How Dubya Stole Our Civil Liberties

'Tis the season to remember
Why we need to vote in November.

--------------------------------------------

Every Blue down in Blue-ville
Liked their civil liberties a lot...
But the Dubya and Dick, who ruled Blue-ville,
Did NOT.

That Dubya hated liberties,
He thought they were treason.
Now please don't ask why. No one quite knows the reason.
It could be that his boots weren't broken in just right.
Or that his new cowboy hat's chin strap was tied on too tight.
But they say the most likely reason of all
Was that his brain was two sizes too small.

But,
Whatever the reason,
His boots or his brain,
He stood in his office with a frown oh so plain.
Staring at the protestors out past the gate,
He was afraid that perhaps he was already too late.
Perhaps the right to dissent was already innate.
Perhaps its rescension would make everybody irate.

And just when the Dubya was beginning to cope
With the notion he could never do as he'd hoped,
In slithered the Dick with a smile most unpleasant,
Just come home from hunting his friends and some pheasant.
"Do not despair," said the Dick with a scowl,
"I've got good old Rover out on the prowl."

"But what can the Rover do for our cause?"
"He can make all those people forget what it was
That our country was founded on, and what we'd held dear.
Instead, he can instill in the public some fear.

Fear of minorities, fear of the gays,
Fear of attacks on our doorsteps for days,
Fear of secularists, fear of the Jews,
Fear of anyone who has different views
Of the Bill of Rights and its true definition,
Or of the founding fathers' initial volition."

"And then will the people let us have free reign
So we can go after that oil king, Hussein?"
"Of course," said the Dick, "but if they remain haters
Of our administration, we'll just call them traitors."

And so it was that the Dubya and the Dick
Thought up some lies, and thought them up quick.
They told us of cake and Al-Qaeda and nukes,
Of the inadequacy of diplomatic rebukes,
And just when we thought they'd presented all evidence,
They told us of genocidal attacks without precedence.

In order to help what then seemed a good cause
The people did let that man Dubya bend laws.
So then he could listen to them on the phone,
Or monitor whom they would invite to their home.
Finally, Dubya gave to the Gauntanamo Sarges
People who had been held for weeks without charges.
And so Dubya tried, in spite of global contention
To circumvent the articles of the Geneva convention.

In our prisons, the detainees' questioning was strange,
All with their legal advisors out of range.
They'd be stripped of their clothes, then piled up high,
While the Lindy would watch with a gleam in her eye.
Pointing and laughing, she'd chirp to the men,
"Smile for the camera! And again! And again!"

The Rover meanwhile had been gearing the news
To pander to society's homophobic views.
"They want to get married," he'd shout with a snarl.
But HOW can we allow a Max and a Karl
To legally unite, though in peace and in love,
When that would incur to us wrath from above?"

And though there was still no rationality in sight,
He'd appealed to the people's intractable fright
Of anyone different, whom he could then paint
As someone nefariously attempting to taint
Our society with reason and logic. "That's liable
To make people forget the tales in the Bible."

So then Rover and Dick kept the people at home
From questioning why our young men had to roam
To other lands rife with dissidence and danger,
Just so they could gas up the new Rover Ranger.

Meanwhile, by White House, did gather protesters,
Whom the administration portrayed on television as jesters.
"These people know nothing of war nor of strife.
I'll bet they've never fought anyone in their life."
And the Dick and the Dubya thought that they had won,
Though when it had been their turn to fight, they had both run.

But the protesters stayed, and they yelled and they howled.
They hammered the Dubya with questions, then prowled
The Congress' documents, both the Senate's and House's
Looking for crumbs of these lies too small even for mouses.

And, lo and behold, they came up with tales
Of the lies and deceits, cover-ups and betrayals.
They brought them to light, and the public was shocked.
The foundation of the administration surely was rocked!
"But no," said the Dick with a sly Dickish grin,
"There is no way the Dubya and I cannot win."

And they laughed and they snickered till their snickerers were sore
Till the people voted in a way they hadn't before.
"Maybe voting," they'd said, "shouldn't feel like a chore.
Maybe democracy," they realized, "is worth quite a bit more."

And so that's the story of how the poor Blues
Awakened a country from their years-long snooze
In front of the television, set to Fox News,
To reclaim the House and the Senate, then choose
To celebrate our natural diversity in views
And reclaim our civil liberties and dues.

