Dilbert Meets Dr. Turok, Son of Stone*

The liberal intolerance for intolerance has gotten out of hand this week, as Dr. Mike Adams reveals in another of his open letters, this time addressed to some guy at "Bank of Gay America."  It seems that Doctor ("of Ministry") Frank Turek, who conducts "High Impact" training in "Leadership, Sales, Customer Service... and other people-skill topics essential for business success," was all set to run BoA employees through a boot camp on office comity, when Pontius Pilate (played at this performance by the Human Resources Department) ordered he be affixed to the Cross of Political Correctitude with the nails of Multiculturalism, even though it specifically says in the Handbook that employees are not allowed to attach anything to the walls of their cubicles, including calendars, posters, photographs, comic strips, or martyred teambuilding consultants.

In late May of this year Dr. Turek was hired to present at a meeting of your Global Business Management & Analysis Team...The title of his presentation was called “Why Can’t You Be Normal Just Like Me?” The presentation helps participants adapt to diverse personalities to improve productivity and relationships—the essence of inclusion and diversity.

Three days before the event Dr. Turek was abruptly fired by an HR representative. Why? She explained that someone Googled his name and discovered that he had written Correct, Not Politically Correct: How Same-Sex Marriage Hurts Everyone.

Dr. Mike has a point.  Hiring Frank Turek to teach your employees tolerance and respect for diversity, and then firing him just because he wrote a book declaring some of your staff to be hateful, hell-bound sodomites is a little like returning the unused portion of your patent medicine to Professor Feather and demanding a refund because it doesn't contain as much cobra ichor as you'd been lead to believe.

The rest of Dr. Mike's column is even duller than usual, so I decided to go to the source, Doctor Minister Turek himself, and see what the Bank of America Global Business Management & Analysis Team is missing.

Who Are the Real Gay Bigots and Bullies

George Orwell said, “In a time of universal deceit, telling the truth is a revolutionary act.” When you tell the truth about homosexuality today, you can be sure that the central tools of deceit—name-calling and bullying—will be unleashed.

And when your enemies are unleashing deceit, you have no choice but to reach into your central tools box and pull out a totally credible transcript of a conversation we have no reason to doubt ever really occurred:

I recently was having a respectful conversation with a homosexual activist, but after I made a point he couldn’t answer he called me a “bigot.”

Most gay people I know have heard all the arguments against them, and activists are usually well-practiced at arguing their position, so that must have been one hell of a new and devastating point, Doctor.

I asked, “What’s your definition of bigotry?”

He said, “Fear and intolerance.”

I said, “The definition of bigotry is not ‘fear and intolerance.’ It’s making a judgment without knowing the facts.

Ah, so you threw the power of the dictionary at him. Well, it's true, there's no responding to that...unless you happen to have a copy of it yourself, I suppose.  For instance, it seems to me that "making a judgment without knowing the facts" is prejudice, while bigotry is better defined as "stubbornly clinging to an irrational hatred in defiance of the facts."  But then, I'm no expert in Customer Service.

I have written a book about the problems with same-sex marriage and the destructive medical consequences of homosexual behavior. So my convictions on those issues are based in fact not ‘bigotry.’ With all due respect, if anyone is engaged in bigotry it is you for judging my position as wrong without even knowing why I hold it.”

With all due respect, Doctor-Minister, Hitler wrote a book too.  Hey, so did I!  That means my opinions about Battlefield Earth are based in fact, not bigotry toward Scientologists, which makes me feel a lot better about that time I told the guy at the Stress Test table on Hollywood Boulevard to shove that E-Meter up his ass and see if he could Clear his colon.

He was also falsely equating my opposition to a behavior as prejudice toward people who engage in that behavior. That’s the central fallacy in virtually every argument for homosexuality—if you don’t agree with homosexual behavior, you are somehow bigoted against people who want to engage in that behavior. How does that follow?

I don't agree with folk dancing, but I don't pressure the Legislature to outlaw dirndls, or deny people their civil rights just because they've been known to schottische.

If conservatives and Christians are “bigots” for opposing homosexual behavior, then why aren’t homosexual activists bigots for opposing Christian behavior?

And if we are bigots for opposing same-sex marriage, then why aren’t homosexual activists bigots for opposing polygamous or incestuous marriage?

Maybe nobody informed the homosexuals that polygamy and incest are Christian behaviors.  Why don't you tell them?  I can't wait to see the look on their faces when they find out.

Everyone puts limits on marriage—if marriage had no definition it wouldn’t be anything. Recognizing that marriage is between a man and a woman is not bigotry, but common sense rooted in the biological facts of nature. That’s why the state recognizes marriage to begin with—not because two people love one another but because only heterosexual unions can procreate and best nurture the next generation.

The state recognizes contracts, which is what marriage is and always has been.  And you'll note that when women -- who were once excluded from the process -- were finally allowed to enter into contracts on their own -- thus changing the definition from "a binding legal agreement between two dudes" -- contracts did not suddenly cease to exist.

Everyone also puts limits on behaviors. But opposing behavior is not the same as opposing or “hating” people. In fact, to really love people, we often have to oppose what they do!

I -- I just realized...I love you, Frank.

But isn’t homosexuality like race? No. Race has nothing to do with behavior, but homosexuality is a behavior! Skin color affects no one, but destructive behavior affects many.

According to recent theological pronouncements, reach-arounds can cause earthquakes and hurricanes.  At least, if you're doing it right.

 Moreover, sexual behavior is always a choice, race never is. You’ll find many former homosexuals, but you’ll never find a former African-American. 

Except in Imitation of Life.

So if you don’t approve of a man because of his race, you are a bigot. But if you don’t approve of a man’s destructive behavior, you are wise. 

And if your definition of "destructive behavior" includes "an attempt by a self-appointed prophet to turn his private hatreds into public policy" and you disapprove of that -- go to the head of the class.

Second, while desires are not a choice, sexual behavior always is. So regardless of the source of sexual desires, people are certainly capable of controlling their sexual behavior. If you claim that they are not—that sexual behavior is somehow uncontrollable—then you have made the absurd contention that no one can be morally responsible for any sexual crime, including rape, incest, and pedophilia.

I'm not claiming that gay men cannot control their sexual behavior, Frank; I'm claiming that you can't control it.  You're not allowed.  You don't have the right.  In fact, given that you can't tell the difference between consensual relations and criminal behavior, I'm not sure you're even qualified to run your own sex life.

*Thanks to L'il Innocent for the title

Post-Friday Beast Blogging: The Stuff of Dreams Edition

Moondoggie:  Zzzzz...Oh, Tony!...zzzzZZZzz...you are grrrreat!...zzzzzzzz

Riley:  Ah, Professor Clevenger, my old adversary!  We meet again!  But this time, with you topless, and me lying on a freshly laundered shirt...the advantage is mine!

Happy Birthday, Brian and Julia!

Please join me in wishing a very festive natal day to Brian Schlosser, commenter extraordinaire, and Mystery Science Theater 3000 scholar par excellence.  We'd also like to say Many Happy Returns to the sublime Julia, who is fairly MST3K-literate herself; once, when I nearly missed posting about Mary's birthday, and feared she would follow the example of Jimmy Wilson from I Accuse My Parents, and fall in with the world's wimpiest gangsters, Julia huffed:

Oh, fine, we won’t talk about the essay. Everyone just wants to forget the essay.

