Oh, Ablow Me

I'm sorry for letting so much dust collect on the blog. I either need a better work ethic, or a more effective scapegoat, but the latter is hard to come by, since our neighborhood isn't zoned for livestock. I suppose I could get a dog, since they're Mankind's traditional fall guy, for everything from alleged homework destruction to farts, but "The Dog Ate My Blog" sounds less like a valid excuse, and more like a rejected song by They Might Be Giants.

Not that I don't have excuses, mind you.  My Mac died a sudden, but convincing death, for instance. Granted, it was a decade old, and the recipient of multiple transplant organs over the years -- a new video card, a replacement hard drive; also, I think someone may have stolen its kidneys in Mexico -- so it wasn't exactly untimely or unexpected, and I suspect Mac himself welcomed the sweet release of death, since he would no longer be required to visit WorldNetDaily or RenewAmerica. But it did take all my bookmarks, my assemblage of vintage ads for disgusting food (as essential to celebrating birthdays around here as my this-close-to-porn collection of reptile models in sexy poses), my various can't-afford-to-replace 'em media manipulation programs and most painful of all, my entire library of cat photos and videos.

So I'm coming to you now from my cheap, rickety, barely-worthy-of-the-name backup laptop, and we'll see how long that lasts. But in the meantime, what about some cheap, rickety, barely-worthy-of-the-name reasoning, from "Fox News Medical A-Team" A-hole, Dr. Keith Ablow?

[UPDATED below. Abelow? Whatever...]

We've talked about the good Dr. Fellatio before...Here's a picture:

Wait...Sorry. Here's his headshot...

Dr. Gherkinslurper's skill set -- aside from an obvious ability to make sweet, sweet love to the camera -- has heretofore been confined to examining President Obama's mental illnesses from such a distance that his diagnoses had to correct for the curvature of the earth.

But now that we have a president who's a paragon of emotional stability and robust mental health, Dr. Schlongsluicer has gone from Cassandra to cheerleader:

Trumping your life: How to be a better, stronger person by being more like the president

Weeks ago, I wrote the first installment of TRUMPING YOUR LIFE, delivering three ways you can change your life by following the example of President Trump.

I feel like I've already had my life thoroughly, and if not irreparably, Trumped, thank you. To be fair, however, Dr. Bollardbuffer didn't promise to change your life for the better, he simply recognized that sometimes a person wants or needs to shake things up. Besides aping the example of President Trump, other ways to profoundly change your life include the following:
1.) Give meth a chance
2.)  Have a baby - but not a human one
3.) Consider a mid-life career change, like quitting your current job and going on a Badlands-style five-state killing spree.

This is the second of five installments I plan to share.

Oh dear God.

If you take this Trump-inspired self-help advice seriously, I believe it will significantly improve your existence.

As the co-proprietor of a blog, I've had the occasional target of our gentle lampoonery advise me to "get a life!", but I admire the way Dr. Knobbobber doesn't want to cruelly raise expectations about the value of his therapy, and more reasonably advises his patients to "get an existence."

As a reminder, these were the first three ways to begin TRUMPING YOUR LIFE: 

1) Don’t let anyone tell you you’re not good enough to work toward any goal. Just don’t forget the work.

You're good enough, you're smart enough, and doggone it, you're corrupt enough. Just remember, those elections aren't going to rig themselves.

 2) Don’t mimic your competitors. Have the courage to be authentic.

"If there's one thing I'd like people to take away from this five part series on following the example of Donald Trump, it's the importance of not following the example of other people, because internally consist logic is treble clef lemur swizzle grommet."

3) Let yourself be righteously angry when people take you for a weakling, a fool or a fraud.

Or, just realize how well you must be emulating Donald Trump, and take the win.

Now, onward . . . 

4. Assume you will encounter increasing resistance as you pursue big and worthy goals.

If your goals are big and worthy enough, you might even encounter increasing hashtag resistance.

Small minds, intent on stalling or frustrating real change, become increasingly obstructive in the face of bold momentum...

But once you've got small minds working in concert with small hands, the world is your teeny tiny oyster.

you should do what I believe Donald Trump does...Turn the friction you feel from small minds into fuel for your intentions. Double down.

I don't know what this means, but it sounds like somebody decided to write some Art of the Deal slash fic.

5. Don’t be afraid to speak about things like friendship and love. Among strong people, connections of the heart are very powerful.

Also don't be afraid to stab people in the back and throw them under the bus at the first sign of trouble. And don't be afraid to keep your supporters from fulfilling their lifelong dream of meeting the Pope, because among strong people, the tears of weak people are hilarious. Remember, your enemies expect you to be an asshole and will thus remain on their guard, so sucker punch a friend! Much easier.

President Trump is known for pointing out friends in big crowds.

He's also known for pointing out protesters he'd like his big crowds to beat up. His finger is quite versatile, is what we're saying.

 He talks openly about loving places and people and projects.

And creepily about loving his daughter. His libido is versatile, is what we're saying.

 He is clearly pained by cruelty to children. After receiving a long round of applause during a recent speech in Israel, he paused to say, “I like you, too.” 

How does sentence #2 illustrate -- or remotely relate -- to sentence #1? Well, I guess even Trump realizes that applause will only encourage him to turn the world our children will inherit into an even crueler hellscape, and so figures he should respond to it like a Burnt Umber Fred Rogers.

Being powerful doesn’t mean you need to be austere.

Thankfully, I think we've got the austerity problem licked.

Creativity is enhanced by a willingness not to be so intent on appearing courageous that you can’t be very powerfully moved by emotion. Sure, Trump is tough and can be moved to anger. But he also seems able to laugh and to love.

Laugh and love? Maybe. Hates to be laughed at? Definitely. Still, you should totally base your life on a rageaholic with the emotional stability of nitroglycerin, because he just might possibly be capable of guffawing when someone gets smacked in the nuts on America's Funniest Home Videos.

You should feel free to speak from your heart, not just your head. People will hear you even better.

Depending on how good the acoustics are in your thorax.

6. After hard-fought battles, whether you win or lose, don’t assume your competitors can’t become your partners.

Unless they have video footage of you paying to Russian hookers to soil a hotel bed in Moscow, in which case they're more likely to become your supervisors.

President Trump reached out to candidates he fiercely debated during the Republican primaries and turned more than one into an ally. Secretary of Housing and Urban Development Dr. Ben Carson comes to mind.

It's not a sound mind, but still.

So does Gov. Chris Christie.

I think we can all agree he immediately comes to mind whenever the phrase, "Who's fetching the President's Sausage McMuffin® with Egg?" is heard.

Burning bridges may feel satisfying when you do it, but you can easily find yourself alone, on an island. The truth is that most people are pretty forgiving and can set aside some hurt feelings or even very bruised egos to pursue worthy goals with former adversaries.

Donald Trump isn't one of them, of course, but sometimes it's the exception that proves the rule.

You have to ask to mend fences, of course. You have to be willing to extend an olive branch — or two or three — even after wielding a bat. And that takes some kindness and courage and faith. But you will be repaid through synergies that might never have developed had you let your ego interfere with the greater good.

Excuse me, Dr. Weinerwasher, I don't mean to be cynical, but you completely forgot you were talking about Donald Trump and just drifted off into the canned speech you give at Rotary meetings, didn't you?

So, there you have it: A total of 6 ways to start TRUMPING YOUR LIFE

Including a live demonstration of how to lose your train of thought and wander off in a dementia fueled haze, before snapping back with spasm of caps.

Dr. Keith Ablow is a psychiatrist and member of the Fox News Medical A-Team.

I don't know who consults the Fox News Medical A-Team, but I pity the fool.

UPDATE: Sheri writes an unsolicited testimonial to the power of Dr. Kochholster's therapy:

Thank you for sharing these wonderful tips on how to Trump my life! I learned that just because everybody else says that global warming is real, and that vaccines don't cause autism, I should buck the crowd and believe the conspiracies!

I learned that mocking disabled people, although frowned on by so-called "decent society," is fun, and is a great way to release tension! 

I learned that if a kid on Twitter says something I don't like, I should destroy her, because the best thing in life is to crush your enemies. See them driven before you. Hear the lamentations of their women.

And I learned that standing in the middle of Fifth Avenue and shooting somebody is a great way to make friends.

So, now that I have perfect mental health, I am ready to meet Dr. Ablow and thank him personally...

