, our Official Advice Team (a.k.a. the Official Department of Customer Cervix) has recently gone into overdrive, if we may hit you with a bit of an automotive metaphor. We’ve offered more help than Courtney Love’s shrink—and we’d like to think that our advice has been markedly superior.

Yet we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” didn’t expect to receive an intriguing query from one of the Internet’s true e-eminences, the proprietor of the delicious “weblog” The Misspent Life. Mr. Misspent, who is working away in graduate school to become Dr. Misspent, sent us the following jaw-dropping note:

To: “Chip” and the Rest of the Crack Young Staff
From: Misspent

I need your help. While “toiling” away in graduate school, it has come to my attention that my life-world is a very oppressive one; that my normative constructions of gender and race and progress are both structurally determined and structurally constitutive and that it all benefits me.

I had never thought about how my very existence was perpetuating oppression and how the words that I used purposely killed children, women, lesbians, and poor people. What should I do? Should I reject my life-world and strive to become a poor ten-year-old female lesbian (in a wheelchair, just to be safe)? Or should I embrace my role of oppressor and use the system as an excuse to be a jerk, since that is the “real me” inside?

I am really in a bind here. I was going to ask some of the women on campus what to do since they must have wisdom beyond my phallonormative capacities (except for the transgendered ones) but I can't tell which ones are female. Of course I could always ask an undergraduate one. They are very wise, empowered, and brave. Plus, I could probably get laid in the process if I bring them beer and a Chingy CD. Oh, and I'd ask the Larouchies but I forgot my nose-plug at home.

Yours, etc.

Misspent


An interesting letter, is it not? We, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” have been racking our brains for the better part of a fortnight, attempting to solve the Misspent One’s vexing problem.

Although Mr. Misspent only refers to it obliquely, we take it that he is both a male and white. Which, as anyone with a college degree can tell you, are two cardinal sins in the open-minded world of American academia. Further, it appears as if our lily-white pal doesn’t have any other face cards in the oppression deck—no transgenderism, no homosexuality, no nothing.

At first thought, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” firmly believed that the Misspent One’s best shot to gain some campus respect was becoming “a poor ten-year-old female lesbian (in a wheelchair, just to be safe).” After all, if the Misspent One could honestly pull this off, all his problems would be solved, and he could undoubtedly land a job in some mindless Department of Noxious Political Grievance-Mongering.

Still, we aren’t entirely sure that the Misspent One could actually do this. For starters, it’s really bad karma to use a wheelchair when you don’t need one. We, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” don’t leave too many taboos unsullied, but the handicapped are certainly one of them. Nothing says “You’re Asking for it, Dipstick” quite like messing with the disabled.

Also, we couldn’t quite figure the value of transforming into a ten-year-old female lesbian. We mean, come on: How would such a young thing wind up in graduate school in the first place? Is he supposed to become some amalgam of K.D. Lang and Doogie Howser? We just don’t think it’ll work.

Unfortunately, this left us with only one reasonable option. Although we certainly dislike the fact that the Misspent One’s “very existence was perpetuating oppression,” and that “the words that [he] used purposely killed children, women, lesbians, and poor people,” such is undoubtedly the case.

As such, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” officially advise our pal Misspent to change his language. Although he certainly can’t alter his oppressive existence, he could employ a few different turns of phrase. Perhaps this would halt some of his congenital offensiveness.

Allow us to offer an example. We officially recommend that our pal cease using phrases such as “Boy, I’d like purposely to kill children, women, lesbians, and poor people.” It’s a rather polarizing sentiment, to say the least. Instead, how about “Hey, I know I’m a white guy and all, but I’m pretending to believe in your pandering, simplistic, and childlike worldview regarding women and minorities in an attempt to get in some chicks’ pants”?