We’ll just pretend Jimmy never wrote the essay.

Are you happy now?

Well, we're happy in our work, and that must count for something.  And on that note, we've thrown together a little video souffle, consisting of all the birthday gags from the aforementioned classic episode (the industrial short on truck farming has been omitted for clarity) to honor our celebrants.

Maestro?

Brian?  Julia?  Be Happy in Your Birthdays, guys!

Miss Wingnut 2011!

[Quick aside:  As mentioned in my previous post, this week I contributed a scholarly monograph to the Cahiers du Cinéma-like site She Blogged By Night.  The subject of my critique is the 1983 film, Yor, the Hunter From the Future, a bleak but visionary study of a post-apocalyptic society, in which the survivors of a global disaster struggle to maintain the remnants of civilization, while a mostly-nude beefy guy prances around smacking paper mache puppets with an axe.  Please click here to give it your thoughtful and considered opinion.]

The ballots are in.  The contestants have donned their evening gowns and their most purse-lipped smiles and passed in review, and you the judges have made your decision.  Tonight we are here to crown the winner of this years Beauty Is In The Beer Goggles of The Beholder Pageant.

Just to recap, the contestants are the Official Headshots of the NRO Fund-Raising Cruise Speakers.  The photos themselves are a diverse bunch -- some boast that professional sheen typical of those Glamour Shot establishments in the shabbier end of the mall, usually wedged between the Orange Julius and the Dress Barn.  Others have an oddly candid feel, as though they fell out of one of those photocopied letters people mail their relatives around Christmas, along with photos of the dog, that trip to the Chain of Lakes, and a fuzzy one of the kids playing Guitar Hero in the bonus room.  While still others make Awkward Family Photos look like a Helmut Newton portfolio.

In short, the Speakers offered up photos of themselves that demonstrated either a complete lack of vanity, or a complete lack of self-awareness, but in neither case did they seem like the sort of thing  calculated to make even a diehard Corner fan reach for his debit card.  Or as D.Sidhe marveled in comments:

There are people who would voluntarily get on a boat with people who chose these pictures to represent themselves? I'm so bothered by that. I know the point's been made before, but the buffet would only have to run out of shrimp cocktail for ten minutes before these guys were deciding which of the paying customers to eat first.

Still, maybe these photos had a subtle charm not evident upon first exposure, for as the competition ground on, from semi-finals to finals, she seemed to find herself warming to the Contestants:

I will concede that they are probably not the worst people to end up on a boat. Some of them may in fact be capable of actual kindnesses towards their fellow human beings, John Yoo might, for example, offer a choice of waterboarding *or* stress position on an indefinite detainee's birthday, and Ralph Reed may not actually use a hammer to beat to death swans born out of wedlock. Lileks, you might even imagine, could allow a runaway chained in the basement to keep her real name, even after several years.

And, okay, maybe I was hasty about demanding they each be fitted into a suitcase and left there so I could pick a winner, and despite my earlier comment it seems unfair to assume they'd start ranking the other passengers by likely degree of marbling before the buffet was out of shrimp cocktails (I think they'd probably wait until the Swedish meatballs were gone as well). 

I fully expect some of the above encomiums to wind up as pull quotes in the next issue of National Review.

Now, on to the winning Losers.

Second Runner-Up is a tie between Mark Steyn and Roman Genn:

Above, we see Steyn delivering what R. Porrofatto called "his smoldering 'I want to fuck me, too' look," while Tina was moved to declare it: "Hands down the most 'Shouldn't I be on the cover of GQ?' pose I've ever seen from someone not on the cover of GQ."

Genn sizzled in the semi-finals, handily winning the "Last Known Photograph" Division.  As Stacia said, "[I]s there anyone amongst us strong enough to not vote for Roman Genn? I think not. Roman looks like he OWNS the Monte Carlo his own body will eventually be found in."

Nigel Tufnel said, "That's not Roman Genn. That's funnyman Bobby Bitman (real name: Herschel Slansky) about to appear on the Sammy Maudlin Show."  Which, while somewhat ambiguous, I still counted as a vote.  FrJohn complimented Genn, noting that his "oddly asymmetrical eyes go well with his Jacqueline Susann hairdo," while Doghouse Riley wondered, "is that Genn's Assistant Maître-D photo? Somebody posed him in front of the men's room dividing wall?"

melior looked beneath the unflatteringly reflective surface of the image, and saw the Man Within: "I suspect his true calling to excellence would be in Most Extraordinary Nose-Hair Moustache if he put in the extensive prep time required."  Finally, R. Porrofatto pinpointed the source of the Contestant's appeal, which he eloquently summed up as "Roman Genn's Transylvanian waiter affect."

Between the Hobbity Steyn, and the Darth Vadery hair helmet of Roman Genn, this may indeed, as AnnPW predicted, "turn out to be The Year Of The Hair."

First Runner-Up was also a tie, between James Lileks and John Yoo, a mano a mano battle between Banality and Evil.

77south felt that Yoo's resume made him a cinch for the crown:  "All of the other of this creepy horror show have made their living glorifying evil, but John Yoo lived it!...Choosing anyone else would be live nominating a Rolling Stone reporter for a Grammy instead of the rock star that earned it." But Brian Schlosser felt Yoo's impressive record of real world achievement is actually his Achille's Heel:  "Yoo is the only one to be an actual architect of malice. But I think that actually puts him out of the running for this contest, on the grounds that he's too big a fish. I'd gladly vote for him in the 'Miss International Tribunal at the Hague' though."

Bidziliba ticked off Yoo's many virtues ("the cultural sensitivity of Michelle Malkin coupled with the discreet humanitarianism of Reinhard Heydrich"), but most voters seemed to agree with Korda when he said "the fact that he actually enabled Evil, as opposed to merely advocating it, puts him out of the running in a contest as good-natured as this one," since Yoo faded badly in the Finals.

As you'll recall, the task before the Judges was a simple one:  imagine that the NRO cruise ship is the RMS Titanic, and decide which Speaker (based on his or her headshot) you would most like to see re-enact Leonardo DiCaprio's final scene.  In most cases, readers had no difficulty making a snap judgment, but Lileks aroused an unusual degree of ambiguity -- or at least a bit of nostalgia for his particular brand of nostalgia.

Brian allowed that Lileks "shares my fascination and love of the defunct and ephemeral, although I think he likes them for different reasons," while Chris Vosburg opined:

Sadly, Lileks, who was up till then a normal enough fella, was one of the sad souls who went a little crazy in the aftermath of the WTC bombing. When he's not writing of politics, I still enjoy his columns. When he writes of politics, I avert my eyes, just like I do when I come across a man urinating on himself in the alley behind my apartment buiding, or when my nutty Aunt explains the efficacy of shark cartilage as a cancer cure."

There were also practical reasons to favor the diminutive matchbook hoarder.  "If we're heading into ice berg territory," remarked heydave, "I'd only feel safe with Lileks strapped to the prow, his forehead of dumbitude crashing our way through to safety.