Dr. Laurie Roth Can't Stop Sexing You Up!

Sex!

Oh.  Um.  Heh...

Sorry about that. I guess I got a bit of an earworm from Dr. Laurie Roth's latest column, and now I can't seem to--SEX!

SEX!

SexysexsexsexSEX!

You know what? I'm just gonna yield the floor to Laurie, since she's a doctor (of Counseling) and a former disco recording artist, and a Tae Kwon Do black belt, so maybe she can talk me down, cure my boogie fever, or just kick me senseless, as she promises to in her bio ("if she can't reason with you, you had better duck before the roundhouse kick sends you flying!"). Although the kicking kind of reminds me of the trampling fetish which reminds me of--GAH!

Excuse me, I'm gonna go stand under a cold shower and bite on a washcloth for awhile. Dr. Laurie?

Sex, sex, and more sex...in every way with everyone

Okay, this isn't helping...

It appears the gift of "sex" and sexuality has been forced over a cliff and shattered into a thousand pieces of broken and perverted expression.

Has your sexuality fallen and shattered into a thousand perverted pieces? Now there's hope, because what many people mistake for their sexuality is often just that Hummel figurine they inherited from Grandma Lillian, and once you learn to tell the difference between your penis and a porcelain effigy of a jolly burgomeister, your sex life is almost guaranteed to improve!

Experts are everywhere and those who demand to change our legal, religious, educational, and political core. 

This can be confusing, because I once met a malcontented "expert" who wanted to "blast" my "core," and I naturally reported her to the FBI as a potential terrorist, but it turned out she was just a pilates instructor.

We must become another creature...void of Godly morals, laced with experimental sexual drives and controlled by feelings, government, and liberal agendas. "Act out, do it again, and we will treat your diseases."

I had no idea the process of becoming The Batman was so similar to contracting gonorrhea.

Shockingly, the most perverted among us run for president and dream of controlling us from the top down. 

I don't really care of the President is a guy I'd enjoy having a beer with, however -- and this is really a sign of how old and old fashioned I am -- I'd rather he was a top than a bottom.

We have been forced to endure the never ending story about Hillary and Bill...sex this and sex that. 

Honestly, I want to pull my weight here, but my back hurts and I'm starting to chafe, so let's make a deal, Laurie...I'll sex this, but you sex that.

We see the perverted pedophile friend here...

Hi, Josh!

sell-out and money laundering there....the sleep around, sell-out family in every way.

That's a harsh, but fair description, I suppose...

 Sadly, so far it looks like Hillary will be running on the Democrat ticket. Moral, legal, and faith bankruptcy!

I guess that's an okay campaign slogan, but it's no "Tippecanoe and Tyler Too."

Hillary is not the only one competing for the "sex and moral lunacy award." 

She's just the only one who could beat Rick Santorum in the evening gown competition.

We still await the ruling from the Supreme Court on "mandated gay marriage." Will it be pushed and forced on all 50 states, and will this crush freedom of speech and religious rights?

Survey says...(timpani!)...No.

Sex with everyone and everything...bring it. Women and women – men and men – sex with groups, neighborhoods – sex with old men and young boys – sex with your Beagle – then do it all again after you changed your sex over the weekend. Now, you come with all your "rights" from the other side.

Crap, I missed my cue. Sorry! Can we take it again from the beginning?

Will it become a crime to be married to your husband, not sleep around and not allow others to join in? Just think of the exclusive hate of that position. 

Even worse, "Exclusive Hate" is one of the least popular positions in the Kama Sutra, right behind "Kneeling Wheelbarrow" and "Lustful Leg."

There will be no one in my bed except my husband and I....ok, our dog Scooter as well, but not for sex.

Um, whatever you say, Doc.

Apparently, some have never learned from history what happens when God and morals are completely removed from sexuality and its expression. Rome started its downturn in 190 AD and was known for acting out with sexual expression, torture of Christians, and violence in between their artistic expressions.

But then in 313 AD the Christians remembered their safe word, and suddenly the party was over!

God put parameters and limits around sex, not to torture and punish us, but to protect us and bless us all. Sex was created by God as an intimate and holy expression of love to another person of the opposite sex.

God's legal representatives, Lucifer, Satan, Beelzebub & Belial, LLC, sued homosexuals for infringing on His intellectual property, but the Supreme Court ruled that gay sex was legal under the Fair Use doctrine, and also kind of hot.

He invented the holy sacrament of marriage where sex is meant to live and prosper.

God gets a lot of credit for inventing marriage, but almost none for inventing divorce, but come on -- you figure he had to have been involved; otherwise it'd be like inventing the bottle cap, but not the bottle opener.

Instead, many in America have turned sex and its expression into a walking and diseased "side show." 

America's Greatest Sex Symbol.

There's Not Enough Wild Turkey in the World to Wash This Down

Hey guys, it's been awhile since we've checked in with defrocked Psycho Therapist (and Chris Vosburg's secret girlfriend) Robin of Berkeley. As you may recall, in the past she's been tormented by liberals, bicycles, lesbians who gave her hard looks, and a homeless guy who stepped on a bug, completely putting her off her Pinkberry. Well, now it's roving gangs of feral turkeys, which are taking over the town much the same way liberal academics have taken over the gown. 

The Wild Turkeys of Berkeley 

There are a whole lot of turkeys in Berkeley. No, I’m not being snarky.

I took that for granted, Robin, since "turkey" hasn't generally been deployed as an insult since the 1970s, and even then you often had to go to experts, like Huggy Bear or Earl Holiman from Police Woman, to hear it used properly in a sentence.

We have real, live feral turkeys all over the place, in people’s yards, the streets, and public parks. Before you think, “Oh, how cute,” let me tell you that these creatures are problem children. They poop all over the place; they squawk at all hours of the day and night. And even worse, they have come to rule the roost by blocking traffic.

This may not pose more than a minor inconvenience to the average citizen, but I bet it's a huge pain in the ass for Dracula. Just imagine how difficult it is to create the proper atmosphere for your guests if the "children of the night" are not wolves, but turkeys, and the "beautiful music they make" sounds less like souls howling in torment, and more like an ice cream truck playing "Turkey in the Straw."

Face it, uncompromising diversity initiatives by the Berkeley municipal government have led directly to policies that are anti-vampire (a clear case of class warfare) and objectively pro-turkey.

These wild turkeys cause near car accidents every day, as they obstruct traffic, refusing to back up even if cars come close by. With menacing looks, the turkeys will block in drivers, even attack cars. I’ve seen drivers try to back up, while turkeys move towards them, barricading the poor driver in his car.

Apologies to PETA, but if you're being intimidated by a thuggish turkey standing in front of your car, an obvious solution presents itself, and it doesn't involve backing up.

Once I saw a female driver so locked in by turkeys outside of my house that I ran out to help her. Wielding a broomstick, I gestured and yelled at the turkeys. They eyed me aggressively before finally flying away. 

When I was a kid I was a big fan of Magnus, Robot Fighter...

...but even those two-fisted, action-packed yarns don't hold a candle to the pulp-style heroics of Robin, Turkey Tackler!

The woman, by then scared to death, thanked me profusely and added, “I’m from out of town. How do you live like this?” (Something, by the way, that I ask myself everyday.)

See, this passage works on two levels, because Berkeley is infested with turkeys and also liberal university professors, and they both poop on the hood of your Audi.

Now, the burning question is why are these “wild” turkeys no longer wild? Why is the only wild thing an older woman (me) hollering like a maniac outside of my house?

Well Robin, I'd say that's not a question that requires an answer so much as a diagnosis.

Why have these turkeys become so brazen in an urban area? 

It's an old story, Robin. How're you gonna keep 'em down on the farm now that they'd seen Berkeley? Turkeys of yesteryear may have been content with the barnyard and the Thanksgiving axe, but the instant they hit the big city they begin rouging their knees and rolling their stockings.

The critters have obviously been coddled and protected for so long, that they are in charge, not the humans. 

We brought this on ourselves.

Now, my story of the Wild Turkeys of Berkeley is not only a true tale, but a metaphor.

I dunno, Robin. Based on past performance, it's probably not the former, and if you have to tell us it's the latter, then it's either not a metaphor, or it was damaged in transit.

 Because the turkey example applies not just to animals, but to many humans around here — and most everywhere — who have lost their natural, inborn fears. People, just like creatures, act in anti-social ways partly because they are allowed to.

