July 30, 2009
Candid readers, I appreciate your patience in waiting a month for this latest installment. I’m honored that some of you wrote specially to request more — so herewith a compilation or potpourri of several squibs and bagatelles, previously published elsewhere, on She Who Must Be Reported On. There’s no lexical or even thematic thread running through them, except that each glosses a news story touching Gov. Palin; I’ve just transcribed them in chronological order, discrete. Enjoy!
Preach it, Sarah! And keep being physically and morally beautiful — it makes the Dorian Gray Democrats just livid. Especially Sen. Ketchupheiress, treasonable champion of the American Left in 2004: Horse’s face, horse’s ass. As Churchill reportedly said to the bossy dowager (the literate know the prelude, so I omit it here): “Yes, madame — but in the morning I shall be sober, and you will still be ugly.”
All good satirists go ad hominem, or in Kerry’s case ad equum. Can’t keep it at the level of high legal theory all the time, especially dealing with Sen. Medalsthrower, that betraying bastard.
Actually, on reflection Sarah’s too kind. It’s not so much the length as the corrugation of Kerry’s snout. Really the overall effect is, echoing Catullus 97, the wrinkling and puckering of a dehiscent mule, only permanently frozen in place.
Here’s the poem for my Latinists. Truly, it’s Kerry:
Non (ita me di ament) quicquam referre putavi
utrumne os an culum olfacerem Aemilio.
nilo mundius hoc, nihiloque immundius illud,
verum etiam culus mundior et melior:
nam sine dentibus est. hoc dentis sesquipedalis,
gingivas vero ploxeni habet veteris,
praeterea rictum qualem diffissus in aestu
meientis mulae cunnus habere solet.
hic futuit multas et se facit esse venustum,
et non pistrino traditur atque asino?
quem si qua attingit, non illam posse putemus
aegroti culum lingere carnificis?
‘Don’t explain; your friends don’t need it, and your enemies won’t believe you anyway.’ Conservatives, consider taking the Governor at her word. Resign political office, sparing oneself and one’s children sprays of poison from Obama’s grinning degenerates, aging catamites like David Letterman and gnawing shrews like “Katie” Couric? Of course the lefties scoff — how should the children of broken homes, of aborting mothers and homosexual fathers, believe? What evidence do they give of even the thinnest scraping of moral imagination? Is it so strange the Governor should stoke great billows of hatred and wrath in HuffPo degenerates? “Remember the word that I said unto you, The servant is not greater than his lord. If they have persecuted me, they will also persecute you.”
“The vicious double standard is pretty obvious. Only the tabloids, for example, ran the photos of a piss-drunk Chelsea Clinton, panties exposed, falling into her car outside London clubs a few years ago. If Chelsea had been the scion of Republican bigwigs, those tacky scenes would have been trumpeted from pillar to post in the U.S. as signals of parental failures…”
Palin Derangement Syndromers, gnash your teeth — Sarah speaks. And whenever she does, it’s news. Go ahead: fume, sputter, get red in the face. The more you clench your fists, the more Sarah just slips through your fingers. Here, you can enjoy her dumping on Sen. Voraxa Vulpine’s (D-CA) cap-and-tax hike. The old bag’s just grandstanding, of course; a sop for the Bay Area body-odor set. Don’t kid yourselves, hippies; the bill’s going nowhere. Oh, and Boxer looks like an old boot, too.
Sarah’s media gold and she’ll be making news whenever she wants for years to come. Hate her till you pop a vein, lefties. And Meghan McCain Republicans. (That bleached-out Black Angus, three hundred pounds of Daily Beast beef on the hoof, is twice the woman Sarah is — on the bathroom scale. I adamantly oppose abortion but can’t Cindy McCain be ordered to have one retroactively?)
“We have one group that lives under the highly artificial and intensely regulated conditions of post-modern urban life. (Even if they go to a cottage, it will be equipped with the electronic paraphernalia to create a bubble of urbanity.) And, we have another group who remain in contact with the eternal verities of life on this planet. (Who, for instance, associate electric power with doing work, as opposed to “making consumer choices.”)