Garrison Keillor Is My Hero

Embracing the Subtle Upside of Terror
By Garrison Keillor
The Chicago Tribune

Wednesday 25 October 2006

We are engaged in a struggle between freedom and the forces of terror, my little macacas, and mostly I side with freedom, such as the freedom to
look at big shots and stick out your tongue and blow, but of course terror has its place too. The dude strolling down our street at night does not
break into our house to see what's available because he is terrified that if he's nabbed, his girlfriend Janine will run off to Philly with her
ex-boyfriend Eddie who's been hanging around. She's the best thing in Benny's life right now. So he walks on by and leaves our stereo be.

The terror of everlasting hellfire kept me away from dances until I was 12 years old and away from smoking cigarettes until I was 15. So that's
good. Dancing was briefly thrilling, and then I caught sight of myself in a mirror and I haven't gone to a dance since. Fear of ridicule is powerful
too.

A lack of terror may encourage crooks to operate brazenly, knock over the candy stand, trip the nuns, hurl garbage over the balcony, and that's why
you have cops, and also to keep the college kids from getting sick in our shrubbery.

But now the federal government is extending the frontiers of terror with the Military Commissions Act of 2006, legalizing torture and suspending
habeas corpus and constructing a loose web of law by which you and I could be hung by our ankles in a meat locker for as long as somebody deems
necessary. "Any person is punishable ..." the law states, "who knowingly and intentionally aids an enemy of the United States" and when it comes to
deciding what "knowingly and intentionally" might mean or who is the enemy, that's for a military commission to decide in secret, with or without you
present. No 5th Amendment, hearsay evidence admissible, no judicial review.

People came to America to escape this sort of justice. The midnight knock on the door, incarceration at the whim of men in shiny boots, confessions
obtained with a section of hose, secret trial by star chamber. One is reminded of Germany, 1933, when the Reichstag passed the Enabling Act to give the
chancellor the power of summary arrest and imprisonment, a necessary tool for the defense of the homeland against traitors, Jew-lovers, terrorists.

Not that this is a bad thing. Who am I to say? Maybe we've been too lenient with enemies of the state. A period of stark repression might be a rich
and rewarding experience for all of us. But when the Current Occupant signed the act last week, the difference between freedom and terror did suddenly
shrink somewhat. It makes you wonder: What if Vice President Dick Cheney does not wish to give up power two years from now? Maybe he has other
priorities. If an enemy of the United States - a Democrat, for example - appeared to be on the verge of election, perhaps Mr. Cheney, for the good of
the country, would be forced to take the threat seriously and head for an undisclosed location and invoke his war powers and shovel a few thousand
traitors into camps and call up his friends at Diebold and program the election results that are best for the country, or call the whole thing off.

OK by me if it's OK by you. I don't imagine that coffee sales will be affected or that Paris Hilton will be, like, "Whoa, this is so not cool,"
and, like, text-message her buds to join her on a hunger strike. The greeters at Wal-Mart will still smile and the football season will go on. They
might flash a bulletin at halftime, "Terror Threat Forces Postponement of Election," and most people would be OK with that. If Mr. Cheney thinks it
necessary to suspend the Constitution for a while, surely he has his reasons. The man inspires trust.

They won't have to torture me to get a good confession. I am a professional writer of fiction, my little monkeys, and if they turn the bright
lights on yours truly, beans will spill by the bushel, names will be named, and dates, and stories will be told one after the other. Everybody who ever
done me wrong, I am going to implicate them up to their dewlaps. A trial with hearsay evidence allowed and no cross-examination is tailor-made for a
novelist. Throw me into that briar patch, Br'er Bush.

For Writers Looking For Inspiration

These are the winners of the "worst analogies ever written in a high
school essay" contest run by the Washington Post.
______________________________________________________________________

He spoke with the wisdom that can only come from experience, like a
guy who went blind because he looked at a solar eclipse without one of
those boxes with a pinhole in it and now goes around the country
speaking at high schools about the dangers of looking at a solar
eclipse without one of those boxes with a pinhole in it. (Joseph Romm,
Washington)

She caught your eye like one of those pointy hook latches that used
to dangle from screen doors and would fly up whenever you banged the
door open again. (Rich Murphy, Fairfax Station)

The little boat gently drifted across the pond exactly the way a
bowling ball wouldn't. (Russell Beland, Springfield)

McBride fell 12 stories, hitting the pavement like a Hefty Bag
filled with vegetable soup. (Paul Sabourin, Silver Spring)