Freed of the civilizing effects of phobias and inhibitions, man returns to a state of nature, sounding his barbaric gobble-gobble over the rooftops of the world, blocking legal parking spaces, and defecating fearlessly into the Assorted Snuggle Remnants bin in Jo-Anne Fabric.

Since anything goes around here, teens will curse and act unruly in public even if grown-ups are nearby. 

But Robin, conservatives like you have been trying to turn back the clock to the 1950s since the Reagan Administration, so I figured you must be in favor of juvenile delinquency. Don't tell me it's just the quiz show scandals and segregated drinking fountains you're nostalgic for.

Since Berkeley (and the nearby cities) promote Question Authority, some of the kids, like the turkeys, think they are top dog.

A turkey that thinks it's a dog doesn't sound like a social problem, it sounds like a Far Side cartoon.

 Calling one’s mom or teacher the “b” word makes perfect sense in an area (and a culture, via the sick and twisted media and music) that promotes disrespect for those in charge.

As Robin points out, turkeys have filthy mouths -- especially the "jive turkeys" (you know the ones she's talking about) -- but since opportunities for disadvantaged fowl are few, and most of them know they'll wind up behind chicken wire, or dead, you can see why so many are drawn to the nihilism of rap music.

But I don’t just want to blame the children. There are plenty of manchilds and womanchilds who do their own thing, regardless of whether the behavior is legal or appropriate. Laws are flaunted; police are screamed at; people unabashedly walk Fido into stores, defying the conspicuous signs that read, “No Pets Allowed.”

Dogs and cats, shopping together! Mass hysteria!

And it’s certainly not just Berkeley. We can see people doing their own thing all over the US — as well as beyond. Like the Wild Turkeys of Berkeley, scores of people have lost their inborn fear.

What made the Greatest Generation so great? Each of them -- man, woman, and child, and manchild and womanchild -- were yellow-streaked scaredy cats who were terrified of their own things, and so only did the others' things. That's how you beat Hitler!

So if people now think that they are just wild beasts, why not act like one?

Good question. A better question might be why so many people are choosing the turkey as their spirit animal. I don't claim to be an expert on Native American theology, but perhaps it just makes for a more efficient vision quest if your totem not only embodies the essence of your power, but also tastes delicious with giblet gravy.

 If there is no meaning to life, then anything goes. And most importantly, if there is no God, then there are no consequences, both in this life and beyond.

So atheists can double park and litter and the cops can't touch 'em! Laws only apply to religious people, although strangely, you never see cops pounding on doors of believers, yelling, "Open up in the name of the Lord!"

When we were a country steeped in faith, most citizens had a healthy fear of sin, and Judgment Day, with the very real possibility of hell. It would be hard to beat up a little old lady or start a riot if ultimately it means eternity tortured by the fires of hell. But with a good chunk of the populace not believing in anything outside of themselves and this one life, anti-social behavior and mayhem are out-of-control, particularly around here.

The casual observer might glance at this paragraph and see a flaw. To wit: both the rates of crime and regular church-going have been declining in this country, nearly in parallel. But as Robin would probably say, that's just anecdotal evidence. It doesn't actually become empirical data until you factor in the influx of wild turkeys.

Tragically, the world resembles those pre-Christian, pagan times, with its barbarism. From what I behold every day, it’s hard to know anymore who are the humans and who are the wild beasts.

In that case, I think neither you nor Dick Cheney should be allowed to go hunting.

Notes:
(1) I heard of a survey that the SF Bay Area has the fewest people in the country who go to church. And yet there is widespread anti-social behavior, riots, hellish schools, and astronomical crime. Hm. . .could there be a connection?

Sure, the crime rates in San Francisco have dropped since 2000, but that's just inside the actual city. Inside the city inside Robin's head, it's Thunderdome! Hm...could there be a connection?

I Sound My Mighty Yelp

I was so delighted and inspired by Sheri's piece on Wo'C favorite Robin of Berkeley that I just had to pluck a fruit from the poisoned tree and take a big crunchy bite of it myself. And then Weird Dave, one of our favorite, and certainly one of our nudest Crappers, wrote in comments, "Before we bid Ms. bin Berkeley adieu check out her complaining about Yelp.  I will bet dollars to doughnuts she got a bad Yelp review (or three)." And if you know me, you know how difficult I find it to ignore the advice of a man who spends most of his time frolicking naked in the desert. So I followed his link, and sure enough, Robin is as upset by this crowdsourced Consumer Reports as she is by the Andrew Breitbart murder, or Rosemary's Baby (but happily she's still proud of her whiteness):

Real Men Don’t Yelp

They just jump straight to their safe word.

Everyone is Yelping these days, that is, using the website, Yelp, to play critic. But in my opinion, the name “Yelp,” is a misnomer. Instead, it should be called “Whine.”

That'd be great, Robin; unfortunately, "Whine" has already been reserved as a synonym for "Blogging."

Because that’s what most people do on Yelp, complaining about this restaurant or that physician’s office. As a bumper sticker I saw aptly put it, “Yelp. Ruining small businesses since 2004.”

Well far be it from me to refute the peer-reviewed conclusions of a bumper sticker, but the only time I ever wrote a Yelp review, it was a rave for the Mom 'n' Pop computer cobblers who resurrected my wizened Mac after the harddrive died.  Now I realize my experience is completely anecdotal, and lacks the large data sample and rigorous statistical analysis typically performed by the rear collision guard of your Kia Elantra, but according to this site designed to help local merchants leverage social media, Yelp users most often come to praise Little Caeser's, not to bury it:

Take “Becky from Oakland.” She ordered her burger from the local bistro medium rare, but it came well done. Did she politely speak to the waiter? Complain to the manager? Try to work things out like, I don’t know. . . a grown up? 

No, Becky typed out an incendiary attack against the restaurant and posted it on Yelp. In that moment, as Becky seeks revenge for her disappointing dinner, the restaurant owner isn’t a person like her, someone with dreams and feelings. He is just a vehicle for her to unload frustration and bitterness.

Unfortunately, Robin didn't link to Becky from Oakland's review because we can't handle the truth!, so we don't know if she did try speaking to the waiter or the manager, or just sullenly accepted the cremains of her burger and placed it in a tasteful urn next to Aunt Sadie's ashes on the mantle. And since a search of Yelp for "Becky from Oakland" yields no reviews at all, positive or negative, it's possible Becky is another one of Robin's imaginary enemies. Or one of her patients. But I repeat myself.

Yelp plays to basest instincts for vengeance, imparting a false sense of power and bravado. In that online moment, Becky becomes a mini, online Rambo.

What you call Hell, Becky calls Help.

Then there’s Jim. He didn’t like the attitude of the person at the local dry cleaners so decided not to use them. Rather than simply bringing his garments to another shop, he gave the place (which, by the way, he never actually used) a nasty review and one star. In the age of Yelp, business owners can’t be in a bad mood because of a troubled marriage or a sickly child. Every potential customer is now a Secret Shopper, scrutinizing all possible wrong moves.

It doesn't seem to dawn on Robin that people actually read the reviews on Yelp, and if "Jim" says "The dry cleaner was all pouty about his kid's lymphoma, so I refused to let him touch my fine washables. One star!", then users will probably accord his opinion the weight it deserves. On the other hand, I find Robin's stubborn belief that everyone is as stupid as she is -- in spite of all evidence to the contrary -- a touching act of faith.

I suppose Yelp isn’t all that different from many sites on online, with the trolls and the hostile, sometimes obscene, comments. 

Back on the Old Wo'C Site, Sheri quoted Robin on the mystifying, nay, suicidal effrontery of trolls.  "Why," Robin puzzled, "Would they subject themselves to scrutiny by a licensed psychotherapist?", to which Sheri responded, "Robin, you routinely diagnose mental illness in the Left while being a nut yourself. You’re a humorless, tone-deaf scold. And you tell the most far-fetched, improbable, entertaining stories about the trials and tribulations of being you. Of COURSE the trolls are going to be drawn to you. You’re their queen!"

Virtually, people can brandish words like knives to attack anyone who dares to disagree. It’s all anonymous, of course; one can say things that would never be allowed in polite conversation. And the recipient of the abuse isn’t a quite a person, but an objectified, disembodied thing, someone different than oneself.

Robin of Berkeley would like you assholes to stop insulting people from behind your curtain of anonymity.

Maybe I’m touchier about the subject than others. My father owned a very small store post-WWII, when leases were easy to get and red tape nil.

