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Tom Coburn is a Big Fat Jerk


moonbat150


Home of the Barking Moonbat


 

Saturday, February 26, 2005

msicsaF and arrogance

You see, I have to spell it backward to protect myself from my Googling students.

But it needs to be discussed because, you see, there's this kind of growing outrage on the internet about msicsaf, much of which is rightfully directed at our administration and the miscreant freepers and some others ... but also an assumption that anyone who lives in my current environs is a tsicsaf. Especially if they're youngish, white, rural, impoverished.

And this is where I part company with the libs. And this is why the libs will fail.

For weeks now, I've been discussing the issue of msicsaf in my classes. At first, I was being relatively subtle --- I've managed to relate all coursework and classroom discussion to it. They've taken to it like fish in water because they've been thinking about it --- in some cases, longer than any of you all have.

I don't think people outside of this area have any idea what lurks beneath the surface. These guys, including the ones who are being so freely labelled miscreant racists and stsicsaf-otorp and whatnot by so many of you, are ready to hit the ground on these things --- more willing and even better equipped in their understanding than, say, Kosmopolitans whining because a front-paged diary isn't adhering to proper argument structure. They know without a doubt what has taken over this country --- they see it even clearer than you or I.

And that isn't to say there aren't KKKers about.

It is to say I am appalled by the readiness and arrogance with which those in more fortunate circumstances than we here are writing these guys off already as surefire stsicsaf.

Which is why the libs and Dems will fail yet again. And why we are so easily labelled elites.

All you are doing is alienating some of your most potentially valuable allies in this fight. But I fear the randy raw power of your own superiority will make it impossible to overcome your insistence of what people here really are. And for all your beautiful high falutin words, there will be nothing that you can do because it is just too, too hard for you to get down in the dirt with us --- and too, too easy to peer down your aquiline noses at what you assume (incorrectly) we are.

Barking moonbat

Okay, I can't stand it anymore, I have to get Barking Moonbat into the title of the blog but i haven't figured out how to do it and keep it what it is at the same time.

So you're just going to have to bear with the top of the blog as i expect it will take me a few days to get Barking moonbat fitting in there comfortably.

Muskrat Love

Anyone who's lived in Okie-Land for any length of time knows about Willis Alan Ramsey and Woody Guthrie and who not. The issue of Okie-land-ness arises because of a post over at Sister Scorpion, where she discovers Okies are in okie-land simply because they like it here.

Yes. Exactly.

I've had all kinds of evil intent ascribed to my insistence upon beinghere, despite opportunity upon opportunity (at least at one time) to live in all kinds of other places.

People have assumed I always come crawling back here come hell or high water because I just can't take it in the real world or I secretly want to marry me a wife-beater or I can't handle not being surround by KKKers and J.R. Ewing style evil dudes or other such nonsense.

Really, people have thought those things. They're all wrong.

I'm here because I really really really like it here.

I know by heart what the air feels like when spring's on the way. I know by heart what the air feels like when a tornado's on the way.

I can't tell you how deep down sad I get when it's late November and I go up around a bit north of Claremore and I see those low lying grey clouds. It makes me sad. Every year.

I can't tell you how much I enjoy the first sight of green and the forsythias and the cardinals and the woodpeckers and the flickers.

I even like summer.


I would much rather talk to some old Okie without a lick of formal education and missing half his teeth than some spiffed up dude from Dallas in the latest car and a flashy suit who knows all the latest stuff. Problem is, the old Okie knows where all the skeletons are buried and how to use a water witch and what signs are best for castrating goats and which way to plant corn and how to train a hinny, while the spiffed up dude from Dallas only knows where the latest fashionable restaurant is.

I mean, not to diss anyone, but we're a dying breed out here and I just don't feel like pushing it along too far.

I'd be perfectly happy if all our politicians would just drop off the face of the earth and they just fenced off Oklahoma and left us alone. I'd be fine with that. Nothing political about it. It's just how it is.

Friday, February 25, 2005

Hey girly! I'm just a fifth

Not sure how, but I managed to underscore Sister Scorpion on the white trash test.

Sure did want to answer yea! on the mullet question, though. And had I taken this last week, I would have outranked everyone in white trashness. Unfortunately, I found a sucker, uh I mean taker, for all my broken television sets.

I am 20% White Trash.
Not at all White Trashy!
I, my friend, have class. I am so not white trash. . I am more than likely Democrat, and my place is neat, and there is a good chance I may never drink wine from a box.

Mo grump: Rhetorical Nazis

Yesterday I spent some time at Kos, trying to dig myself out of my funk. Didn't work.