But I think Stacia best summed up Lileks' qualifications, and why he -- a relative latecomer to the ranks of wingnut pundits -- annoys me more than contestants who have spent a lifetime being insufferable little bullshit flumes:

Yoo's crimes against humanity notwithstanding, I think the worst conservatives are the sneaky conservatives, which is why my vote goes to James Lileks. He's one of those semi-closeted celebrity conservatives like Michael J. Nelson, Scott Adams or Alton Brown, on one hand aware enough to know they would be loathed by most fellow humans if their political beliefs were to get significant press, yet egotistical enough to believe their popularity is in part due to their backwards worldview. Lileks sits on his webpage, poised like a Venus Flytrap baited with hipster humor and memories of the good old days, sure he will eventually convert lost liberals in dire need of his guidance.

But mainly it's because he looks like the creepy window-peeper gas station attendant character in every film noir from 1942 through 1949 inclusive.

Certainly can't argue with that last point!  So, in the event the Winner is unable to perform his duties, James Lileks will go to the Sears Family Portrait Studio and pose for some more passport photos that make him look like a sandblasted clown.

Now, the moment I'm sure we've all been waiting for...The coronation of Miss Wingnut, 2011!  And the clear favorite, by a landslide margin of 3 votes is...

The Pox from Fox.  The Mug who brings the Smug.  The man whom Erica Jong probably would have called "the Lipless Fuck" -- Cal Thomas.

In addition to the many other laurels Cal has earned during a seemingly never-ending career, he is also known throughout the Netherlands as...Well, let's let legacy Dutchman Chris Vosburg explain it:

You may recall that Cal Thomas went off on Dutch euthanasia laws in a column back in 2004, and didn't stop there: prostitution, drugs, immigration, you name it, everything about the Netherlands was wrong, wrong, wrong. As final insult, he finished his column with the observation "All of this in a country where the Nazis murdered Ann Frank just because she was Jewish and therefore less than human."

Denizens of the fierce little undersea kingdom promptly responded with a google bomb linking Cal Thomas inextricably to the search phrase ignorant asshole.

This was news to me (I am clearly not aware of all internet traditions), so thanks for bringing a bit of international flavor to the Pageant, Chris.

Brian also honored the spirit of the competition, while looking deep within his own soul for the answer:

So that leaves me to vote based on the most important criterion: "Who's picture makes me want to punch them in the mouth the hardest?"

Scripto introduced a personal angle into the deliberations ("He reminds me of my long hair grabbing prison guard dickhead great uncle. Only more wordy.") while Suezboo asked an important question which I don't believe Cal has ever adequately addressed before:  "Is that short for Callous Bastard?"

Well, it is now, Suezboo, and I'll be heading off to Cal's Wikipedia page immediately after the Pageant to share this little known fact with the rest of the world ("Thomas was named after his father, Callous Thomas II, and his mother, Amelia Bastard, of the Boston Bastards...").

Ultimately, though, when you get past all the glitz and the glamour, the kleig lights and ballyhoo, this contest is about one thing:  America.  And no one summed up what America means today better than Doghouse Riley:

I guess I just wasn't meant for a time when wingnuts like Lileks and Genn would come up through a sort of farm system, like Texas' Miss America Corporation, and employ high-priced hair stylists and fashion consultants. It's like watching a bike race where everybody's coked to the gills on human growth hormone, except in this case it doesn't make anyone faster, or stronger, or, god knows, better looking, just tone deaf enough to continue.

So, Cal Thomas, the last surviving artifact of an optimistic time when we could say, "If we can just hold out until Cal Thomas dies of ugliness and impacted mucus this shit'll be over." 

Personally, I'm still holding out for that iceberg.  Oh, I know the NRO Coin Cadging Cruise is scheduled to ply the pellucid waters of the Caribbean, but a fella can dream, can't he?  Besides, that didn't stop Christopher Lee in The Castle of Fu Manchu.

Thanks to our fine panel of judges, and congratulations to all the contestants.  Keep reachin' for the stars, and keep staring into the camera with the soulless, glassy gaze of an taxidermied beaver.

Scott, Guest Poster of The FUTURE!

First, on behalf of Sheri and Mary (the perhaps justifiably forgotten folk-pop duo of the mid-Sixties), I'd like to say thanks for the many kind wishes on the occasion of our collective anniversary.  You guys are the reason World O' Crap has remained a persistent blemish on the lower left butt cheek of the blogosphere for the last eight years.

Second, the Winner and Runners-up of the Miss Wingnut 2011 Pageant will be posted tomorrow.  One day late, I know, but the announcement has been pre-empted so that we may bring you the following Special Program:

The Fabulous Stacia, of She Blogged By Night, has gone on strike, demanding better working conditions at her blog (including two weeks vacation, which she will probably just spend blogging anyway -- the woman's a machine!).  But she has hired a distinguished panel of scabs to cross the picket line and post on her behalf; this week it's my turn, and I'm offering up a Better Living Through Bad Movies treatment of 1983's Yor, the Hunter From the Future, starring Reb Brown as the post-Apocalypse's Smuggest Barbarian.

 

Now we know where Mark Steyn got his patented "Smoldering Come Hither" look, except Reb Brown's version is so powerfully sexy it's actually flammable.

For more of Mr. Brown's gallery of manly expressions, and some of the goofiest action in movie history, please click here.

World O' Crap...This is YOUR LIFE!

[Programming Note:  The New Black Panther Party would like to remind you that voting is still open in the 2011 Miss Wingnut Pageant -- click here to cast your ballot.  The Winner and Runners-Up will be announced Monday.]   We now join our blog, already in progress...

Yes, it's World O' Crap's 8th Blogiversary today, and what better time for a cheap clip show walk down Memory Lane, to savor those halcyon days.  Say Reader, do you remember this voice...?

Why You Should Read My Blog: It Will Serve You Coffee

There are millions of other blogs out there, clamoring for your attention.  Why read mine? Here's why: because my blog is going to be about things we can all relate to.  You know, cheesy movies, annoying politicians, weird advertising, Ann Coulter.  And MORE!.  Yes, all the mediocre, uninspired, muddle-headed, and just plain wrong stuff from this millennium and the previous one will be our playing field. 

Why yes, it's our own beloved s.z., writing her first post on the old Salon blog, way back in 2003.   And as any Crapper knows, she was as good as her word, for WO'C has indeed brought more mediocre, muddle-headed, and just plain wrong people to your attention in a mere eight years than you could otherwise hope to avoid in a lifetime.

Just two days after the publication of her founding manifesto, s.z. took on the Judge Roy Moore-Big Rock Candy Commandments Controversy, which was just then coming to a head.  For those who may not recall the details, Moore was the newly elected Chief Justice of the Alabama Supreme Court, who felt the wooden Ten Commandments plaque that hung in the Courthouse wasn't ostentatious enough.  So he commissioned a 2½-ton granite monument carved with a graven image of the Decalogue, and had it delivered to the Rotunda after business hours.  Chief Justice Moore seems to have anticipated that his actions might be regarded as irregular, if not downright illegal by the Federal judiciary, since, according to Wikipedia:

The installation was filmed, and videotapes of the event were sold by Coral Ridge Ministries, an evangelical media outlet in Fort Lauderdale, Florida, which later used proceeds from the film's sales to pay Moore's ensuing legal expenses. Coral Ridge was the operation of the late Reverend D. James Kennedy, a staunch Moore supporter.

Moore also had a Copyright notice chiseled into the monument, presumably so he could help fund his extra-Constitutional activities by selling paperweight reproductions in the Supreme Court Gift Shop.