Before the days of intrusive government regulations, our father's were free to run their wildcat organ harvesting business out of the neighbor's toolshed!

Because ultimately, it’s not about burgers and fries or dry cleaners; it’s about something deeper and more essential: dignity, and a culture bereft of it. No longer do we treat each other with basic dignity. The business owner isn’t someone’s father or mother, not a person trying to carve out his little piece of the American dream. No, the other is an obstacle in our way, a barrier to our achieving our own perceived rights and privileges.

So what if he poured sawdust into the drive train and then charged you for a new transmission -- he might be somebody's dad for all he knows!

I propose something radically different, something that harks back to a bygone era, that is, the one prior to the creation of the World Wide Web. How about if someone has a problem with someone else, that he speaks to them? If Becky doesn’t like her burger, she should send it back. Speak to the manager, if necessary. Worst comes to worst, she can order something else from the menu.

By preemptively posting a bad review on Yelp, Becky will never know if the manager would have preferred -- given the opportunity -- to address her complaint in a more personal way, by making her a new burger and spitting on it.

How about if everyone stops Yelping and Whining, and returns to talking to each other with basic respect. We’re all in this human soup together.

Okay, although I prefer to think of it as Homo Bisque.

In my opinion, real men (and women) don’t Yelp. And real human beings don’t seek revenge on each other, by trying to destroy reputations and businesses on impulse. 

I think Dave is right, and a few well-placed consumer complaints to the California Board of Behavioral Sciences (I'm lookin' at you, Chris Vosburg), may explain why Robin no longer identifies herself as a "licensed psychotherapist."

Real people see that we are all connected in some mystical way that none of us can really understand. 

Yes, there's few things more mystical in this veil of tears than the ethereal bonds between "fraud" and "gullibility," or "carnies" and "rubes."

14 Years a Berkeley Slave

Since Scott doesn't have the strong constitution necessary for wingnut hunting right now, I thought I'd do a quick scour of the ol' stomping grounds.  Imagine my delight to find that Robin of Berkeley is back on the job.   And she hasn't changed a bit! Seriously, she is saying the very same things she did years ago, so maybe she has actually been replaced by a Google cache.  Anyway, just for old times' sake, here is Robin with a column about how liberals don't have a sense of humor because they won't laugh at her ethnic jokes.

 If You Don't Have a Sense of Humor, It's Not Funny

"There are so many things that get under my skin around here: the crime, filth, and trash; the road rage; the naked people; and the slavish adoration of all things leftist."

It's so sad how nobody will tell Robin about the road that leads out of town and into Oakland.  Or maybe all the naked people are just blocking the sign.

"But one of the most annoying is that so few people around Berkeley have any sense of humor. Imagine living in an area where you have to screen every potential comment for racial, gender, and transgender sensitivity. And every time you dare to open your mouth, there’s a pretty good chance that someone will shut you up."

Imagine living in a society where people expect you to have a little decency, and to not be a jerk out loud.  It's a dystopian nightmare!

"For instance, I was at the bank last fall when we were having a string of lovely, warm days. Amiably, I said to the teller, 'It seems like we’re having an Indian summer.'  To which the well trained, young white male responded, 'Hm. I wonder if the term, ‘Indian summer,’ is racist'.”

We've already reached the point in Ms. Robin's remarks where I have to call "no way."  There was no well-trained, young white male teller, was there, Robin?  No lovely warm day last fall.  No trip to the bank.  The whole thing was an anecdote from the 1984 edition of Rush Limbaugh's "Happiness is a Dead Liberal."  Know what gave away the fictional nature of the alleged encounter?  Yes, it was Robin addressing an amiable remark to somebody.

Anyway, the point is: nobody in Berkeley has a sense of humor, and so you should never, ever open a comedy club there - and if you do, it will fail, and you will have to make your living as an indentured psychologist.

C.S.I.: Wingnut

To everything there is a season (turn, turn, turn), and a time to every purpose under heaven. For instance, in the early days of the Obama Administration, shrinks of varying authority and repute emerged from the nation's Strategic Analrapist Reserve to remotely diagnose the President with everything from narcissism to homosexuality to closed-head trauma. But as Ecclesiastes tells us, there is "A time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together," so you can cast them again, and this time put your damn shoulder into it and try not to throw like a girl, ya big pansy!

In other words, times change, but it's always a good idea to have rocks on hand. Still, it's not enough for a possibly defrocked family therapist like Robin of Berkeley to question Obama's mental health -- and thus his fitness to discharge the office of President -- because now, with impeachment in the air, you don't want to inadvertently corroborate his insanity defense. So farewell to psychiatrist-life coach Dr. Keith Ablow and diploma mill-certified "Policologist" Dr. Gina Loudon, and hello to self-appointed FBI profiler Andrew G. Hodges, M.D.

Before we begin, let's check out Dr. Hodges' bona fides. On the site HealthGrades, which is a kind of Rate My Professor for health care providers, Dr. Hodges scores 1½ out of 5 stars, which suggests that his psychiatric patients are deeply unhappy with him, and may help to explain why he's turned to diagnosing strangers from a distance.

Dr. Hodges is also a prolific author (the article above is basically an extended ad for his book, The Obama Confession: Secret Fear. Secret Fury) and according to his bio on Amazon:

ANDREW G. HODGES, M.D., is a board-certified psychiatrist in private practice. Previously he was assistant clinical professor of psychiatry at the University of Alabama School of Medicine. Dr. Hodges has helped pioneer a breakthrough to the brilliant unconscious mind, which he explained in his 1994 groundbreaking book The Deeper Intelligence (which he now calls the "super intelligence").

Previous names for Dr. Hodges' concept of the "super intelligence" include "supra-cranial mega cognition," "power-top dom brain," "penumbral percipience," and "J.R. 'Bob' Dobbs."

A noted forensic profiler

Noted primarily for his devotion to the art of hardcore "punk" profiling, that is, because unlike his colleagues who sold out to The Man and now profile for police departments or the FBI, Dr. Hodges rejects the lucrative but soulless pap of corporate profiling, and will only forensically profile on spec.

...he developed his technique, "ThoughtPrint Decoding,"

In addition to reading the minds of serial killers and U.S. Presidents, "ThoughtPrint Decoding" can also be used to produce lovely saddle-stitched photobooks for your grandma if she's not on Instagram.

by accessing the unconscious super intelligence of suspects during criminal investigations, basing his analysis on verbatim testimony, transcripts of police interviews, letters and emails created by the suspects.

You'll notice that Dr. Hodges' technique doesn't involve the tedium of actual investigation, like examining evidence or crime scenes, working with police, or interviewing suspects. Just Google up some news stories and solve a crime! It's what Nero Wolfe would have done if he'd had a better Internet connection.

He discovered a deeper moral compass which prompts people to always tell the truth--between the lines--in the special symbolic language of the subconscious.

It's like Wonder Woman's lasso of truth, except without the kinky bondage undertones.

 His work added a whole new dimension to the forensic science of psycholinguistics.

(Specifically, the Fifth Dimension, but the version after they replaced Marilyn McCoo and Billy Davis, Jr.)

 Law enforcement authorities nationwide, including the FBI, have requested his expertise in cases ranging from the high-profile disappearance of Natalee Holloway in 2005 to the murder of JonBenét Ramsey in 1996.

So his claim to fame as a profiler are two unsolved murders. Shawn on Psych has a much better record than that and he admits he's a fake.

In addition to assisting criminal investigators, Dr. Hodges also applies his super-intelligence technique in the analysis of leaders who confess unconsciously when they are violating their deeper moral compass.

What with the lame power set and the feeble villains,  I'm pretty sure the adventures of Dr. Hodges would make for a really shitty comic book.

Okay, enough with the vetting -- let's get to the WorldNetDaily report by Bob Unruh (I don't know much about Mr. Unruh or his work, only that his name sounds like something that might be uttered by an uneasy Scooby-Doo).

A forensic profiler whose career has included work on the double-murder case against O.J. Simpson and the Natalie Holloway disappearance says Barack Obama is confessing he’s under enormous pressure and is “slipping mentally.”

Oh, he "worked" on the O.J. Simpson case, too! So let's amend his career stats: that's two unsolved murders, and one double homicide where everyone knew who the killer was except the jury.