From the attic came an unearthly howl. The whole scene had an
eerie, surreal quality, like when you're on vacation in another city
and
"Jeopardy" comes on at 7 p.m. instead of 7:30. (Roy Ashley,
Washington)

Her hair glistened in the rain like nose hair after a sneeze. (Chuck
Smith, Woodbridge)

Her eyes were like two brown circles with big black dots in the
center. (Russell Beland, Springfield)

Bob was as perplexed as a hacker who means to access
T:flw.quid55328.com\aaakk/ch@ung but gets T:\flw.quidaaakk/ch@ung by
mistake (Ken Krattenmaker, Landover Hills)
Her vocabulary was as bad as, like, whatever. (Unknown)

He was as tall as a six-foot-three-inch tree. (Jack Bross, Chevy
Chase)

The hailstones leaped from the pavement, just like maggots when you
fry them in hot grease. (Gary F. Hevel, Silver Spring)

Her date was pleasant enough, but she knew that if her life was a
movie this guy would be buried in the credits as something like
"Second Tall Man." (Russell Beland, Springfield)

Long separated by cruel fate, the star-crossed lovers raced across
the grassy field toward each other like two freight trains, one having
left Cleveland at 6:36 p.m. traveling at 55 mph, the other from
Topeka at 4:19 p.m. at a speed of 35 mph. (Jennifer Hart, Arlington)

The politician was gone but unnoticed, like the period after the Dr.
on a Dr Pepper can. (Wayne Goode, Madison, Ala.)

They lived in a typical suburban neighborhood with picket fences
that resembled Nancy Kerrigan's teeth (Paul Kocak, Syracuse, N.Y.)

John and Mary had never met. They were like two hummingbirds who had
also never met. (Russell Beland, Springfield)

The thunder was ominous-sounding, much like the sound of a thin
sheet of metal being shaken backstage during the storm scene in a
play.
(Barbara Fetherolf, Alexandria)

His thoughts tumbled in his head, making and breaking alliances like
underpants in a dryer without Cling Free (Chuck Smith, Woodbridge)

The red brick wall was the color of a brick-red Crayola crayon.

Jean-Paul Sartre Makes Some Mean Eggs

Jean-Paul Sartre's Cookbook Diary

October 3:
Spoke with Camus today about my cookbook. Though he has never
actually eaten, he gave me much encouragement. I rushed home immediately
to begin work. How excited I am! I have begun my formula for a Denver
omelet.

October 4:
Still working on the omelet. There have been stumbling blocks. I
keep creating omelets one after another, like soldiers marching into the
sea, but each one seems empty, hollow, like stone. I want to create an
omelet that expresses the meaninglessness of existence, and instead they
taste like cheese. I look at them on the plate, but they do not look back.

October 5:
Tried eating them with the lights off. It did not help. Malraux suggested
paprika.

October 6:
I have realized that the traditional omelet form (eggs and cheese) is
bourgeois. Today I tried making one out of cigarettes, some
coffee, and four tiny stones. I fed it to Malraux, who puked. I am
encouraged, but my journey is still long.

October 10:
I find myself trying ever more radical interpretations of traditional
dishes, in an effort to somehow express the void I feel so acutely. Today I
tried this recipe:
Tuna Casserole

Ingredients: 1 large casserole dish

Place the casserole dish in a cold oven.
Place a chair facing the oven and sit in it forever.
Think about how hungry you are.
When night falls, do not turn on the light.

While a void is expressed in this recipe, I am struck by its
inapplicability to the bourgeois lifestyle. How can the eater recognize
that the food denied him is a tuna casserole and not some other dish? I am
becoming more and more frustrated.

October 25:
I have been forced to abandon the project of producing an entire cookbook.
Rather, I now seek a single recipe which will, by itself, embody the plight
of man in a world ruled by an unfeeling God, as well as providing the eater
with at least one ingredient from each of the four basic food groups. To
this end, I purchased six hundred pounds of foodstuffs from the corner
grocery and locked myself in the kitchen, refusing to admit anyone. After
several weeks of work, I produced a recipe calling for two eggs, half a cup
of flour, four tons of beef, and a leek. While this is a start, I am afraid
I still have much work ahead.