The next morning, Moore held a press conference in the central rotunda to officially unveil the monument [and] declared, "Today a cry has gone out across our land for the acknowledgment of that God upon whom this nation and our laws were founded....May this day mark the restoration of the moral foundation of law to our people and the return to the knowledge of God in our land."

 While most bloggers discussed the First Amendment implications of Moore's actions, s.z. decided to go directly to the top:

God Comments On Alabama Ten Commandments Rock

It seems that this guy Rob Moore is just not going to get his rock out of the rotunda -- at least, not until the media stops covering this story.

And while there have been a lot of people interviewed about the situation (Rob, his supporters, the Alabama State Attorney General, the ACLU, Jerry Falwell, etc.), it seems that nobody has talked to perhaps the key player in all of this: God.

So, I got in touch with God's press secretary and managed to set up a short lunch meeting. Here's a transcript of our conversation:

========================

Me: Thanks for agreeing to talk with me.

God: No problem. I meet so few reporters these days that I felt it was my duty.

Me: Hey, was that a slam?!? But let's move on. As you know . . .

God: Yes. I'm omniscient.

Me: . . .Alabama Chief Justice Roy Moore has said "he would be guilty of treason" if he didn't fight to keep a monument of the Ten Commandments in the rotunda of the state judicial building. Do you agree?

God: Yes. But since Ann Coulter branded everybody she doesn't like (Democrats, liberals, women, airport baggage screeners, all the kids who made fun of her girlish crush on Joe McCarthy, etc.) as traitors, treason is now cool and hip.

Me: Moore has also said that he needs to keep the monument in the rotunda "to fulfill the campaign promise that he made to the citizens of Alabama to restore the moral foundation of law." What do you think he means by this?

God: That he wants to do Law & Order, Old Testement-style. You know, stoning homosexuals. Stoning adulteresses. Stoning kids who sass their parents. Stuff like that.

Me: And do you agree with him on this?

God: Hell, no! I sent you people my son and licensed representative to give you Commandments Version 2.0, which has a root code of "Love thy neighbor as thyself." I don't see anybody putting a two-ton granite block of THAT in any state buildings!

Me: So, what do you think of Reverend Falwell's comparison of Moore "with slain civil rights leader Martin Luther King Jr., who defied segregation laws in the white-dominated U.S. South in the 1950s and 1960s"?

God: Well, I hardly need Moore or Falwell to fight for MY desegregation. I AM omnipresent, you know.

Me: I think Falwell meant that it's okay to break "man's law when needed to preserve God's law."

God: I knew that. (Might I remind you of that omniscience thing?) I just thought it was a stupid analogy. And by the way, my law was never "Put a big granite monument of the Ten Commandments in a public place." My law was "Obey the damn commandments, and even more than that, love your enemies. Oh, and don't make a public spectacle of yourself by trumpeting your good deeds in the street or praying to be seen of men. And no worshipping of graven images!" But I guess it's my fault that I didn't package this stuff as "The Complete Idiot's Guide to the Commandments."

Me: And what do you think of Alan Keyes urging of Moore's supporters to "take back America from the unruly courts"?

God: I think that Keyes and Moore should first work on taking back daytime television from those unruly court TV shows! They are annoying, irresponsible, and demeaning to all involved. Plus, they take up valuable air time that could be used for reruns of "Highway to Heaven" and "Touched by an Angel." And "Perry Mason"--I've always liked that one. Oh, and speaking of sedition, don't you think that what Keyes is advocating comes close?

Me: Um, I really couldn't comment--except that if being a traitor is now cool, I don't think Keyes is one. One last question: what do you think of Moore's vow to file a formal appeal with the high court “to defend our constitutional right to acknowledge God"?

God: Being omniscient and all, I'm pretty sure that the constitution doesn't say that one has the right to acknowledge ANYTHING by sneaking 5,300-pound slabs of granite into public buildings in the dead of night. Unless perhaps Moore is speaking of the "Pranksters, Hazers, and Practical Jokesters Constitution."

As for acknowledging ME, I would prefer it if people would, you know, visit the fatherless and the widows in their affliction, and keep themselves unspotted from the world. Sure, it's easier to lug around big rocks, but it's not really the way I want to be worshipped. The big chunk o' granite thing just makes me look stupid in front of my friends.

Me: I'll pass that along. Well, thanks for your time. And best of luck to you in your future endeavors.

God. Same to you. See you at the second coming. Um, wear something nonflammable!

=================
There you have it. I hope this ends this little contretemps, and we don't have to read anymore about it ever again. Because it only encourages Moore and rewards him for acting out, and we don't want that. Or the next time he's up for reelection he'll lug the Dome of the Rock into the court house parking lot and refuse to move it, even though it's in a handicapped space, as a way of showing his constituents that he's a moron.

And then a week or so later, s.z. very kindly tossed me the keys and let me take her blog for a spin:

DON’T KNOCK THE ROCK! 

Roy Moore Draws Support of Rock-Worshipping Cults

By World O'Crap Special Correspondent Scott C.

The recent debate over Alabama Supreme Court Chief Justice Roy Moore’s monument to the Ten Commandments has exposed and to some degree exacerbated the tensions that exist between mainstream and fundamentalist Christianity. At the same time, however, the 5,300 pound cause celebre has also served to unite several previously hostile religious movements.

"Initially, church elders declined to take a position on this controversy," said Ronald Zietlow, Chief Mameluke of the Igneous Brotherhood. "We mistakenly believed that Chief Justice Moore and his followers worshipped an omniscient, omnipresent, but non-corporeal diety, and that the granite monument was merely symbolic.

"Naturally, that sort of abstract cosmotheism doesn’t interest us, since we worship the sturdy and tangible Three Stones of Fintoozler. But once we heard the protesters screaming, 'Get your hands off our god, god-haters!' (Protesters React Angrily to Monument Removal ) we realized that the granite carving was in fact their diety. Naturally, we felt obliged to offer our support in the spirit of stone-worshipping ecumenism. Plus, we admired their forethought in placing a copyright notice on their god. Many’s the time I wish that the High Prophet had taken a moment to visit the Trademark Office, since we’re losing quite a bit of potential merchandising revenue at the Three Stones. Particularly sales of T-shirts and those foam drink sleeves."

This sentiment was echoed by Timothy DeLongpre, a deacon at Our Lady of Feldspar in Sterling, Virginia. "As a minority faith which reveres consecrated sandstone, we are firm believers in defending the right to practice one’s religion, free of interference by Federal bureaucrats. We are also staunch supporters of anything which strengthens the ecumenical bonds of friendship and respect among the world’s leading rock-worshipping cults, because, frankly, some of them practice human sacrifice and they scare the crap out of me." DeLongpre added that many in his congregation have admired the way Chief Justice Moore championed his faith by hiring workmen to sneak his god onto public property in the middle of the night, and the way he boldly secured a copyright on his own Maker. "In our own parish, the poor often go hungry because our product line has been diluted by the unlicensed theme mugs of third party heretics."

Father Rodolfo, pastor of the First Church of Mexican Wrestlers Who Worship Rock Men From the Moon has closely followed the contretemps in Alabama, and believes that whether Moore’s effort succeeds or fails, he will long be honored as a peacemaker.