Hodges, an expert who previously suggested Obama was revealing alarming ideas about martial law and described how the president wants “total gun control,” provided to WND an analysis of some of Obama’s recent comments, specifically those from speeches in Minneapolis in late June. 

“On June 27, he said that Republican inaction ‘drives you nuts … and it drives me nuts.’ He reveals his enormous internal pressure – far greater than his conscious mind knows.

Later, after a long day, Obama tripped himself up again when he rubbed his eyes and said, "Man, I'm dead," prompting Secret Service agents to immediately tackle him and apply defibrillator paddles.

“Appreciate his casual psycholinguistic reference to ‘madness’ in a deeper scarier way. Obama is warning us that he’s slipping mentally,” Hodges wrote.

Also, take extra precautions if you own horses, because just last week, while sitting down to dinner, the President threatened to eat one.

As he explains, “As a forensic profiler, I serve as a translator who decodes unique linguistic expressions that derive from a person’s deep unconscious, his super intelligence.”

Reminds me a bit of this fellow:

He said at the recent Minnesota speeches, Obama was under pressure from various groups over the “the IRS lying about ‘lost’ emails about persecuting conservative non-profits, the NSA spying on everyday Americans, Benghazi cover-ups, setting free five brutal terrorists from Club Gitmo to gain back a deserter” and “fostering the onslaught of unaccompanied illegal immigrant children on the southern border.”

Most people foster children, but Obama just fosters onslaughts. Probably a fear of commitment. Anyhow, now that I know the collective noun for groups of unaccompanied illegal immigrant children on the southern border, I'm gonna win sooo many bar bets...!

“Obama declared, ‘I’m not sure which of the things I’ve done they [Republicans] find most offensive,’” Hodges said. “Denial represents a classic way of telling the truth. A person rationalizes his behavior consciously – yet unconsciously he admits his actual actions. When we read through his denial confession, we can see that he really means ‘Deep down I’m sure of the many offensive things I’ve done to Americans.’ Note his word, ‘offensive.’ Secretly Obama confesses, ‘I’ve been on offense – to the extreme.’ It fits with reality – his behavior has been shocking, far beyond mere political fuss.”

Dr. Hodges: Verbally, I'm telling you that I'm a noted forensic profiler and an expert in psycholinguistics who's in touch with his deeper moral compass, but actually my super intelligence just really wants to grab your boobs!

On Hodges’ website, Steven A. Egger, associate professor of criminology at the University of Houston, Clear Lake, has written that Hodges’ technique is “becoming the cutting edge of forensic science.”

Say, that's awfully nice of Dr. Hodges to allow his own blog to be used by this Mr. Egger fellow to advance his "arguments" (which we now call "tongue baths"). His example is making me feel ashamed of my selfish unwillingness to be praised, so if any of you feel like writing something such as "World O' Crap is fast becoming the state-of-the-art in psychiatrist-related ribaldry, and your One Stop Shopping Location for invective, obloquy, epithets and unguents," I will graciously give you space on the front page.

Hodges also found that Obama was projecting. 

Well, I'm close to projecting vomit, so I've got to respect the Doctor's insights.

“First he denies what he’s doing – and then he attributes failure to others, not himself. His description of ‘others’ unconsciously fits his own behavior. Here is the proverbial log in his own eye, sins that he so glibly sees in those who oppose him,” he said. 

“First, we observe two repeated messages on June 27, ‘They don’t do anything…..They’re not doing anything.’ In reality he’s describing himself. Numerous Americans, on both sides of the aisle, have been alarmed by his habitual lack of assertiveness, his passivity, his leading from behind after events are well down the road, by his incessant golfing, fundraising and vacationing instead of doing his job. Understand passivity is his secret plan,” he wrote.

Now that's the kind of cryptanalysis Alan Turing could have pulled off, if only he'd had access to the modern miracle of ThoughtPrint Decoding. Alas, use of Dr. Hodges' techniques reveals that Turing was too much of a skirt-chasing horndog to ever really apply himself to anything so cutting edge.

Hodges continued, “In the June 27 speech Obama whined about opponents, ‘They don’t do anything except…call me names.’ In fact, he calls his critics names.

Unlike Turing's device, which required a room full of electromechanical rotor machines in order to decode secret messages, Dr. Hodges' technology requires only rubber and glue.

First he called them antagonistic do-nothings, then he called them phony scandal-mongers. Obama accuses his opponents of making up scandals. In so doing he confesses he’s a charlatan creating a bogus scandal to divert Americans from the truth. Let reality be the judge – new administration scandals confront us almost daily.”

And where are these daily scandals coming from? Obviously not from Republicans, who have never projected anything at the President and spend most of their time in quiet self-reflection, therefore Obama must be ginning them up himself. Man, that guy's head is a nest of snakes.

“To reveal his trademark passive-aggression in another projection he finally acknowledges anger, ‘They’re [Republicans] not doing anything – and they’re mad.’ Then he adds a powerful image to his confession further describing his fury. Remember, things said in jest are ideal for true super-intel confessions. Obama said, ‘With Secret Service, I always tease them, I’m like a caged bear and sometimes I break loose. And I’m feeling super loose today, so you don’t know what I might do.’” 

Hodges continued, “His terrorizing aggression surfaces more and more. He cannot contain himself nor his attacks. He is increasingly out of control – ‘super loose’ indeed.”

Hm! Okay, then...Obama claims he is a "super loose bear"...so if I'm applying Dr. Hodges' method properly, the President has just confessed to being a hairy, slutty gay man. Tom Colicchio fans take note.

“Read the tea leaves. The messages from Barack Obama’s super intelligence are utterly terrifying to those of us who understand what he’s saying between the lines.”

I think we'll leave the good doctor here, because reading between the lines of the tea leaves has given me a super headache.

The Answer My Friend, Is Ablow

You know, it's been awhile since we last consulted one of the many distinguished headshrinkers who specialize in distance-diagnosing President Obama and his liberal enablers -- far too long, in fact.  So set your 50-minute timer, grab a box of Kleenex, and let's all have a breakthrough!

According to his bio, "Dr. Keith Ablow is a psychiatrist and member of the Fox News Medical A-Team."  He also looks like a cross between Terry O'Quinn and Telly Savalas -- kind of a John Lockjak, so don't be surprised if during your session he sucks on a lollypop or gets possessed by the Man in Black (or vice versa).  Anyway, if you have a problem, if no one else can help, and if you can find them, maybe you can hire the Fox News Medical A-Team.  They seem kind of whorish and not very picky.

Dr. Ablow's credentials are surprisingly legit for a man in his field ("He received his Doctor of Medicine degree from Johns Hopkins Medical School in 1987, and completed his psychiatry residency at the Tufts-New England Medical Center") although some of his more recent ventures have sharply veered off the high road, plunged down an embankment, and exploded in a fireball, as mandated by the 1975 Supreme Court ruling Monza v. Mannix.

During May, 2011 Ablow launched Dr. Keith Ablow Life Coaching, offering a team of life coaches trained by him who are experts at applying the content of his books Living the Truth: Transform Your Life Through the Power of Insight and Honesty and The 7: Seven Wonders that Will Change Your Life. The Life Coaching business ultimately failed, and was discontinued due to a lack of interest, as it is no longer an option on his website.

I've never been quite sure what a "life coach" does, but I assume they sit across from you with a megaphone yelling "Breathe!  Breathe! Breathe!" and if you die, they gruffly order you to "walk it off."  Actually, now that I think about it, life coaches probably explain this influx of zombies we've been having lately.

Anyway, since Dr. Ablow wrote an entire book about Truth and Honesty (I haven't read it, but I'm assuming he took the "pro" position), we can expect that the following piece will be one of the rare Foxnews.com articles which eschews tendentious arguments and confines itself solely to proven facts.

Is Obama waging psychological warfare on Americans?

I must admit, that's a pretty provocative question, but I'm not really in the mood to wade through an 825 word article, even if it does mean discovering the truth about whether the President is at war with my psyche.  Fortunately, Foxnews.com is well-acquainted with the attention span of its average reader, so the question is answered in the first thirteen words:

I believe that the Obama administration is conducting psychological warfare on conservative Americans. 

And there you have it.  Okey doke then, I guess you can all go on about your business now.  Thanks for stopping by, have a good day...

Not only that...

Sigh...

but it is also waging this war on all Americans who previously viewed themselves, their country, their Constitution and their overwhelming belief in God as a force for good in the world.