November 15:
Today I made a Black Forest cake out of five pounds of cherries and a live
beaver, challenging the very definition of the word cake. I was very
pleased. Malraux said he admired it greatly, but could not stay for
dessert. Still, I feel that this may be my most profound achievement yet,
and have resolved to enter it in the Betty Crocker Bake-Off.
November 30:
Today was the day of the Bake-Off. Alas, things did not go as I had hoped.
During the judging, the beaver became agitated and bit Betty Crocker on the
wrist. The beaver's powerful jaws are capable of felling blue spruce in
fewer than ten minutes and proved, needless to say, more than a match for
the tender limbs of America's favorite homemaker. I only got third place.
Moreover, I am now the subject of a rather nasty lawsuit.

December 1:
I have been gaining twenty-five pounds a week for two months, and I am now
experiencing light tides. It is stupid to be so fat. My pain and ultimate
solitude are still as authentic as they were when I was thin, but seem to
impress girls far less. From now on, I will live on cigarettes and black
coffee.

Brush Up On Your Latin

Slightly Less Common Latin Phrases

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Vacca foeda
Stupid cow

Die dulci fruere.
Have a nice day.

Mihi ignosce. Cum homine de cane debeo congredi.
Excuse me. I've got to see a man about a dog.

Raptus regaliter
Royally screwed

Si hoc signum legere potes, operis boni in rebus Latinus alacribus et
fructuosis potiri potes!
If you can read this sign, you can get a good job in the fast-paced,
high-paying world of Latin!

Sona si Latine loqueris.
Honk if you speak Latin.

Ne auderis delere orbem rigidum meum!
Don't you dare erase my hard disk!

Catapultam habeo. Nisi pecuniam omnem mihi dabis, ad caput tuum saxum
immane mittam.
I have a catapult. Give me all the money, or I will fling an enormous
rock at your head.

Gramen artificiosum odi.
I hate Astroturf.

Furnulum pani nolo.
I don't want a toaster.

Sentio aliquos togatos contra me conspirare.
I think some people in togas are plotting against me.

Nihil curo de ista tua stulta superstitione.
I'm not interested in your dopey religious cult.

Noli me vocare, ego te vocabo.
Don't call me, I'll call you.

Cave ne ante ullas catapultas ambules.
If I were you, I wouldn't walk in front of any catapults.

Canis meus id comedit.
My dog ate it.

Illiud Latine dici non potest.
You can't say that in Latin.

Vidistine nuper imagines moventes bonas?
Seen any good movies lately?

Nullo metro compositum est.
It doesn't rhyme.

Non curo. Si metrum non habet, non est poema.
I don't care. If it doesn't rhyme, it isn't a poem.

Fac ut gaudeam.
Make my day.

Braccae illae virides cum subucula rosea et tunica Caledonia-quam
elenganter concinnatur!
Those green pants go so well with that pink shirt and the plaid jacket!

Visne saltare? Viam Latam Fungosam scio.
Do you want to dance? I know the Funky Broadway.


Re vera, potas bene.
Say, you sure are drinking a lot.

Utinam barbari spatium proprium tuum invadant!
May barbarians invade your personal space!

Utinam coniurati te in foro interficiant!
May conspirators assassinate you in the mall!

Utinam logica falsa tuam philosophiam totam suffodiant!
May faulty logic undermine your entire philosophy!

Radix lecti
Couch potato

Quo signo nata es?
What's your sign?

Romani quidem artem amatoriam invenerunt.
You know, the Romans invented the art of love.

O! Plus! Perge! Aio! Hui! Hem!
Oh! More! Go on! Yes! Ooh! Ummm!

Spero nos familiares mansuros.
I hope we'll still be friends.

Mellita, domi adsum.
Honey, I'm home.

Tam exanimis quam tunica nehru fio.
I am as dead as the nehru jacket.

Ventis secundis, tene cursum.
Go with the flow.

Totum dependeat.
Let it all hang out.

Te precor dulcissime supplex!
Pretty please with a cherry on top!

Magister Mundi sum!
I am the Master of the Universe!

Fac me cocleario vomere!
Gag me with a spoon!

Te audire no possum. Musa sapientum fixa est in aure.
I can't hear you. I have a banana in my ear.

Estne volumen in toga, an solum tibi libet me videre?
Is that a scroll in your toga, or are you just happy to see me?

Prehende uxorem meam, sis!
Take my wife, please!

Quantum materiae materietur marmota monax si marmota monax materiam
possit materiari?
How much wood would a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood?

Nihil est--in vita priore ego imperator Romanus fui.
That's nothing--in a previous life I was a Roman Emperor.