"Ours is a very inclusive church," said the priest as he took a break from calling Bingo on a recent Wednesday night. "And we are saddened by all this factionalism: Shale versus gypsum, sedimentary versus metamorphic. These doctrinal squabbles threaten to overwhelm our faith and blind us to the one thing we should never loose sight of: that despite our different beliefs and customs, we are all children of a big rock."

Rawiri Gaia, priestess of Rapa Nui agrees. "I believe that Moore’s crusade can already be counted a success, for it has helped to heal the theological divisions within my own faith." She gestured eloquently toward a towering head carved from the native rock.

"For countless generations we have venerated these enormous graven images of Richard Kiel. Or possibly Ted Cassidy. That’s another doctrinal sore point. But the fact is, in recent years we’ve seen a graying of our congregations. We needed to modernize our services, do something to appeal to the younger set, so we began outfitting our monoliths with gigantic Devo hats from the ‘Whip It!’ video.

"Some of our more traditional members threatened a schism, but fortunately Judge Moore’s timely stand on behalf of boulder fetishists everywhere reminded us that when it comes to eternal salvation, it doesn’t really matter what accessories your god is wearing. Only that he was carved with loving care, and legally trademarked."

Not all devotees of stone deities welcome the attention brought by the Ten Commandments imbroglio. Dave Bradley of Appleton, Wisconsin, who worships marble ("I like a smooth god," he says) claims that all the publicity has brought "kooks and whackos" flooding to his faith.

 "None Dare Call It Necrophilia"

Still, whether Moore’s Take Your God to Work Day program is successful may prove less important in the end than the comfort and inspiration it has provided to hundreds of pagan Alabamians. "It’s like the Stonewall Riot," said protester Cyrus Fletcher of Mobile. "Except with a big rock. And fewer drag queens."

So there you have it.  On November 13, 2003, less than three months after World O' Crap published a series of whimsical japes on the Ten Commandments Controversy, the Alabama Court of the Judiciary voted unanimously to defrock Chief Justice Moore.  The connection is inescapable.

Anyway, thanks for sticking with us all these years, and for making World O' Crap your first choice for blogs with the word Crap in their name.  We love you guys.

Joseph Farah: No Savage Breeds Savages

Note from the Management:  If you haven't voted in the Miss Wingnut Pageant yet, please cast your ballot here.  And if you have -- hell, vote again.  It's not like we're going to get audited by Price-Waterhouse.

But even when some of America's Leading if Unappetizing Headshots are preparing to embark on a great fund-raising cruise, drinking Mai Tais and eating crab puffs on the Lido Deck while exchanging affordable witticisms, life goes on.  Elsewhere in the world, there may be pain, anger, disorder and injustice; and there may be WorldNetDaily editor-in-chief Joseph Farah, trying to ride it all like a 5-year old drunk on Sugar Puffs and straddling a hobby horse.

Savage and the fall of the U.K.

It's been more than two years since Britain banned entry to American talk-radio phenom Michael Savage, along with a short list of terrorists, neo-Nazis murderers and other vile scum.

He is, however, still welcome in Mos Eisley.

It was in May 2009 that the British government released a list of 16 persona non grata – banned so as to protect the country from provocateurs of violence.

Today we should ask London how that deal is working out for them. 

If only the Ministry of Silly Walks had placated the restive underclass two years ago by allowing Michael "Savage" Weiner to attend the Devonshire Clotted Cream Festival, these recent riots would never have occurred, and Lachlan wouldn't have gotten away from the Tesco with that long-handled garden fork and those two cans of Batchelors Marrowfat Peas. 

 I don't wish to make light of the tragedy of the rioting, looting and mayhem raging across the country

"...I just wish to exploit it like a mortician selling a gold-plated coffin to a grieving widow."

 ...initiated by home-grown hooligans spoon-fed a diet of state socialism and mindless political correctness of the kind Savage is such an artful critic.

This is one of those rare times when I must agree with Joe, because if there's anything that might have cheered up the beleaguered Brits during the late unpleasantness, it's the sight of Michael Savage interposing himself between the broken front window of a Footlocker and a group of hoodies, while artfully criticizing the National Health Service.

Incredibly, that ban on Savage is still in place – like a vexing stain on Britain's proud history of dialogue debate and free expression.

Well, to be fair, the situation in Britain is volatile, the people are on edge, and introducing Michael Savage to the mix isn't likely to relieve the tension.  I mean, have you heard his voice?  It makes Quint's fingernails on that blackboard in Jaws sound like a harp glissando.  Turn on his radio show, close your eyes, and you'll swear you're hearing the Frank Booth character from Blue Velvet, played by a howler monkey that's huffing helium through a kazoo.

The motivations behind Britain's unprovoked and unprecedented attack on an American political and cultural commentator are by now well understood.

They didn't send a squadron of Typhoon F2s to bomb his house, they just wouldn't issue him a visa.  By the same token, I don't consider it assault and battery when I fail to throw open the door and invite the Mormons in for coffee, especially since they wouldn't drink it anyway

However, in the process, they smeared – and continue to smear – a brilliant pundit and best-selling author, law-abiding and non-violent American celebrity citizen.

CUSTOMS:  Name?

SAVAGE:  Michael Savage.

CUSTOMS:  Your passport says "Weiner."

SAVAGE:  I am a Weiner, but I'm unusually fierce about it.

CUSTOMS:  Profession?

SAVAGE:  I'm a brilliant pundit and best-selling author, law-abiding and non-violent American celebrity citizen.

CUSTOMS:  And what is the purpose of your trip to Britain?

SAVAGE:  I'm giving a seminar on "Writing a Catchy But Succinct Resume."

Now that Britain is aflame – and Savage is nowhere in sight as a provocateur – I thought it might be a good time to revisit this shameful episode in British politics.

These may seem like two wholly discrete events -- separated by years and completely dissimilar in cause, kind, scale or impact -- but just stop and think for a moment.  If correlation does not imply causation, then the opposite must also be true!

Banning an insightful, inspiring, entertaining and, yes, provocative American radio talk-show host from its shores did not protect Britain from the kind of violence it was attempting to prevent two years ago. That's for sure. 

I don't know, Joe.  The way I see it is, banning Savage kept Britain free of mob violence for two years, and they should immediately re-ban him, because apparently it's worn off, or expired.  Also, they should buy one of those tiger-repelling rocks, just to be safe.

It would seem apparent, however, that Britain has made less-than-perfect choices about whom to allow into the country and whom to keep out.

Except it appears that most, if not all of the people who are doing the looting are British.  So I don't really see your point, unless you're talking about Root Causes and implying that the UK ought never to have permitted non-Anglo-Saxon immigration in the first place, in which case I suppose we should blame the riots of 2011 on William the Conqueror. 

Let me put it another way: Britain is worse off today for not having voices like Michael Savage's present. He's a witty sage of the airwaves – somebody you might think Britain would be inviting as an honored guest in a free and open society, especially one known for sometimes outrageous but brilliant satire.

Here's some of the witty sage's wit, from around the time the British put up the Do Not Disturb sign:

"The children's minds are being raped by the homosexual mafia, that's my position. They're raping our children's minds."

"…I want to puke when I hear about a woman married to a woman raising children because, frankly, I think that it's child abuse to do that to children without their permission…"

"…I said so kill 100 million [Muslims], then there would be 900 million of them. I mean would you rather us die than them? I mean what is it gonna take for you people to wake up? Would you rather we disappear or we die? Or would you rather they disappear and they die? Because you're gonna have to make that choice sooner rather than later."