So...I guess that means the conservative Americans mentioned in the first sentence view themselves, their country, their Constitution and their overwhelming belief in God as a force of evil?

"What?  Oh, uh, just receiving another tax deductible donation for my 501(c)(4) social welfare organization."

The psychological warfare began with an apology tour in which President Obama publicly “confessed,” presuming to speak for all of us, for the shortcomings of America and our supposed contributions to tyranny and all manner of evils around the world.

At first, this Certs-like combination sentence/paragraph struck me as gibberish.  Then I remembered that "Ablow co-founded the New England Brain-Mind Institute"...

As seen in the motion picture Bowfinger...

...which uses hour-long doses of the veterinary anesthetic ketamine to treat mental illness; so in an attempt to the meet the same high standards of journalistic rigor that Dr. Ablow demonstrates, I went to Wonderland on Cahuenga and scored a hit of Special K.  Now I'm following his argument perfectly, although not that paramedic's finger that's moving slowly back and forth in front of my eyes.

This confession planted in the American mind the notion that our values and beliefs might not be in line with freedom and truth.

Yes, Obama spilled the beans, but to be fair, the secret that our values and beliefs might not be in line with freedom and truth almost got out in 1787, when they started passing the Constitution around the states for ratification; fortunately, nobody squealed to the ladies and the slaves.

The president, with the help of his administration, is attempting to conduct psychological warfare on Americans who value autonomy and free will.

I guess we should have expected that, since he promised several times during the campaign to "mind-fuck everyone but the Calvinists."

It was reinforced by the first lady stating during the 2008 presidential campaign that she had never felt pride in our country.

Wow, that's an oldie. It's like I've tuned into the Classic Rock station of right wing b.s.

These statements were seemingly shrugged off by Americans who, collectively, seemed to be telling themselves that they were hearing discontent channeled from disenfranchised groups in our nation who, nonetheless, loved the country—and all of us, too.

Look, I like you as a country, but I feel like we're moving a little too fast...

But, deep inside the American psyche, something more malignant could have been planted—the seeds of self-hatred and self-doubt. And I no longer believe that those seeds were planted unintentionally by people as smart and capable as the president and first lady.

And what's the first thing Michelle Obama did when she got her hands on the Executive Mansion? She "broke ground on the largest and most expansive vegetable garden to date on the White House lawn" and immediately planted seeds of self-hatred and self-doubt, then dug a nice celery trench.

The psychological warfare has continued, I believe, with other opportunities the president has had to make American’s question their individual freedoms and autonomy.

He's cleverly undermined American's faith in proper apostrophe placement!

This has included misrepresenting horrific crimes, such as the one which unfolded in Newtown, Connecticut, as evidence of the need for gun control measures, when they clearly evidenced a need for revamping our mental health care system.

We don't need to disarm our jittery, violent citizens when we can simply release roving bands of psychiatrists to accost them on the street and shove cameras in their face:  "Ablow also performs (as a 'documentary' style television experience...he terms 'Street Therapy' wherein he approaches apparent strangers on the street with a camera crew and engages them in conversations about their personal problems on camera...There are a number of ethical concerns regarding this practice. However, Ablow is no longer a member of the American Psychiatric Association...and is therefore no longer bound to uphold those standards.")

Registering assault weapons and banning high capacity magazines will have absolutely no meaningful impact on gun violence in this country.  Our only rational hope of preventing another movie house, college campus, or elementary school massacre lies in identifying mentally unstable and heavily armed American's, then soothing them with shouted interrogations about their toilet training and masturbation habits, conducted on public street corners in the harsh glare of TV camera lights.

Gun rights are inextricably entwined in the American psyche with freedom to defend oneself. Attacking gun rights, I believe, is an element of the psychological warfare on the American belief that force is justifiable when confronting evil.

...or at least when trying to impress Jody Foster.

My belief that psychological warfare is being deployed on Americans by this American president and his administration has been solidified as news has come out of the targeting of conservative groups by the IRS.

It's fortunate for your side in the war, Doctor, that your beliefs don't require evidence to be solidified, only news.  Must really shorten your supply lines.

This black ops targeting doesn’t just have the effect of slowing the financial momentum of these groups. It has the goal of dispiriting them and making them feel helpless to achieve their goals.

This was the secret mission of Seal Team Six the night they landed in Osama bin Laden's compound in Abbottabad -- to fill him with a sense of futility and ennui.  But due to a garbled text message from Command (thanks, Autocorrect!), they misunderstood their orders and filled him with lead, thus depriving the world of a clinically depressed criminal mastermind who would train a new generation of emo terrorists that wouldn't really get much done in the bombing and shooting department, because why even bother killing people, when they don't care about us?  Nobody cares about us!  All our potential victims are such phonies...

If liberal Americans stand by and do not seek swift and severe justice for those who perpetrated these acts, then they will have tacitly been victimized, too.

You know what we do in these parts to folks who dispirit Tea Party organizations, and make their members suffer feelings of helplessness and loss of financial momentum?  We hang 'em!  Of course, that means gettin' a lynch mob together, but I can't seem to find my phone tree list, and most folks are at work this time of day anyway, and traffic's kind a bad right now 'cause they got things tore up over there where they're putting in the bypass, and...ah hell, what's the point?

Because they will have tacitly agreed that it is acceptable for their government to target certain political movements for persecution—and that will have fundamentally changed the psyche of America.

I'd love to see Dr. Ablow's prescription pad ("Take two tax breaks with food and save the receipts, because the meals are also tax deductible.")

Seen through the lens of psychological warfare, the failure to defend our embassy in Benghazi need not be understood simply as a screw-up.

As a writer, I'm naturally fascinated by the methods employed by other members of the profession, and after careful study, it appears that Dr. Ablow goes about constructing a logical argument by imagining that his subject -- in this case, the Obama Administration -- is the eponymous mammal in a game of Whack-A-Mole.

 It could reflect an actual strategy on the part of the administration to reinforce the notion that homicidal violence born of hatred toward America is understandable—even condonable—because we have generated it ourselves and are reaping the harvest of ill will we have sown. In other words, we should take our punishment.

I don't know about that, but somebody needs to take their medicine...

The president said as much when he blamed the murder of our Ambassador to Libya on a film that criticized Islam.

This misstatement may disclose not just incompetence and may not just be evidence of a cover-up, but may be evidence of exactly what I am theorizing here: that the president, with the help of his administration, is attempting to conduct psychological warfare on Americans who value autonomy and free will and free markets and small government, by convincing them that they are wrong-minded, prejudiced and pathological and should deeply question their beliefs—including some ensconced in the Constitution.

Chief among them is the 7th Amendment, which guarantees the inalienable right to make YouTube videos without getting hassled by the Man.  Or Chico for that matter.

The wiretapping of journalists would be, then, just another black ops technique in an ongoing war against our freedoms.

It's even worse than you think, Doc.  The Administration has not only wiretapped journalists, they also spied on a guy who works for Fox News!

There will be those that say that many American leaders have sought to target groups hostile to their views. Some will point to President Nixon or Senator McCarthy or J. Edgar Hoover. And that debate can be had.

But I assert that this administration is engaged in a coordinated attempt to dispirit, disarm and disenfranchise large portions of the American population and to weaken our founding principles through what is best understood as psychological warfare.

Again, as an aspiring writer I take every opportunity I can to learn from my betters, and I notice that Dr. Ablow has now used the phrase "psychological warfare" eleven times, demonstrating that he can drive home a point the same way John Henry drove steel (although he doesn't seem to possess an equivalent flair for drama, or he would have realized that this would be the perfect point in the essay to drop dead).

And with that statement in the public domain, let us, at least, be aware and notice how many events unfold in-keeping with it, over the next months and years.

I honestly don't know what "unfold in-keeping" means, but I'm guessing it has something to do with motel owners who pass the time by sabotaging origami.

The enemy of psychological warfare is the knowledge of what is really happening to us and remembering who we really are.

I don't actually have a joke for this, I just wanted to make sure you guys got an even dozen of psychological warfare (although the next time it's my turn, I think I'm gonna bring glazed crullers, or maybe chocolate-dipped maple logs instead).

Robin of Berkeley Solves the Andrew Breitbart Murder!