Aio, quantitas magna frumentorum est.
Yes, that is a very large amount of corn.

Recedite, plebes! Gero rem imperialem!
Stand aside plebians! I am on imperial business.

Oblitus sum perpolire clepsydras!
I forgot to polish the clocks!

Vescere bracis meis.
Eat my shorts.

Sic faciunt omnes.
Everyone is doing it.

Fac ut vivas.
Get a life.

Anulos qui animum ostendunt omnes gestemus!
Let's all wear mood rings!

Insula Gilliganis
Gilligan's Island

God Bless Law School

Reposted from a particularly brilliant and cantankerous friend in New York. God bless him for being so misguided as to re-enroll for a doctorate in law after practicing for years:

-------------------------

Thought you guys might enjoy the following cyber-debate I have been
engaged in regarding Patricia William's "Alchemy of Race and Rights," a
book by a black female Columbia law professor which I bashed when asked my
opinion about its informal, first-person style. The below bit of e-mail
was distributed to everyone in our class, so this was a public spat. I
have edited it so it is easier for the uninitiated to follow, as it
involves a number of assertions, replies and retorts inserted into earlier
e-mails.


This should make those of you not in graduate school very happy with your
life-choices. To those of you already in, the heady whiff of grad student
earnestness should be as familiar to your nostrils as the scent of
patchouli.

---------- Forwarded message ----------


On Fri, 7 Mar 1997, RM wrote:

1. On "Mean-Spiritedness"

>JJE: > Just on a personal level, I not only found the book unreadable in
its self-indulgence, but bordering on the malign for attempting to make
its
> > unreadable and self-indulgent qualities into political (read: radical)
> > stances).
>
> REPLY TO JJE: Hmmm. When I heard you say that yesterday before class,
I thought it was an attempt at levity. It seems sort of mean-spirited in
print.
>
JJE'S RETORT: First off, it wasn't an attempt at levity, it was the
genuine article. More to the point, "mean spiritedness"is a criticism
void of meaning. Since when is reverence for the idea under discussion a
hallmark of intellectual discussion? In fact, irreverence is often a
strategy employed by radical thinkers and advocates, etc. Surely the
prospect of an iconoclast iconoclasted shouldn't raise any eyebrows, or is
sauce only for the goose? Clearly opening myself up on a personal level
didn't spare *me* from a negative critique. Also, note that I attacked
the style, not Prof. Williams, a distinction I am guessing you muddled
from much of the tone of your response.


2. On "Unreadability"

REPLY TO JJE: Unreadable? Others that I know who have read Williams said
that her writing style made her EASIER to read (compared with most legal
> scholarship). Nothing like first-person narrative to get the reader to
> identify with the author and get swept up "in the story." If I had any
> concern about that, it's that the casual reader (not moi, of course...) is
> likely to overlook any faults in argument because of this identification
> (assuming there are faults).
>
JJE: I guess some of us just don't identify with but are indeed
repelled by the sight of someone demonstrating their
boundless versatility by giving pithy summations of their project over
coffee with their sister while peppering the same with cutesy asides
about armadillos. But, this falls into the "de gustibus non
disputendum" category": you liked it, I didn't. Should be the
end of the story, but it never is when icons and ideology are
involved....Have I spelled "fawat" right?


3.> On "Self-Indulgence"

REPLY TO JJE: Self-indulgent? I would argue just the opposite: that it
takes some guts
> to open up and put yourself within the text....it then makes YOU
> susceptible to being the object of critique rather than just your TEXT.

JJE'S RETORT: Well then, bully for Prof. Williams. But courage in
opening oneself up is, in and of itself, a limited virtue -- now that she
has so elected, I as the reader am perfectly within my bounds to react
with distaste to her. It's like someone reading their awful diary entries
at a poetry reading -- they run the risk of people actually exercising
their judgment. If you want to write in a personal style and not be
judged inwhatever way the reader feels is appropriate, don't publish it. I
decline to get all excited merely because someone has "opened up, "when
what I glimpse inside is annoying. Also, she is not a classmate of mine
-- she is a law professor at Columbia who knows or should know the risks
of publishing. I think different rules of politesse apply.