If that doesn’t work, we collectively don’t know what will.
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Date: Sunday, 27 Nov 2005 22:52

The “Glories” of Graffiti, or Artaud and Arrest


Well, The New York Times is at it again. It seems as if the solidly upper-middle class Arts section editors simply can’t get their fill of encouraging antisocial behavior among the disadvantaged. As they toil away in their bourgeois offices, they pine to foment troubles for underprivileged youth.

The latest case in point: “Be Sure to Read the Handwriting on the Wall: Graffiti Artists Move Off the Street and to the Front of a Classroom,” an article in the November 24th number of the Gray Lady, penned by one Randy Kennedy. It’s not the first paean to illegal graffiti artists in the Paper of Record, but it’s deeply offensive nonetheless.

In the piece, the enraptured Mr. Kennedy describes the latest “educational effort” of Urban Academy, a “specialized high school” in Manhattan. Thanks to the selfless largess of art dealer Hugo Martinez, the Urban Academy has seen fit to bring graffiti specialists into its classrooms, allowing the students to get some primo lessons in defacing property. To this end, the kiddies were treated to the aesthetic musings of one Tracy 168, whose own career at this selfsame high school is described as “a brief pit stop on the road to full-time delinquency.”

So, thought Mr. Martinez, what would be better for the “sometimes troubled students” at Urban Academy than some tips on defacing public property? Clearly, Mr. Martinez believes that the answer to this query is: Tips on defacing public property and fatuous cliché-ridden art school justifications of such activity as glorious artistic expression.

In fact, Mr. Martinez’s take on this nonsense is perfectly predictable. The goal, this chi-chi dimwit opines, is to “challenge even further the seemingly sacred character ascribed to art and to education.”

Oh, well, we get it now: It’s another tired retread of the “What Is Art” question. That would be really interesting, if artists hadn’t begun asking that since Marcel Duchamp did so in 1911. When is this query going to become tiresome? We get it, we get it: Anything can be art. But that doesn’t mean anything is good art.

Mr. Martinez continues: “[M]uch of the great art of the 20th century has flirted with illegality, with attacking authority.” Now, let’s assume that Mr. Martinez’s rather sweeping claim holds true. Can’t it also be said that much of the lousy art of the 20th century has flirted with illegality, with attacking authority?

And this leads us to a more substantive point. Isn’t it a bit foolish to champion assaults on authority figures among “sometimes troubled students”? Aren’t such pupils more than likely to have exacerbated their difficulties by means of their own less-than-reverential response to authority? Why don’t we force Mr. Martinez to teach a class full of these delightful “troubled students”? Perhaps he’ll enjoy being pistol-whipped whilst he tries to call the roll. After all, isn’t that the kind of behavior befitting great artists?

Naturally, dear reader, the Times offers a glowing review of such “daring” educational activities. As Herb Mack, Urban Academy’s moronic principal, bellowed regarding the program: “It’s enriching for the kids to be able to see legitimate artists at work and to critique it.”

Ah, yes: Inspiring artists such as CoCo 144, another member of this wondrous class project. Perhaps Mr. Mack has seen CoCo’s oeuvre on buildings around the neighborhood. Perhaps CoCo could do Mr. Mack a favor and spray-paint his house for him. This would allow Mr. Mack to “critique” this “legitimate artist’s” work everyday. And this would also allow Mr. Mack to boast that he has used his post to encourage dastardly behavior both at home and at school.

Way to keep the disadvantaged down, Messrs. Martinez and Mack! Perhaps these students will soon repay you with their lifelong membership in the underclass.
Author: "The Crack Young Staff (noreply@blogger.com)"
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Date: Wednesday, 23 Nov 2005 22:36

Happy Turkey Day, Folks


Well, dear reader, today’s Thanksgiving, an important holiday in the American calendar. If we remember our left-wing history correctly, Thanksgiving celebrates the feast shortly before the hegemonic, oppressive, fundamentalist fascists obliterated the kindly, benevolent, but benighted savages who used to run wild in North America. We, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” can’t think of a better holiday than that—and, yes, we’re including Purim.