Perhaps better terms for the two sides, to replace left and right, might be “martians” and “earthlings.”
It is to the earthlings in this scenario that Ms. Palin is speaking. And when she writes lines like this intentional jaw-dropper in the Washington Post — “We are ripe for economic growth and energy independence if we responsibly tap the resources that God created right underfoot on American soil” — she is quite intentionally signalling that she is ready for war.”
The Constitutionalist renaissance continues. The time’s ripe, conservatives and libertarians: give each moderate or centrist you know a thumbnail education in federalism. Most don’t know the concept from Adam, having wasted four years, like yours truly, in one of those NEA homes for aging hippies where they teach sex ed instead of civics. But once explained, they grasp it instinctively, and respond eagerly. They know they don’t like it when the First Citizen (if he is one) confiscates their income to shower his urban redoubts with cash. They know they hate it when federal courts shove alien cultural and religious values down their throats. Now give them a principled reason why! Pragmatics are all very well, but teach these persuadables they don’t even need to reach the merits, whether this or that socialist policy of Obomber “works” or not — does it do violence to the Constitution? Yes. Then defy it.
What’s old is always new again, and where better for the next Tenth Amendment renaissance than the home of Boy Bryan, the original Red State republican — lower-case, please — and a loyal son of Jefferson and Jackson. As those who nowadays attend Jefferson-Jackson Day Dinners are distinctly not. Though of course neither are many of those who host and attend Lincoln Day dinners. Sarah Palin, Michael Huckabee and all other non-Arian presidential hopefuls, please take note.
Give me more of that old-time Ann Coulter! The Queen of Mean dumps on the locker room punching bags and dowdy schoolgirls who grew up to be Jon Stewart, or university staff. Libs are “talking about her like an ex-girlfriend… Because she’s magnificent… a huge star… the hatred for Palin is coming from liberal women in New York who have overheard their boyfriends saying, Well, gotta admit, she is good-looking.”
My old friend Peona de Fleur, high up in a Washington D.C.-area conservative think tank, as quick-witted as your faithful servant but less stodgy, suggests the following captions for Gov. Palin’s photo:
“Because Todd’s at least this big, I keep comin’ back to ride that ride…”
“Anyone who’s not this big won’t beat me down, come 2012…”
“You know what turns liberal women into conservatives?”
“Most Lefties dream of redistribution because they don’t have it upstairs or downstairs…”
In a word, candid readers: FAT. That, and the fact that Carrie’s upright in both senses: full of moral probity, and tall as a willow tree, to May-gun’s squat, dumpy barrel cactus.
Yes, Carrie Prejean, Miss California who “chose truth over a tiara” in Maggie Gallagher’s words, is the Queen Esther of her times, physically lovely but discreet too, willing to put herself on the line to speak truth to power:
Contrast this, candid reader, with the bovine eructations of Meghan McCain, as likely to shoot from the lip as her amnesty-crazed father but, incredible as it may seem, even more ethically challenged than the old Keating Five womanizer himself:
How dare this dumpy cow lumber onto a national stage, belching and farting her country-club Republican twaddle to any leftie who’ll book her on his show, especially looking like that? (You know the country-clubbers’ pious mantra: Cut my taxes — but keep abortion legal so my slut daughter can fornicate consequence-free.) I thought she’d learned from the scars earned in her battle of the wits, though sadly unarmed, with Ann Coulter and Laura Ingraham, like that gaping new one ripped between her ass’s ears. How do I detest thee, Meghan? Let me count the ways… I can’t do better here than quote the patron sage of this blog, Jonathan Swift, describing female horse’s asses who try to impress beyond their abilities:
Some try to learn polite Behaviour,
By reading Books against their Saviour;
Some call it witty to reflect
On ev’ry natural Defect…
But, sure a Tell-tale out of School
Is of all Wits the greatest Fool;
Whose rank Imagination fills,
Her Heart, and from her Lips distills;
You’d think she utter’d from behind,
Or at her Mouth was breaking Wind.
(Strephon and Chloe, 1731)
Oral wind-breaking — yes, that pretty well sums up May-gun McLame. Back to your stall now, Old Bossy, and give that flapping jaw, and your sorely overtaxed hooves, a rest.