4. On "Objectivity in Scholarship"


ASSERTION: I think that the so called "objective" third-person distancing
dry blah blah boring writing that permeates most scholarship is what is
> self-indulgent.....it's self-indulgent to deny your personal stake in
> whatever you're writing about...it's self-indulgent to hide behind a cloak
> of "objectivity," trying to conceal and deny your presence within the
> text. Responsibility, anyone?
>

JJE's REPLY: Here' a clever little trick to handle precisely that sort of
so-called objectivity: whenever anyone "hides behind a cloak of
objectivity'"simply append a mental "[INSERT NAME HERE] THINKS..." before
their work. That way, you remember it's only their opinion, etc., but the
reader isn't disturbed by armadillos. It's a pretty useful mnemonic if
you feel you are in danger of being bamboozled by their claims of
objectivity. Also, I had thought publishing work with your name on it (as
so many authors seem prone to do) consituted a pretty accessible mode of
determining responsibility, silly me, the traditionalist.


5. On Reading Something Before You Criticize It
JJE: The line drawn is of that trendily contentious, T-shirt sloganeering
> > "they just don't get it" quality. I did get it -- I just found it
> > annoying and uninteresting.
>
REPLY TO JJE: How much did you read? I seem recall you saying before
class that you had read a whole two pages. Perhaps I mis-heard.....
>
JJE'S RETORT: Touche! An attempt at public shaming! A low blow, arguably,
but fortunately I am someone who locates the very essence of his pride in
forcibly critiquing on the basis of little (preferably no) information
(you should hear me sound off on "The Joy Luck Club," of which I haven't
read a single pronoun). Actually, I think I read a chapter, but so what? I
said it was unreadable, so why would I read it -- that would be wierd,
actually. It's sort of like a Starsky and Hutch episode: I am not
compelled to watch the whole thing to know (i) that it's of no interest to
me, (ii) why it is of no interest to me, and (iii) to be able to
articulate the foregoing (i) and (ii). I'm pretty swift like that, the
advantages of a legal education, don't you know...


6. On Academic Fads>


JJE: > The so-called imprimatur of the Harvard University Press I think
merely
> > testifies to the success of this particular scholarly fad.
>
>REPLY TO JJE: I suppose only time will tell if it's a "fad" or something
more.
>
JJE's RETORT: Whether or not critical race theory is a fad, and whether
or not engaging in egregious presentations of self in your scholarly work
is a fad are distinct questions. I never made a single comment about her
ideas, I only commented stylistically and the seeming politicization of
that style. Let me qualify my earlier statement: I *pray* it is a fad.


7. On the Views of Our Collegaues

JJE: This remains, obviously, one man's point of view. I have not polled
any fellow barristers on this score. More than likely they haven't read
it.
>
REPLY TO JJE: And this is someone else's point of view. And I haven't
polled any of my > radical, New Left, post-modern, feminist, queer,
deconstructionist, > critical race theory subscribing,
anti-phallologocentric colleagues.

JJE'S RETORT: My ordinarily sensitive nose is picking up some complicated
sort of moral one-upmanship here, but since I still have a little
head-cold, I'll just chalk it up to the Sinutab. I will note that all
my ideological subscriptions lapsed because I moved and didn't send in a
forwarding address.


8. More Gratuitous Attempts at One-Upmanship

ASSERTION: But, I bet that most of them have read provocative work such
as Williams', AS WELL AS the work of white straight males.
>

JJE'S REPLY: Once again, one man's provocative is another man' snooze
fest. I am going to go out on a limb and suggest that the mere fact that
Patricia Williams is a black female law professor does NOT render her
every publicly-uttered thought and fancy a bit of political theater which
holds tight every member of the audience in its world-view-shattering
power: "I'd like a bagel," says Pat Williams, and the Phallocracy
detumesces...
Secondly, this was never about critical race theory -- it was
about the style in which one professor chose to explicate her views on
critical race theory. I trust you won't now reply with some "medium is
message/form is content" sort of argument, as you yourself pointed to the
(alleged) dangers of getting so caught up (yeesh!) in her style as to miss
the faults in her argument.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

So far, he has not responded to this, a tactic which he no doubt
considers the high road and which I think makes him a pussy.
However, if anyone is interested, I will gladly pass along any further
missives...If you are not interested, don't hesitate to tell me to stop
sending you crap (as if any of you would hesitate without that bit of
permission)..

Quick Comebacks For When You're At A Loss

as someone raised with the tried and true churchill insults constantly bandied about the dinner table (as in: "you're drunk." "and you're ugly, but tomorrow i shall be sober." and, of course, "the dangling of participles is an abomination up with which i shall not put."), i learned early the value of being able to tell people off in myriad ways. of course, we're missing a slew of others from the usual witty suspects: dorothy parker, mark twain, will roberts, and fran lebowitz leap to mind. so, feel free to keep adding to the onslaught...