"…I have a number of things that I am gonna demand and one of them is that no more Muslim immigrants come into this country. No more mosques be permitted to be built in this country…and yes we need racial profiling immediately… And how did these Muslims get into England?... These vermin, these vermins, snuck in under asylum laws and the only reason there was an asylum law is that the liberals of England…said that we have to be nicer to Muslims."

Imagine how much happier the vermin would be if only their government had allowed them access to this kind of brilliant satire.

Put another way, America is much better off for the artistry of Michael Savage.

Our vermin are as content as pigs in shit, and for largely the same reason.

The only threat Savage poses to a free society is that he might actually expose its concealed dark underbelly of secrets, its abuses, its contradictions, its injustices.

While the major benefit he offers is the conviction that however secretive, abusive, contradictory or unjust the underbelly of your society may be, it's less dark than Michael Savage's overbelly.

No one has ever been killed as a result of a broadcast by Michael Savage, though I know many people who have been enlightened.

I hear the Buddha is a big fan.

No one has ever been maimed as a result of a best-selling book by Michael Savage, though I know many people who have been entertained.

And one who was so absorbed reading a Michael Savage book in his backyard chaise lounge that he didn't notice his leg was being gnawed off by wolverines.  Police forensics experts would later say he had been "entermaimed."

No one has ever suffered property damage as a result of attending a lecture or performance by Michael Savage, though I know many have been intellectually challenged.

Although Hitler suffered intellectual property damage when Savage appropriated some of his ideas for genocide.

All this is to say Britain has made some colossal mistakes in social policy that are self-evident from the images and videos and reporting we're all seeing. The misguided decision to ban a harmless troubadour of the right, a gifted soldier of passion and truth, needs to be remembered at a time like this.

So the looting, the arson, the violence and the deaths?  Forget about it.  But remember this wandering minstrel of reaction, this adenoidal knight-inerrant, this rhapsodic percolator of pure thought, which brews the grounds of wisdom and rectitude into the decaf of courage and detritus, lightens it with the non-diary creamer of racism, and sweetens it with the Splenda of incitement to homicide.  Remember him -- this rambling jongleur, this warbling, bunion-covered mummer of righteousness.  This realm, this England, this Weiner.

I can only hope, once Britain resolves its current social crisis, the political class apologizes to Savage and opens its doors to a cherished and celebrated voice that could actually help address the root problems afflicting the country right now.

From your lips to God's waste basket.

Emergency Beast Blogging: The Palliative Pussies Edition

Thanks to everyone who's voted in the 2011 Miss Wingnut Pageant.  If you haven't had a chance to cast your ballot yet, please do so in comments here; we'll be announcing the winner on Friday.

In the meantime, D.Sidhe, as she so often does, cut to the heart of the matter when she demanded, "Why are you making us look at these people?"  Frankly, I don't know, and I suspect it would take more therapy than I can currently afford to find the answer, but fortunately, she also suggested a way to make the medicine go down: cat pictures.

Riley:  (SIGH)  Yes, you can always tell you're in Hollywood by the sound of your neighbor blasting "The Red Army Men's Choir Sings Your Favorite Marching Songs of the Great Patriot War."  Pardon me for just a moment.  I'm going to kill him with my mind...

Moondoggie:  I had a dream that the whole world was carpeted in rich, deep-pile Persian cat ass.

Miss Wingnut 2011: The Finalists

The semi-finals are over and the results have been tabulated.  Some categories were hard fought; Mark Steyn and Michael Walsh, for instance, were neck-and-neck throughout the voting in the Male Model division, with Steyn's "Blue Steel" barely edging out Walsh's "Le Tigre," while other contestants (Lileks, Yoo) were clear favorites, in that everybody hated them.

And now...Our Finalists:

In the Smug Shot division, Cal Thomas bested veteran blowhard Tony Blankely, while Jonah Goldberg, whose mother was unable to fix the results, came in a distant third.

Congratulations to Fred Dalton Thompson, who handily won the Sea Hag division (I've replaced Fred's NRO headshot with a more recent photo, just to keep our relationship fresh).

Mark Steyn, as we mentioned, pulled out a squeaker in the Aramis Man competition, and immediately parlayed his win into a lucrative endorsement contract.  For the next year he'll be the spokesmodel for Galt Brand Invisible Water, the bottled water so pure it might not even exist!  Thirsty?  Go Galt!

James Lileks walked away with the award for "Creepy, Close-Talking Night Manager of a Rural Motel Who Thinks Like Norman Bates and Talks Like Percy Kilbride."  Or did he ride away?  On a motorcycle -- with streamers flying from the handles, and training wheels squeaking?  Because this is how Jack Fowler of The Corner puts it:

No, that isn’t Brando. Close though. It’s James Lileks, one of America’s wittiest writers (and it turns out he’s darned witty when he talks, too)...You can find out more about this spectacular trip, and securely reserve your well-appointed, spacious, and affordable stateroom, at www.nrcruise.com.

He's not just witty.  He's not just darn witty.  He's affordably witty!

Dr. Charmaine Yoest is a worthy and credible champion for abstinence-only education, because she speaks from experience.  Once, during a particularly wild Halloween party in high school, she necked with a Dementor; one thing lead to another, and he sucked her soul out through her mouth, but that didn't stop Dr. Yoest from realizing her dream of working as a CPR demonstration doll in the Reagan White House.

I think commenter mellor summed it up best: ugh, I think my eyeballs have a Yoest infection.

Roman Genn overwhelmed his competitors in the category "Confused Men with Prodigious Hair and Clip-On Ties Who Insisted That Their Prom Pictures Be Taken at The Old Dutch Bakery."

John Yoo was the undisputed winner in the "Not Even The Best Antiperspirant Can Stop Your Pores From Secreting Evil" division, beating out experienced felon Elliot Abrams.  However, the judges have taken Doghouse Riley's recommendation and bestowed upon Abrams the coveted Jean Hersholt Inhumanitarian Award.

And finally, Ralph Reed absolutely slayed his competition in the "Dummy From The Dead of Night" division.  Ralph and his rictus thank you.

So there we have it -- eight Finalists, as chosen by you, our distinguished panel of judges.  Now, to  select which of these deserving contestants will be crowned Miss Wingnut 2011 and Belle of the NRO Beggin'  Boat Ride, imagine that you are Rose from James Cameron's Titanic, and each competitor is Jack, the Leonardo DiCaprio character, and decide -- based on their photo and resume -- which one you'd most like to let sink into the frigid waters of the North Atlantic.  Feel free to explain your reasons, show your work, and designate Runners Up in the event your first choice is unable to fulfill his or her duties.

We'll count up all the votes, and announce the winner later this week.  And on behalf of the Pageant, I'd just like to say:  America thanks you, although frankly, the Holland America Line isn't all that thrilled with you.

Random Scenes of Hollywood

Mexican Palm with Hawaiian Lei.

Dr. Mike: French-Kissin' Cousin

Just to to keep things fresh, I've decided to take a slightly different approach to this most recent piece of Townfoolery by Dr. Professor Mike Adams, and play a little game.  As you can tell from the first line below, Dr. Mike wrote this week's column in the epistolary style, an 18th Century literary technique which neatly compliments his 14th Century views, and which the Unpromoted Professor has used to great success in the past, assuming his goal was to demonstrate he's an asshole the size of the Barringer Crater.