I've been remiss lately in following the adventures of former licensed therapist Robin of Berkeley, largely because even American Thinker seems to have edged slowly away from her, smiling and nodding and fingering the tiny pepper spray canister attached to their keyring.  But RoB maintains a blog, and our buddy Chris Vosburg -- engineer, musician, fancier of fine, if defunct, Dutch rock bands, and Perry Mason connoisseur par excellence -- who has corresponded with the analrapist emeritus, recently checked in and discovered that she's used her therapeutic skills to unravel the mystery of Andrew Breitbart's death.  The culprit?  It was Liberals.  In the suburb.  With an earthquake.  Or as Chris put it:

...in which Robin of Bedlam endures the fury of a mighty 4.0 earthquake, and shares a babbling series of free associations.

Needless to say, no property damage occurred, nor injuries reported. It becomes a little harder to believe that Robin has been in California for any length of time, because, as a native, as are you, I don’t get outta bed for anything less than a six.

So, using the insights gleaned from 20 years of giving UC Berkeley students unhelpful, and increasingly unethical advice, what can Robin deduce from a feeble temblor about the true cause of Andrew Breitbart's demise?

An Act of God?

I’m not the world’s best sleeper, so I was awake Monday morning at 5:30 am when the rumbling began. If you’ve never experienced it before, it’s the creepiest of feelings, worse than the earthquake itself. There’s this nameless dread, this foreboding, as though something threatening is going to happen, but you don’t know what.

I grew up in California, so I've been awakened by plenty of earthquakes, and while there's occasionally "dread," it's seldom "nameless," in that the threatening thing that we don't know is going to happen is -- if it's woken you up -- already happening, and we call it "an earthquake."

After the quake, I lay in bed, my heart racing. I thought of how thousands of people were sharing in the experience; they were all jarred awake too, with their hearts racing and adrenaline surging.

But it's preferable to being awakened by surging Santorum, because then you've got to change the sheets.

It’s not just the trembling itself that’s disturbing; it’s the reminder. It’s the tangible proof that frightening things can and will happen without warning in the day or in the middle of the night.

Fortunately, reality TV is there to fill in the gaps between natural disasters.

Earthquakes are “Acts of God,” according to the vernacular of insurance policies. In the Midwest, where earthquakes are rare, people have been stricken by massive floods. Although God has been banished from schools and public buildings, floods and earthquakes remind us that He is omnipresent.

We used to have earthquake drills in school all the time.  The details are a little fuzzy after all these years (I mostly remember being impressed by how much fossilized Juicyfruit was stuck to the bottom of my desk) but I assume the teachers told us we were preparing for "Acts of Madalyn Murray O'Hair."

I heard a pastor once say that when God reveals Himself to you, it precipitates a state of shock. And this shock is not like anything you’ve ever experienced in your life.

Unless you've ever touched a screen door on a windy day.

When you feel God around you, when you understand His reality, it is an exhilarating, liberating, and, yes, shocking experience. Like the rumbling before an earthquake, it produces a feeling in you that has no words, one that cannot be understood with your rational mind. You are standing naked before a Force greater than anything you can ever imagine. And when you recognize what God can do, it is absolutely shocking.

So at least wear underpants to bed, or you're going to have a very awkward moment when the rescue workers dig you out of the rubble.

But there’s another shock too . . . and that’s when you confront the darkest side of the spirit world. When you come in contact with evil, it’s shocking in a very different way.

The evil could be viewing the most disgusting forms of pornography

...which is why it's always a good idea to knock before entering evil's bedroom.

...and I’m not just talking about viewing hard-core porn online. I’m referring to stuff Planned Parenthood foists on innocent children; or the shock of hearing the smutty, degrading names for conservatives, as in “tea baggers.”

 "How dare you call me a tea bagger?!"

 "Exactly!  It's disgusting!  Call me by my preferred name...Tea bag dangling ball capper!"

Simply surfing the Web these days, you’ll see the most reprehensible, unconscionable, and, yes, evil and shocking stuff that you could imagine — or never imagine.

Here, Robin, maybe this will help...

All around us, there are acts of God and there are acts of evil.

So a picture of naked boobs is an act of evil, but an earthquake is an act of God?  I somehow suspect that Japan -- if given the option -- would have preferred that their Fukushima Dai-ichi nuclear power plant be hit by a copy of Juggs magazine.

 If you’ve felt the awe of watching a baby born

 You know how moving it can be, right up until the moment the parents and doctor ask, "Who are you, and what the hell are you doing in the delivery room?"

...you know the majesty that is God. If you’ve been a victim of a violent crime, you recognize that evil exists, and that it too is shocking, but in the most disturbing of ways.

Maybe it's luck, but I've spent most of my life in the two biggest cities in the country, and yet I've never been mugged by porn.

This is a circuitous way of moving on to my main topic, of a news event that I found utterly shocking. It was the announcement of the death of Andrew Breitbart, at age 43. Andrew Breitbart, for God’s sake!

The last person you'd ever expect to drop dead was the husky, drunken rage monkey who was last seen being dragged away from a group of puzzled protestors while hoarsely shrieking, "Stop raping people!"

 Unlike Rush or Hannity, Breitbart didn’t just report on and analyze the news. He made it.

Out of the same stuff most manufacturers use to make nitrate-rich fertilizer.

 He was one of the main people to bring down Acorn, and he had a huge hand in exposing “Farmgate.”

Mr. McGregor's midnight visits to Peter's hutch would not go unavenged!

Breitbart apparently had the goods on Obama: Breitbart had announced that he possessed secret tapes about Obama and his connection to revolutionaries. Then Breitbart suddenly died. This is the stuff of suspense thrillers, if it weren’t so horribly real.

If it were just horrible, it would be the stuff of Tom Clancy suspense thrillers.

Was Breitbart’s death an Act of God? Or was it an act from the polar opposite realm?

Breitbart was snuffed by Santa!

I don’t know. I have no inside information. However, I no longer believe everything that authorities tell me.

For instance, this letter from the California Board of Behavioral Sciences revoking Robin's license in Marriage and Family Therapy is clearly a tissue of complex, Illuminati-inspired lies!

The LA Coroner’s office performed the autopsy — they of Michael Jackson, Whitney Houston, and Nicole Simpson fame.

Which you can't trust, because apparently all those people are still secretly alive.

Apparently, the office quickly determined that Breitbart died of “natural causes,” that is, a heart problem. Interesting they knew that so quickly, while Houston’s autopsy took a week or so.

I like to think her bloodstream was more interesting.

Certainly, there are 40-something men who suddenly drop dead. I’ve known of a couple of people– however, they were involved in intense athletics at the time. 

Finally, we've discovered Robin's true identity.  She was Nelson Rockefeller's  secretary!

But I haven’t heard of too many people simply walking home from a night on the town who keel over and die.

Reading the headlines at Townhall and Pajamas Media, one can only hope that Breitbart, as he so often did in the past, will prove a trendsetter.

And how weird is it that he supposedly went out to a bar drinking

Have you ever seen video of Breitbart, Robin?  Because this is the least weird part of the story.

...and then embarked on a leisurely stroll around LA around midnight. Oh — and then he suddenly died.

It surely could have happened. But it surely could not have as well.

Maybe both happened at once, as I prove in my monograph, Schrödinger's Asshole.

 In either case, the news is shocking to me; it reminds me of that creepy rumbling I’ve experienced one too many times since moving out here, that seizes you with an awful fright. You know something bad is going to happen, but you don’t know what.

From now on, whenever there's an earthquake, my first thought will be, "either my Hummel collection is in peril, or Tucker Carlson just dropped splay-legged to the floor like a poleaxed steer."

Breitbart’s death could have well been an Act of God. Or it could have been an act of evil. The left’s delicious delight at his demise is certainly devilish in and of itself.

So Breitbart was either killed by God, or Vivid Video, and the only way to find out the truth is to wait and see which one Perry Mason takes on as a client.

Monty Python's The Meaning of Robin of Berkeley

Now that Robin is -- apparently -- no longer a licensed psychotherapist, she's spending a bit less time distance-diagnosing President Obama with severe mental illnesses and speculating that his "narcissistic personality disorder" may have been triggered by a blow to the head like movie amnesia, and more time reflecting on the formative (and uniformly traumatic) events in her life.  Like that one time she saw Rosemary's Baby:

I saw the movie sometime after it came out, though I was only a teenager.  I can’t imagine how shocked I must have been.

(To which commenter Chris Vosburg, who has corresponded with Robin, helpfully replied:  "Well, Robin, you could ask someone who was there at the time, I guess, like, oh, I dunno, YOUR FUCKING SELF?")