Worse, while there, I noticed (with more dismay than usual) how many sneeringly attack others because their posts don't adhere to the English Department Composition Program Rhetorical Mode of the Week.

Okay, I really hate the rightwing fascists.

But English Department Composition Program Rhetorical Mode Nazis run a real close second. In fact, depending on how whiney they get (ex: BUT MY DIARY WAS DEEPER AND THIS ONE ISN'T EVEN A PROPER ARGUMENT!!), I could even be persuaded to consider the English Department Composition Program Rhetorical Mode Nazis to be just as noxious as the biggest, honkingnest Freeper.

Good gawd people, not everyone has your precious sensibilities when it comes to the proper structure of arguments.

In fact, in case you haven't looked around lately, there's an entire world of people who construct arguments completely contrary to how the English Department Composition Program Rhetorical Mode Nazis claim they're supposed to be done.

Sheesh. At least keep it to yourself. Or get your own blog where you can rant all you want about proper form.

Wednesday, February 23, 2005

Being Barking Moonbat

I want to change the name of the blog to Barking Moonbat.

I'm in a true, genuine and rare (for me) funk. And it looks like this funk isn't going away any time soon. I'm genuinely pissed off, fed up and absolutely unbelieving that we're so stupid that it's come to this.

It's not that I'm ready to move to Canada --- in fact, my plan is to stay here and drive them all so freaking up the wall that they'll want to just shoot themselves rather than endure another moment of it. A kind of passive aggressive sneak attack moonbatness combined with some full frontal screaming obscenities YOU FREAKING JACKASS NAZIS with appropriate hand gestures and lots of AHAHAHAHA! right back at them while I'm hanging off a limb somewhere way up high in some tree.

I've had it with them and nothing's making it any better. Every time I turn around, it's some other kind of shit, and my tolerance which got wore out a long time ago has reached a new record low.

Rather than engage in some kind of positive actions, I've taken to trolling right wing boards.

But even I can't believe how insane they are and they're just getting more insane.

And you know, people, a mess of the self-described liberals aren't helping a bit.

Case in point --- I go to lurk on the psychotic farmers forum where they're even crazier than anything you can imagine --- seriously, they are. Even I can't believe people this stupid and insane are bipedal and demonstrate other human-like traits. They are really s-t-u-p-i-d and even crazier. And someone there posts about a fellow who gets himself shot and killed when Child Protective Services shows up. Which is bad enough.

But then a liberal gets on and begins ranting that people who don't have electricity shouldn't be allowed to have children.

Fellow liberals, do you need me to come over there and have a talk with you? Do you have any concept of how many people in this country are living without electricity at this very moment? Do you have any idea how recently electricity was brought into how many communities? Do you have any idea how many people I know who grew up without electricity?

Not to mention, are you aware that some of the hippest, brightest, most intelligent people around are intentionally and purposely living without electricity --- you know --- offgrid?

Get a grip, liberals.

So that was bad enough but then I get a phone call from a family member in a nearby city and for some reason --- I mean, we were talking about autism, of all things, and whether there's an epidemic of it which i was insisting there is because I don't think autism is necessarily genetic because the last I heard, they'd linked it to alcoholism because it tends to be found in families with alcoholics.

The problem is, do you know a family in the entire world which doesn't have an alcoholic?

In any case, I was off on a rant about autism likely being the result of environmental factors like heavy metals and all the crap we dump in the airs and the oceans and we all know high fructose corn syrup and trans-fats are causing us profound organic harm, so why shouldn't environmental pollution be responsible for all these cases of neurological damage which are popping up everywhere, it seems. I mean, look at the oceans ...

... and I hear what do you mean, the oceans and i say well, you know, they're rising and I hear back they are??? and I say yes, haven't you heard about this? and I get a stunned no, I haven't what are you talking about which leads us into what they talk about these days on the news which I know virtually nothing about because I don't get television out here ...

... and I grill them and after hearing what's going on on the news, I really want to just go build myself a treehouse and never come down again.

Which leads me back to my original point which is if i feel this way by Saturday, to hell with the rest of you, the blog's name is changing to barking moonbat. Because if this keeps up --- and you know it will --- I will be freaking mad as a hatter in no time flat.

Tuesday, February 22, 2005

Family Anguished While Awaiting Decision About Court Martial

Via Rob's Blog: Family Anguished While Awaiting Decision About Court Martial.

Please be sure to read the article. There are links at Rob's Blog for signing a petition for clemency for Col. Birt, as well as writing to your congressmen.