Meanwhile, why exactly is ass-ugly gossip blogger Perez Hilton allowed even to enter the presence of gracile beauties like Carrie Prejean, let alone question them? Does anyone who doesn’t huff amyl nitrite even know who this coarse little scrub is? Doubtless spawned in some estaminet of Huntington Park, a coffee shop drudge or simpering bag boy at Gelson’s until last week, Perez is stunted and beetle-browed, like so much East Side ethnojetsam washed up on the kosher West Bank of L.A., lately gone from working the corners of Santa Monica Boulevard on to modest fame among homosexuals. Yes, look closely at the face: the joke stage name conceals low peasant origins, probably one generation removed from an auto body shop on Washington Boulevard, two from some shithole jacal in Jalisco. Hardly a eugenic or edifying specimen, before one even gets to the illiteracy and repulsive Gay Mart couture. Indeed, the little pouf’s relentlessly pinched face and lemony sneer suggest a shredded or prolapsed anus, or some kindred sodomite ailment — you see what happens when you shove Coke bottles, various combinations of your own digits, and multiple strangers’ penile Petri dishes up your backside on a nightly, drug-fueled basis.
Bra-less wonder Perez Hilton before emergency makeover: What shat that?
That’s precisely why bourgeois liberals’ push for homosexual “marriage” is such a joke — “gay” and “marriage” are contradictions in terms, as every candid queer from Mark Simpson to Camille Paglia has observed, and not just because marriage originated as a sacred union framed for the procreation and protection of children. Everybody who’s not a Prozacked white lady in the Seattle suburbs, dutifully twitching when the Obamatards pull her strings, knows gay men are polygamous almost to a man. No matter what claims they make in public about their “relationships,” they are except in rare cases industriously promiscuous unless body fat, clock-stopping ugliness or some other structural flaw precludes it, as with blobby toad Perez.
This is not speculation, friends — though a strict celibate myself, my oldest and dearest friends are two gay men, as are a constellation of lesser friends and acquaintances, and believe me, they bear me out unerringly. Nor, I might add, do very many of them buy into this manipulative liberal “gay marriage” schtick. Gay men of all people know that male lust, freed of any limits in female reticence, is for all practical purposes unbounded; it drives unerringly for the maximum number of sexual partners, stopping only when structurally limited by the physical exhaustions of age, disease or both. Nor, they’ve told me for years, would they want it to be; it’s precisely their hedonist, libertine refusal of respectable social norms — the self-restraint and voluntary sacrifice needed for the protection and procreation of women and children — that keeps the gaiety in gayness for them.
And I’m not just picking on the gays here. Consistent reactionary that I am, I zealously assert divorce must be illegal except in cases of proven adultery; separation, perhaps, but rupturing a sacramental union, never. “Husband and wife are one body in the same way as Christ and the Father are one.” (St John Chrysostom) And hetero fornicating is quite out of the question too, as is indeed marital intercourse not open to the transmission of life.
Get with the program, self-described Christians: either human beings wholly own their bodies and can use them any way we damned well please — or not. Half-measures and casuistry, the hypocrisy of “Christians” who condemn homosexual acts while having hetero sex for pleasure, are just intellectual and moral flab — be for real:
The unitive aspect of sexual love, therefore, is a blessed and joyful corollary to procreation. It is a gift for which we can rejoice and give thanks. It is so, however, only inasmuch as it derives from the more fundamental purpose of Christian marriage, which is to participate directly in God’s creative work through the bearing and raising of children.
(Very Rev. John Breck, The Sacred Gift of Life: Orthodox Christianity and Bioethics, 90)
So is marriage a sacred institution framed to hallow the procreation and protection of children, or isn’t it? As several Orthodox and Roman Catholic theologians have observed, married couples who copulate using birth control are simply masturbating; it is every human being’s duty to abstain from sexual acts not open to the transmission of life. Husbands and wives who contracept are, therefore, as antisocially selfish and morally foul as the randiest sodomite. How’s that for consistency and even-handedness?