This week, she once again uses her clinical skills to connect with her readers, by reminding us of that universal tendency of 4th graders to obsess over their own mortality.

Obama and the Meaning of Life

When I was a young girl, I would often lie awake at night and ask myself what was the meaning of life. Why was I here? What was this strange existence all about?

This is a right of passage most girls of Robin's generation went through, usually after hearing the Burt Bacharach-Hal David song "Alfie (What's it all about?)," from the 1966 film starring Michael Caine.

 These questions usually triggered feelings of panic.

You know why elementary school boys find little girls icky?  Because they burst into tears whenever you punch them in the arm or suggest their existence is a random spark in a vast and meaningless void, a cosmic accident which is all too quickly remedied by the icy embrace of Oblivion.

In fact, I remember when my sister was little, there were months when she would only play with one doll: Malibu Barbie's pal, Existential Crisis Midge, who never left the Dream House, and would just sit around the finished basement in her sweatpants, taping Brother Theodore segments off Letterman.

Of course, I had absolutely no idea what was the meaning of life -- and I had no one to ask. No matter how much I wracked my young brain for an answer, I hadn't a clue.

It's true, adults are often useless when a 7-year old girl in a party frock demands they furnish a rational counter-argument to nihilism.  And our school books weren't much better; I recall being even more confused about the possibility of authentic morality after reading that one story where Tom, Betty, Susan, and their dog Flip go to the sea shore, and Tom impulsively shoots an Arab on the beach.

As I grew up, I found some soft spirituality, in the form of Buddhism and Sufism. I loved to read the Sufi poems -- I still do; I feel comforted by the poets' adoration of God. Buddhism also gave me a road to dealing with suffering, as well as some vague notions about what life was all about (as in, being awakened to the "truth," whatever that means).

But it's been only in the last couple of years of my life that I finally have a clearer idea of why we are here, and what this wondrous and brutal existence is all about. It took my whole world being tossed around like a pair of dice three years ago, and then thrown out there in a completely new configuration. Somehow, for reasons I'll never know, everything looks different. 

And what was this world-tipping event which shattered Robin's spiritual contentment?  Spoiler alert:  It was Obama's election.

And now I finally have some answers, because they are all contained in a book I'd never even seen before, called the Bible.

Along with her childlike dread of the abyss, Robin also suffered from a lifelong fear of opening nightstand drawers in hotels.

Just like Dorothy in the Land of Oz and her ruby* slippers, the hidden jewel was there all along. I was just kept away from seeing it by a culture that detests and fears anything having to do with God.

And just like Dorothy, all Robin had to do to possess this jewel was to kill a witch, as both the Bible ("Do not suffer a sorceress to live" -- Exodus 22:18) and L. Frank Baum recommend.

And if you're wondering about the asterisk on "ruby," the footnote reads: "*Thanks to readers for the correction."

As you may recall, American Thinker got tired of moderating comments on Robin's posts -- or rather, the person assigned the task found Robin herself insufferable and possibly, fictional -- so now you have to follow a link to her personal blog and leave your comments there. (Incidentally, Robin reacted to the whole comment moderation kerfuffle the same way she reports reacting when the light bulb burned out in her Easy Bake Oven and she concluded that God is Dead):

We all go through it: the harsh wake-up call that things aren’t as they appear to be. [...] Just this week, I’ve been dealing with people undermining me whom I thought I could trust.

As a recovering liberal, I’ve had the shock of a lifetime learning that many of the threats to our country come from within. [...]

With the sabotage going on in my life, last night I couldn’t sleep a wink. I lay in bed disturbed, thinking of these people who want to harm me.

Anyway, so I clicked over to Robin's blog to see what the correction was, wondering if she confused the book's Silver Shoes with the movie's Ruby Slippers.  Nope.  She thought Dorothy was tromping around Oz in sensible Emerald Brogues.

Commenter:  Sorry, Robin. Your editor has let you down again. “Dorothy in the Land of Oz and her emerald slippers.” They were ruby slippers.

Robin:  You would be a great editor yourself! There was something about emeralds in Oz, wasn’t there? Maybe I’m thinking of the Yellow Brick Road (LOL). Of course, it’s been a while since I saw the movie!

Another Commenter:  The Emerald City, where the wizard lived. It’s kind of ironic that the city with the fraud-wizard was green, isn’t it? (;-})

(I assume this is either a joke about the bankruptcy of alternative energy company Solyndra, or else the commenter believes photo-voltaic cells are actually occult objects designed to collect some form of ancient, extra-dimensional eldritch power that is beyond human ken.) 

Robin again:  Thank you! The emerald city, the ruby slippers, and the yellow brick road — so much like the magical world we live in, if people would only look!

...at the screen!  Where the movie is showing!  And then, maybe, retain some of its more famous, iconic, and culturally inescapable elements!

For people to look in the eyes of a newborn baby and think humans are some cosmic mistake . . . has to be one of the greatest delusions of life.

So while admittedly getting a few of the minor details wrong, Robin clearly grasped that the main point of this 1939 MGM classic was to serve as a singing and dancing rebuke of Darwinism.

Anyway, back to her search through the cut-out bin of the cosmos for that one Monty Python DVD...

I asked a friend the other day how often he ponders the meaning of life. He is a brainy Ph.D. who immerses himself each week in heady tomes. To my surprise, he answered, "Never."

Because he correctly and instantly divined that any other answer could be interpreted as a willingness to hold a conversation with Robin.  He is brainy!

I see the doom and gloom around me in the vacant faces of all the lost souls. They have no idea what is going on -- not just with their idol, Obama, but with this whole strange existence. 

I agree there are many reasons to be sad nowadays, but this is a recurring theme in Robin's writing:  the light goes out of a child's eyes every time Robin walks into the room; people shoot her hateful or lesbian-filled looks; or step on an insect just to make her frozen yogurt turn to ash in her mouth.  So before I accept that this localized malaise is a reaction to Obama's fall from godhood and not Robin's presence, I think we're going to need a control group.

A minority of them are starting to wake up politically, to realize that Obama is no savior of the oppressed. Instead, he's simply a puppet doing the bidding of people like Ayers, Soros, the SEIU, and God knows who else. Rather than transforming this country into a utopia, he's helping to make it a nightmare that no one can wake up out of.

Fortunately, what with a Universe devoid of meaning, and all the comment moderators undermining and sabotaging us, everybody is lying awake at night, winkless and unable to get down into the nightmare-filled sleep from which they fail to wake up out of.

Just to clarify things: it's Obama who's putting a sledgehammer to the economy; it's Obama who is aiding and abetting the uprisings in the Middle East; it's Obama who is sending out the signal that it's open season on Whitey. Not George and not Dick Cheney, but Obama, Obama, Obama.

For those who doubt Robin's political science bona fides, I should point out that she holds the Fulbright-Jan Brady Distinguished Chair in Pat Buchanan Studies at George Washington Glass University.

We fight each other because we are pawns in a spiritual battle between good and evil. The most important decision of our lives is which side we are on. Will we choose God or evil? It's as simple as this.

Do pawns get to choose?  Traditionally, they haven't had have much of a voice in where the giant hand moves them, nor do I remember the start of a match ever being delayed because some of the white pawns decided to switch sides.

If we choose God, this involves more apparent sacrifice, e.g. no more whoring around, tormenting conservatives, or, in general, being Dirty Rotten Scoundrels. But the rewards are so enormous that we, as humans, have not even an inkling of our great fortune.

You know me, I hate to be argumentative, but before this pawn gives up blogging, I'd like Robin to furnish a link to the chapter and verse in the Bible which proclaims that "tormenting conservatives by disagreeing with them is a sin on a par with soliciting a prostitute for diaper play".

Around where I live, most people have chosen to turn their backs on the only Force that will give them real hope, not the manufactured kind.

They're just mad that George Lucas keeps fucking with the original movies.

Not coincidentally, I see mostly empty or frightened or angry faces around me.

Yeah, I know we've covered this, but I'm really going to have to insist that you hide in the bushes with a pair of binoculars and then report on bystanders' facial expressions.

And yet, the answer is so simple and accessible -- and it's been there all along, just waiting for them to open their eyes and look. They can do this at any time...just like the metaphorical Dorothy in the Land of Oz. They simply need to ask with all of their heart and all of their soul to go home again.

Just click their cubic zirconium Crocs together three times.