Anyway, on this day to share with your family—or at least a drunk aunt—we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” want to give some thanks of our own. Frankly, dear reader, there is much for which to be thankful. For instance, Billy Joel’s career is in a bit of a nosedive. (And yet some people continue to believe that there’s no higher power!)

Also, we are sincerely thankful that tomorrow—the busiest shopping day in these here United States—is an Official Staff Holiday. We, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” will be out and about (as our Canuck friends say—oddly), searching for the perfect gift for our alcoholic aunts.

Accordingly, dear reader, you’ll have to wait till Monday to delight in our hilarious animadversions again. We know, we know: That’s an awful long time without us. But somehow you’ll deal.

To make matters a little bit better, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” are announcing that we shall soon announce some exciting things that are going to happen around here. Which, we suppose, makes today’s announcement a meta-announcement. Indeed, in a short while, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” will have some interesting news, which will help solidify our place in the Internet firmament.

In addition, we aim finally to get that e-monkey of a contest off our backs. A while ago, dear reader, we asked for submissions to our Official World’s Worst Bumper Sticker Contest. After an e-deluge of entries deluged us, we summarily lost them. Well, one of the junior editors here—let’s just call him “Chip”—recently happened upon this stack of submissions, and soon we shall announce the winner. Sure, this scintillating proclamation will be months old. For all we know, the winner of the contest may well be deceased. Still, we aim to laud the victor, whether he is still of this world or not.

We would be remiss if today’s “post” didn’t also offer a word of congratulations. Everyone’s favorite Llamabutchers have celebrated another “weblog” anniversary. We think we speak for darn near everyone when we say that their “website” is a great delight—more fun than riding Dominique de Villepin like a horse.

So, on that vaguely disturbing note, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” want to wish all our reader(s) a very happy Thanksgiving. And we mean all our reader(s) throughout the world; we’re not such heartless jingoists that we wouldn’t wish our Syrian fan(s) a merry Turkey Day too. Enjoy some stuffing—before we invade your country.
Author: "The Crack Young Staff (noreply@blogger.com)"
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Date: Tuesday, 22 Nov 2005 23:26

A Love Connection


A few days ago, dear reader, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” announced that we hoped to use our humble “weblog” for the purposes of bettering the world. This, we figured, would prove an intriguing counterpoise to the incessant badness that is our more typical routine. You know: We like to keep them guessing.

Little did we realize, when we first announced our intention to help our fellow man and woman, we would receive such an outpouring of opportunities to ameliorate. It appears as if our humble readership is, as the young people say, very high maintenance. Who would have known that fans of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly” would be so darned needy? Not, we hasten to inform you, us.

To make matters even more interesting, we received a particularly fetching e-missive from a veritable star in the Internet firmament—the kind of man who slaves away at a “weblog” read by far more than the three people per week we have ensnared. We refer to none other than Dr. Rusty Shackleford, proprietor of the wonderful “weblog” The Jawa Report. (Which we old-timers still call My Pet Jawa.)

We, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” upon reading the Good Doctor’s e-epistle, were instantly nervous. How could we aid such an e-eminence? His query, moreover, wasn’t exactly our forte. We have reproduced this e-mail below, and have decided to add our own humble words of advice.

Dear Crack Young Staff,

Can you get me a date with Jennifer Anniston? I hear she's available again.

Dr. Rusty Shackleford


We know what you’re thinking, dear reader: That’s a darn good question. Accordingly, we took a look through the old Rolodex, to see if we could happen upon Ms. Anniston’s telephone number.

Alas, although we found Mickey Rourke’s digits—and Eric Roberts’ digit from The Pope of Greenwich Village—we had no luck with Ms. Anniston’s number. Apparently, in a fit of pique, one of the interns threw it into the trash. What can we say? He’s into Jodie Foster now. (We wonder how that’ll work out.)

All the same, we still hoped that we could be of some service. After all, our cursory perusal of learned journals found at the supermarket suggests that Ms. Anniston is currently desperate for some affection from the opposite sex. And, if the tabloids are right, she’s had some kind of tryst with Vince Vaughan, which means she doesn’t mind dating a bald guy.