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"He has all the virtues I dislike and none of the vices I admire."
-- Winston Churchill

"A modest little person, with much to be modest about."
-- Winston Churchill

"I have never killed a man, but I have read many obituaries with great pleasure."
-- Clarence Darrow

"He has never been known to use a word that might send a reader to the dictionary."
-- William Faulkner (about Ernest Hemingway)

"Poor Faulkner. Does he really think big emotions come from big words?"
-- Ernest Hemingway (about William Faulkner)

"Thank you for sending me a copy of your book; I'll waste no time reading it."
-- Moses Hadas

"He can compress the most words into the smallest idea of any man I know."
-- Abraham Lincoln

"I've had a perfectly wonderful evening. But this wasn't it."
-- Groucho Marx

"I didn't attend the funeral, but I sent a nice letter saying I approved of it."
-- Mark Twain

"He has no enemies, but is intensely disliked by his friends."
-- Oscar Wilde

"I am enclosing two tickets to the first night of my new play; bring a friend.... if you have one."
-- George Bernard Shaw to Winston Churchill

"Cannot possibly attend first night, will attend second... if there is one."
-- Winston Churchill, in response

"I feel so miserable without you; it's almost like having you here."
-- Stephen Bishop

"He is a self-made man and worships his creator."
-- John Bright

"I've just learned about his illness. Let's hope it's nothing trivial."
-- Irvin S. Cobb

"He is not only dull himself, he is the cause of dullness in others."
-- Samuel Johnson

"He is simply a shiver looking for a spine to run up."
-- Paul Keating

"He had delusions of adequacy."
-- Walter Kerr

"There's nothing wrong with you that reincarnation won't cure."
-- Jack E. Leonard

"He has the attention span of a lightning bolt."
-- Robert Redford

"They never open their mouths without subtracting from the sum of human knowledge ."
-- Thomas Brackett Reed

"He inherited some good instincts from his Quaker forebears, but by diligent hard work, he overcame them."
-- James Reston (about Richard Nixon)

"In order to avoid being called a flirt, she always yielded easily."
-- Charles, Count Talleyrand

"He loves nature in spite of what it did to him."
-- Forrest Tucker

"Why do you sit there looking like an envelope without any address on it?"
-- Mark Twain

"His mother should have thrown him away and kept the stork."
-- Mae West

"Some cause happiness wherever they go; others, whenever they go."
-- Oscar Wilde

"He uses statistics as a drunken man uses lamp-posts... for support rather than illumination."
-- Andrew Lang (1844-1912)

"He has Van Gogh's ear for music."
-- Billy Wilder

(and my own favorite from Dorothy Parker. When passing through a doorway with her nemesis who let her through first, saying, "Age before beauty.")

"Pearls before swine."

FYI

You knew in your hearts it's true and now science proves it.
Seriously, this is not from 'The Onion'.

**Psych study proves Bush supporters are certifiable.**

Lohse, a social work master^Òs student at Southern Connecticut State University, says he has proven what many
progressives have probably suspected for years: a direct link between mental illness and support for President
Bush.

Lohse says his study is no joke. The thesis draws on a survey of 69 psychiatric outpatients in three Connecticut
locations during the 2004 presidential election. Lohse^Òs study, backed by SCSU Psychology professor Jaak Rakfeldt
and statistician Misty Ginacola, found a correlation between the severity of a person^Òs psychosis and their
preferences for president: The more psychotic the voter, the more likely they were to vote for Bush.

This is real, from the New Haven CT 'Advocate' newspaper:
http://www.ctnow.com/custom/nmm/newhavenadvocate/hce-nha-1123-nh48bushbash48.artnov23,0,1695911.story

Another note, from the article:
"Lohse says the trend isn^Òt unique to Bush: A 1977 study by Frumkin & Ibrahim found psychiatric patients
preferred Nixon over McGovern in the 1972 election."

The takeaway line: "The more psychotic the voter, the more likely they were to vote for Bush." So true, so true.

So, what's the recommended treatment for Psychotic Conservatism? Medication? Mass lobotomies? Forced viewing of
Michael Moore's films and interviews until total Conservative breakdown occurs? Hmm... I know, make them go to
Iraq and not come home until they fix it!

Happy, Healthy, Holidaze
Da Chief