Now, as aficionados of Dr. Mike know, his "open letter" columns follow a fairly consistent formula.  First, he'll hork up some well-worn, wingnutty gripe about an issue which doesn't affect him personally, often triggered when a woman, ethnic minority, gay person or other second class citizen threatens to upgrade and sit in First Class (but the joke's on them, because the only available seat is next to Dr. Mike!).  Then he'll suddenly veer into M. Night Shyamalan territory with a mind-boggling twist that proves he's such a huge asshole that his rectum actually has room for a Balrog and several Dwarven kingdoms.  So the game is, let's try to guess the reveal.  Good luck.

Cuomo Phobia

Dear Governor Cuomo: I am writing to express my deep disappointment with your recent decision to push for an expansion of the definition of marriage – one that allows for marriage between a man and a man or between a woman and a woman. Most of your recent critics are writing because they think your crusade on this issue has gone too far. I’m writing because I don’t think it goes far enough. In fact, I think your approach to this issue reflects a fundamental narrow-mindedness that is almost as distasteful as your Pharisaic moral posturing and your constant media grandstanding.

Okay, so gay marriage.  Without reading the next paragraph, I'm going to guess that Dr. Mike is about to up the ante by demanding the right to conjugal bestiality or incest.  He might play the polygamy card too, but that opens him up to a Biblical counter-strike, so I doubt it.  Let's read on...

Before I continue, let me introduce myself. I was born in Mississippi in the 1960s.

Hey, so was the hobby of lynching civil rights workers -- it is indeed a Small World After All.  Disneyland should add a tiny, white-hooded figure clutching a noose to the ride, just to balance out all those brown dolls.

I am a former atheist and Democrat and who voted for Michael Dukakis and Bill Clinton.

I see we've already reached that point in the column where Dr. Mike stuffs a cow pie in his mouth and sucks on it like a Certs to give his every utterance that meadow-fresh aroma of bullshit.

 I also have a younger sister named Jennifer who is single and bisexual.

This is the first time I can recall Dr. Mike mentioning a bisexual sister, and I'm pretty sure if it were true he would have exploited her long before now, so it looks like he's gone past the breath mint stage and is now just sitting on the couch, binge-eating from a bag of Bandini.

In other words, I have had some exposure to other ideas, cultures, and lifestyles. I’m no bigot. In fact, I was the first kid on my block to own a Flip Wilson record. That should count for something.

Yes, it's another count in your indictment for Assault With Intent to Commit Humor.

But let me get back to my original purpose for writing. In your recent campaign to allow same-sex marriage in New York you presented yourself as one who supports “marriage equality.” But nothing could be further from the truth. In fact, you favor a narrow definition of marriage that is based on your own irrational fears and prejudices. And it is time to show real moral leadership by embracing moral relativism fully, not half-heartedly as you have done so far.

Here's the windup...and the pitch...!

Governor Cuomo, I want to get married. 

Congratulations, Dr. Mike.  I presume the bride-to-be is inflatable, since the only items in your Registry are a bicycle pump and a vinyl patch kit.

And I want to move my new wife to New York City so we can pursue our respective careers in education and art (she is a painter). But, unless your state becomes more welcoming and affirming, we won’t be able to do that because the woman I want to marry is my younger sister Jennifer.

Say, you are from Mississippi!

It may shock you to hear from someone who openly advocates incest. But that is the way people used to react to homosexuality.

By hitting the Delete key and adjusting their spam filter to include the words "Mike S. Adams"?

Actually, we get what you're doing here Dr. Mike -- attempting to make people who support marriage equality feel as squicky as you do when the subject of homosexuality comes up.  And given that incest is pretty much a universal taboo it would probably work, if only we were able to believe that there's a woman -- even a product of generations of in-breeding like your imaginary sister -- who would sleep with you.  Alas, even the cheap, disposable Occam's Razor you grab from the impulse rack in the grocery store check-out line doesn't buy it.

In the case of homosexuality, the remedy for such a puritanical reaction has not been silence. It has been openness. Just as we talked about homosexuality constantly – beginning in the early 90s – 

So that's when your mommy told you about the gays -- the 1990s?  You never heard a peep  -- not even a snicker -- about homosexuality in the polymorphously perverse Seventies?  That's pretty sad; you must have missed a good two-thirds of the jokes on Three's Company.

we must now do the same with incest. There simply is no other way to make our lifestyle seem normal.

Sure, but this raises the question: is there any way to make Dr. Mike seem normal?  I guess you could try to set an appropriate mood, perhaps watch Faces of Death while blasting Metal Machine Music and Courtesy of the Red, White and Blue; inject a speedball of roofing tar and PCP directly into your pericardium, then use the contaminated needle to tattoo "Love" and "Hate" on your knuckles with the blood of a kitten.  And then try getting all the way through the next paragraph without thinking, "What an asshole."

Under my plan tolerance of incest must begin in the public schools. We must then extend our efforts to the national media. In fact, I envision a day when every Hollywood sitcom will have at least one incestuous couple. But, at some point, we must take the fight into the political arena.

Nope, didn't work.

When people attack you for your recent success in legalizing same sex marriage they are likely to use scare tactics. They are likely to say that you have opened the door for incestuous and polygamous marriages. I want you to resist the temptation to dismiss their remarks as homophobic. To do so would actually reinforce phobias against incest and polygamy. So, instead, please show some courage and admit that the same logic that allows for same sex marriage also allows for incestuous and polygamous marriage.

I suspect that as a child Dr. Mike had difficulty with those restaurant placemats, the kind with connect-the-dots pictures, mazes, and those puzzles where you'd be presented with three images, two of a similar nature, and have to select the one that didn't belong.  For instance, two married couples -- one hetero, one gay -- seem more alike than the ultra-orthodox Mormon and his harem of sister wives.  Or, for that matter, the consanguineous Bud and Princess.

Some have asked me whether I am concerned at all about the implications of marrying Jennifer. Specifically, they worry that once married to me she will try to bring a third party – one of her girlfriends – into the marriage. But I am okay with a three party marriage. I’m committed to marriage equality even if it means sharing a lover with my younger sister.

Dr. Mike began this column as a devastating satirical attack on liberal hypocrisy, but his mind wandered, and at some point it became a letter to Penthouse Forum.

In conclusion, Governor Cuomo, I think you have been acting like a real hypocrite. You speak of equality but, in your heart, you consider some animals to be more equal than others. And that is offensive to those of us who crave public affirmation compelled by the force of law.

Note to Readers: The author of this satire doesn’t have a sister. Nor does he own pets. But he does own a copy of A Modest Proposal by Jonathan Swift.

Below is a photo of Dr. Mike plowing through his copy of A Modest Proposal:

Fig. 1:  "I don't get it...Where are the recipes?"

As D.Sidhe once remarked on another Dr. Mike column (I'm paraphrasing):  A Modest Proposal only works because we don't actually believe that deep down Jonathan Swift has a yen for human veal.

But Dr. Mike has thrown down the gauntlet, and declared that those of us who support marriage equality are morally obliged to make a logical case for incest.  But you know what -- we've already done that, in the pages of Better Living Through Bad Movies.  Specifically, the piece on Mary Shelley's Frankenstein.