I know a lot of other things are going on, but this is a matter not just of simple human dignity, but of doing right by our soldiers.

Remember that this is a matter which touches at the very core of what we claim to be: compassionate, fair and honest. Unlike the Bushinistas who are stripping the Birts of everything for simply doing the job --- a concept Bush and none of his lunatic ranks could ever comprehend, given they've never done an honest day's work.

Just do the right thing.

The Attack on the Elderlies ...

is going to work.

I'm very, very disheartened by everyone who says the ads are so ridiculous and HA HA and they have no idea who they're messing with! and AARP is a sleeping giant! and and and ...

The problem is, I would wager a sizeable number of elderlies go for it and dump AARP. A lot of them.

It doesn't matter if the attack ads are profane and foul and ridiculous. It doesn't matter if there's no rhyme or reason to the analogies. None of that matters.

All that matters is the ads will effectively manipulate the elderlies themselves, they'll bail on AARP or strongarm them, and there'll be a caving of some kind.

Monday, February 21, 2005

Word Perfect

If anyone with a full subscription to the New Republic would be willing to send me a copy of Easterbrook's "Word Perfect", I'd be most grateful!



Stolen from a post at Kos.

A nice take-off on the AARP smear. :=D

The Bushinistas and their Supporters hate old people

Via Kos:

USNext is aiming its sights on AARP and have begun a campaign to smear AARP and all elderlies NOT in support of privatization as not simply traitor, but queer [sic] loving anti-troop anti-Americans.

Check out this ad of theirs at American Spectator.

Okay, people, until some kind of organized campaign gets going, let's all help AARP out --- time to send a little cash their way and show your support. You can buy AARP gifts here.

Hopefully, someone will come up with something better quickly.

Propaganda

There's a lot going on, I know.

But I'm a bit tied up. Aside from the good weather we're having, which means I can actually begin making progress on a million outdoor chores ...

... I'm also working rather furiously on ways to inoculate my students with everything they need to nose their way through the current barrage of propaganda.

It's not as easy as it sounds, especially as it's important to leave the door(s) open so they can make their own choices.

So pardon me while I work this out. I'll be back in a day or so.

Sunday, February 20, 2005

Okay, it's like this

Aside from everything else, my biggest complaint with Dowd's column is that it's ostensibly about Summers, but quickly devolves into -- what? A litany of rants about fools behaving like fools and the fools who believe those fools, wrapped neatly within a whine that feminism hasn't saved us from judgment over appearance.

Was that all it was supposed to do, though?

Maureen, what the hell does any of that have to do with Summers? You know, I could tell you about the time at my first real job that the horndog boss called me into his office, and I found him sitting in there with his pants down.

True story.

He also almost wrecked his Lincoln trying to chase me down a sidewalk one day. Etc.

I mean, please.

But you know, Maureen, that idiot boss had no bearing on the rest of my life, except that he gifted me with some pretty amusing anecdotes.

Now, yes, it would have been a different matter --- a very different matter --- had he been, say, the advisor for my PhD or otherwise in a position to profoundly influence not simply my current situation, but the outcome of mountains of blood, sweat and tears. Or my boss at my dream job. Or somesuch.

Truth be known, though, had I ever found myself in such a situation, I would have walked. Complained, then walked because, honestly, once you've launched that big of a complaint, who the hell in their right mind would stick around? Unless you're Karen Silkwood and there's radioactivity involved.

But these examples are not analogous to superstitious and foolish baseball players busting the slump on the-woman-of-their-dreams-NOT and the foolish women who believe them.

And I'm sorry but feminism cannot protect us from the whims of our hearts or our oddest beliefs. I have a strange deepseated belief that blonde, slightly balding men are perverts and drunks and probably drug addicts and dope dealers and child beaters and extortionists. Not substantially bald blonde men, but blonde men just beginning to tumble into baldness. Especially if they also wear glasses without lenses and the latest fashions for men. And I will never get over it without dropping a good $50,000 on therapy --- which I will never do because any 50 thou I come up with is going to getting fencing around this place and a goodlooking barn. And maybe a new car. And some goats. Some of those pygmy goats.

Whatever, we're all like that. Even you, Maureen --- admit it! You have some strange phobia about men, as well, one that defies all logic and reason. ADMIT IT!

But that has nothing to do with Summers.

Summers is inferring something about inherent talent and ability. He's inferring something about the natural abilities and tendencies of women. THAT'S the point.

Maureen, Again

Last night, I had one of those strange, strange dreams where I became so lost that I thought it was reality. It wasn't a nightmare, just a dream jumbled with huge brass buildings of a kind of medievalist style and peculiar animals and numbers as though I'd been dropkicked into the Universe of Algebra and there were people I haven't seen in forever or who maybe never even really existed.