Still, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” would be remiss if we didn’t try to warn Dr. Shackleford away from dating this feminine temptress. For, after spending a few short months with Ms. Anniston, the Good Doctor will ineluctably wind up with Jon Voight’s daughter instead. Who would have guessed that? And who the heck wants Jon Voight for a father-in-law? We hear that guy’s got a few screws loose.

In fact, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” officially desire to dissuade Dr. Shackleford from getting entwined with Ms. Anniston. She’s just too flighty and capricious for a grown man to date.

How about Courtney Love instead? We hear she’s free.
Author: "The Crack Young Staff (noreply@blogger.com)"
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Date: Monday, 21 Nov 2005 21:36

Some Quick Fits


If you’re anything like us, dear reader, you go through your day gritting your teeth at all the disgraceful indignities and moronic irritations that you must endure. Nary an hour goes by, it seems, in which you aren’t bothered by some galactically irksome phenomenon or other. This, we feel, is what Tony Orlando once referred to as “The Good Life.” Or was that Plato?

Anyway, as a result of all the nugatory vexations that we face, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” decided to spend today’s humble “post” proffering potted complaints about a whole host of annoyances. That way, as the saying goes, we can kill a number of birds with one rock. In addition, like a candidate for breast reduction surgery, we can get a little off of our chest.

Without too much in the way of further ado, then, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” proudly take you through our humble tour of irksomeness. We call it:

Quick Fits from the Crack Young Staff

1. People Who Fling Rubber Bands: Is there anything more distressing than someone who cocks a rubber band in your face? We, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” believe that this is a prime example of Busch League sadism. Frankly, most folks consider rubber bands the most dangerous weapons in the world. If you try to rob a bank with a gun, the teller may not believe that the thing is loaded. But if you put a rubber band in his face, he’ll give you the money faster than you can say “Wayne Newton went bankrupt.”

2. Schadenfreude and the French: Boy, the French really don’t make it easy on us, do they? Surely schadenfreude, which, for those of you unschooled in the ways of the Kraut, means “the enjoyment of an other’s troubles,” is one of the most disgraceful of emotions. What’s more, the recent upheavals and hooliganism in the suburbs of Paris are deeply serious troubles. And yet, and yet, and yet. Who can’t enjoy a situation in which the snooty, We-Know-Everything-about-World-Affairs-You-Stupid-Yanks French are up to their (hirsute) armpits in a Muslim riot? Clearly, in putting such a calamity in the hands of Chirac and Villepin, the Good Lord is testing our resolve.

3. Paper Cuts: We know that we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” spend far too much time on rather demotic subject matter: Phil Collins; Richard Rorty; Gillette razors; &c.; As such, once in a while, we like to change things up a bit. It’s our way of keeping you guessing. And what better highbrow subject is there than paper cuts? We couldn’t think of anything either. These things are surely the most unbearable of life’s cruelties. Short of getting your elbows shot off by a submachine gun, nothing hurts worse than the garden-variety paper cut. Still, nothing quite makes you look like an ultra-pansy like kvetching about a paper cut. At least when someone saws off your kneecaps you can get a good cry in without seeming like a wussy to your pals.

4. Terrell Owens: Admittedly, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” don’t discuss sporting events with great regularity. Frankly, we enjoy taking in a good game as much as the next truculent homicidal subversive, and we seldom find much to gripe about in professional sports—save the Los Angeles Clippers, of course. Yet Terrell Owens, the whilom receiver for the Philadelphia Eagles and full-time ostentatious jerk, is an exception to the rule. Has anyone else noticed that this guy has thus far done the most impressive Juwanna Mann impression you’re likely to see in this lifetime? And now this self-important twit has the (ir)Rev. Jesse Jackson on his side? Gee, and just when we were starting to like him, too.
Author: "The Crack Young Staff (noreply@blogger.com)"
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