Let's set the scene:  Victor Frankenstein (Kenneth Branagh) first meets his wife Elizabeth (Helena Bonham Carter) in pervy flashback.  "Dad brings in an orphan girl whom Ken is to think of as his sister, meaning that he'll be sleeping with her in a couple of minutes."  Later:

They begin to undress, and Helena murmurs “Brother and sister no more.” He replies, “Now husband and wife.” Well, actually they are both, as required by Mississippi state law.

There's a lot of stuff in the movie about hubris, and the tragedy of Man playing God, but mostly it offers some very helpful dating tips:

First, Mary Shelley teaches us that if you are looking for a date, instead of hanging out at the single’s bar or under the corner lamp post, you might want to look for eligible partners a little closer to home, like among your coworkers or classmates. Or better yet, actually at home, amongst members of your immediate family!

Dating family members can make life a lot easier by eliminating the need to learn new phone numbers, addresses, or names. And they’re so conveniently located! Plus, there’s none of the awkwardness that comes with trying to make small talk with strangers. You and your family already have a whole life-time of experiences to discuss, so instead of prattling inanely about the weather, you and Mom can relive that time when she made you try the broccoli salad at Olive Garden and you threw up, or the day that she got high on cold pills and put the cat in the dish washer. Now doesn’t that sound like a welcome change from the stiffness and strain of the typical first date? And since you regularly read Sissy’s diary, you can be pretty confident that she’s telling you the truth when it comes time for that chat about sexual histories.

So there you go, Dr. Mike.  If your mom and dad aren't too frail to adopt, you might still have time to get a date for New Years Eve.

Programming Note:  I'll be tabulating and posting the winners of the various NRO Pageant categories this weekend (so there's still time to vote) but I haven't decided yet out how we'll winnow them down in the final round to select Miss Wingnut 2011 (perhaps an essay contest?).  If you have any ideas, please post 'em in comments.

2011 Miss Wingnut Pageant: Round Three

Welcome back to the 1st Annual NRO Beauty Pageant, in which Glamour Shots of pathological, if unpersuasive, liars go head-to-head for the honor of being crowned Miss Wingnut 2011!

As you'll recall, these headshots were posted by National Review Online in an effort to actually entice people on board their plague ship fundraising cruise.  But as Jerome Kern night say, these celebrity sociopaths aren't just lovely to look at; they're delightful to know:

Moderated panel sessions featuring our esteemed guest speakers, along with plenty of passenger Q&A.

Imagine the chance to ask Rich "Starbursts" Lowry plenty of probing questions, like, "As a nationally syndicated columnist, do you judge a political candidate primarily on messaging skills, policy positions, or how quickly you can masturbate to completion during a debate?"

Plenty of chances to meet, schmooze and enjoy personal interaction with our special guest speakers.

EARL:  ...and sign it "Shit Flower."
ROVE:  Turdblossom.
EARL:  Whatever.

Now, on to Round Three!

Category #1:  Miss "Last Known Photograph"

Jim Geraghty

Jay Nordlinger

Roman Genn

Talent:  Vanishing without a trace; scratching the word "Croatoan" in the Break Room lunch table.

Question From the Judges:  Where Do You Want to Be in Five Years? Discovered in the trunk of an abandoned 1997 Chevrolet Monte Carlo.

✭✭✭

Category #2:  Miss Unindicted Co-Conspirator

John Yoo

Elliot Abrams

Turn-Ons:  BDSM roleplay scenarios in which I'm a suave Gestapo officer and Article II of the Constitution is a willowy young French girl suspected of working with the Resistance; and she's a defiant lass!  Oh yes!  And oh so very beautiful in her defiance...at first...

Turn-Offs:  Special Prosecutors; balky shredding machines.

✭✭✭

Category #3:  Miss Ventriloquist Dummy From Magic

Ralph Reed

Andrew McCarthy

Bob Costa

Talent:  Turning my head 360 degrees; sleeping in a suitcase.

Question From the Judges:  Where Do You Want to Be in Five Years?  Creeping you the fuck out.

Please vote for your favorite contestant in each category (click here for Round One, and here for Round Two).  The winners will advance to the Sudden Death round, which will decide who will wear the Teabagger Tiara!

Accepting the Award for World O' Crap is Sacheen Littlefeather

We didn't get into blogging for the fame and the glory -- we're in it for the Love.  Mostly because nobody has ever offered us fame or glory (or even free DVDs of the movies Fame or Glory).  But our good buddy Ivan, who runs the Internet's indispensable nexus for audio-visual ephemera (Old Time Radio, TV, Movies, and more) Thrilling Days of Yesteryear has unloaded bestowed upon us the Liebster Blog Award, which, as Ivan writes:

“Liebster,” in the German and Spanish vernacular, means “beloved”…According to the Liebster Blog Award guidelines, I’m to link to the blog what gave me the award (check) and then pass it on to five equally worthy candidates.

We're very excited and humbly grateful, and are already taping our boobs into a scandalously low-cut gown for the ceremony.  Winnowing the list down to a mere five, however, is likely to be the most time-consuming part.  So let's begin the Beguine...

I'm going to start by cheating a bit and selecting a blog Ivan also tagged.  I apologize, but I just can't help it; I'm a film geek and it's one of my favorite destinations on the internet.

She Blogged By Night -- Stacia (who is probably familiar to many of you from the comments here) produces one of the most delightful movie blogs around -- snarky, savvy, and affectionate about all things motion picture, from silents to SyFy.  As it happens, Stacia is on holiday this month, but she's lined up an impressive roster of guest bloggers (and I don't say that just because she's very kindly invited me to contribute), so her place is still hopping.  In fact, she herself keeps dropping in to post, suggesting she's an excellent blogger, but a lousy vacationer.

FGAQ -- Mark H. takes a refreshingly unbloggery approach to blogging: no confessional tone, no rants, no cat photos.  Instead, he grabs whatever depressing outrage is at the top of the news and distills it into a weird little short story that's often dry, wry, and Onionesque.

The Bowery Boys: New York City History -- A terrific blog full of little known tales of the Big Apple, from events ("Who won the Great Gimbals Air Race of 1911," "The other Draft Riots: Brooklyn infernos, Queens bonfires") to historic buildings, to a survey of which superheroes were born on the Lower East Side.  If you have any fondness at all for NYC, The Bowery Boys is a fascinating but edifying time-waster.  If not, this might just give you the bug (or at least the bedbug).

The Bloggess -- A woman marooned in the middle of Texas with rheumatoid arthritis, crippling panic attacks, and a giant metal chicken, she's the Internet's richest source of absurdist, incontinence-inducing laughter.

Bats Left/Throws Right -- I'm sure anyone who reads WO'C also reads the Hoosier Sage, but on the off chance there are one or two newcomers who haven't yet caught the wave, Doghouse Riley is, in my opinion, the best writer in the medium.  Complex, yet effortlessly witty, informative, yet entertaining, with a tone of mixed exasperation and fatalism that only a few bloggers -- your Tboggs, your Roys -- can match.

Programming Note:  The final six contestants in the 2011 Miss Wingnut Pageant will compete tomorrow.  If you haven't cast your ballot yet, please click here to vote in Round One, and here for Round Two.

Remember, your votes will decide which of these lovely hopefuls will wear the tiara, and get to skip to the head of the NRO Cruise buffet table line.