So I awoke, not with a jolt, but in that deadened thrall-state that takes a while to shake off --- you know the kind --- the where am I? oh yea, I remember, I'm here state.

I moseyed around the house for a while, checking windows and peeking outside to make sure my lovely tin roof was still here because we've been having the strange windy rains which always precede spring, those winds with that sense of anticipation still tinged with a touch of winter but definitely spring. After muddling about a bit, I fixed myself a nice sliced pear and decided to read the news and maybe even scoop everyone else, because after all, the bunch of you are asleep at 3 a.m., aren't you? Or am I the only person in the world who never sees 2 a.m. anymore?

And I found Maureen Dowd's latest. Which began okay - you know, she hasn't done too badly the last day or so.

But quickly disintegrated.

[...] Players who are struggling start talking about how they need to go out and find something to break their slump. And often enough it comes out something like this: 'Oh my God, I'm 0-for-20. I'm going to get the ugliest girl I can find and have sex with her.' "

[...]

At the dawn of feminism, there was an assumption that women would not be as severely judged on their looks in ensuing years. Phooey. It's just the opposite. Looks matter more than ever, with more and more women spending fortunes turning themselves into generic, plastic versions of what they think men want, reaching for eerily similar plumped-up faces and body shapes.

Pretty soon, we'll be back to the era when flight attendants - or should I say stewardesses? - are canned if they gain a few pounds. The New York Post reported that the Borgata Hotel Casino and Spa in Atlantic City would start weighing all its waitresses, and "Borgata Babes" "who gain more than 7 percent will lose their jobs unless they lose the weight."

Consider this gender differentiation: A gorgeous, fit guy who sleeps with an overweight, unattractive woman is "throwing himself on a grenade" for the team. A gorgeous, fit girl who sleeps with an overweight, unattractive man is lucky to have found romance in "Sideways" and "Hitch."

In Neil LaBute's play "Fat Pig," Jeremy Piven's character drops an overweight woman he likes - even after she offers to staple her stomach for him - simply because he can't bear his friends' mockery. TV is full of "Beauty and the Beast" pairings, with fat, lazy husbands and foxy, impressive wives.

One thing is for sure, though. Guys who look at fat women as "slump busters" are fatheads.


Oh, Maureen, Maureen, Maureen --- did you mother teach you nothing?

I'll admit there was a time when I thought my mother knew nothing. But as clear as a bell, I remember driving over to a somewhere, one of those hangouts twenty-year-olds are always having to rush off to because their entire lives are dependent on having lunch with everyone they ever knew and doing so as quickly as possible.

A gay friend was in the car with me, and I complained about my perennial pot belly. And he grimaced and looked me straight on (no pun intended) and said men could care less about that.

Just like my mother, which snapped me back into reality and out of the cultural dream I'd been swimming around in.

Four-five years back, I taught a course filled with females who looked exactly alike. All were blonde with the same nose and all were approximately the same size and wearing the same kinds of clothing. It happens.

More important, however, why would men who would sleep with women to bust a slump be of any interest to you, Maureen? They're the fools, as are the women who sleep with them. And fools are a dime a dozen. So it's a part of the current culture of baseball --- so what? There are equally noxious practices among, say, journalists and NYT Op-Ed columnists and White House Press Corps(es) and suburban neighborhoods everywhere.

Not to mention, rural areas where who's sneaking into whose backdoor is the talk of the day over coffee at the local feedstore. I tell you, I really had no idea!

Besides, if feminism were only about looks no longer mattering, then it was a pretty stupid movement, wouldn't you say? Especially because beauty is truly in the eye of the beholder - truly.

Now if you want to talk about that classroom full of blonde look-alikes I taught in the context of commercialization and the market, yea, I could go for that. But those kinds of problems aren't restricted to women. And who really believes them except, once again, a fool?

You couldn't pay me to go anywhere near one of those tucked and pomaded and nose-jobbed mindless robotrons Hollywood's trying to pawn off on everyone.

How are they any different?

And certainly, it's true that there's still intense gender discrimination, but how does a fool busting a slump and the fool that believes him have anything to do with gender discrimination?

Maybe it's that you're in D.C. where everyone is pinched tight and lipoed thoroughly and dyed into the next century. Maybe it's that you assume this is life and the way it is.

No, it's not.

Come on, Maureen, there are fools everywhere. Sure, those baseball players and their managers and their marks are fools. But feminism never promised to protect us from foolishness, did it?