On Dealing With Conspiratorializers

Now there is a pregnant icon, Mr. Bones! Doubly pregnant, or pregnant with twins, in fact:

(1) We would have sailed past without stopping had we not just dissected the new rhetorical look over at Lynx, Badger, Cartoonoclastes LLC . The ideal way to poke fun of antidolic zealotry would be to draw caricatures of it. Unfortunately the best that we can do personally on a good day with wind behind back and pencil in hand is to produce a square or a triangle that will be generally recongnized as such. [1] Happily verum et furtum convertuntur, what we cannot make, we can swipe. And ’tis a pleasure indeed to swipe from the Wall Street Jingo.

So much for the formal side. On the material, the slave of Murdoch draws as if she had carefully studied our exegesis of the new Lynx, Badger look:

(bedtime story) + (PARTY line ) --> "story line"

(( It is quite impossible that she actually did study it, for nobody but the Muses and ourselves ever scores a hit on this gaggle of webpages. Others who find themselves confronted with should check to make sure that they exist. Thus we vindicate the maxim of E. Allen Poe that plain sight is the best container to hide discreditable things in. Plain sight, or on occasion double parens. ))

Meanwhile, back in that lewd, disgusting c*rt**n [2], both components are present by sheer serendipity. One slight flaw is that the idol specifies the critic of Party lines and Party liners as a child beyond a shadow of a doubt, which the phrase "bedtime story" does not quite do. There seems to be no way to portray a specimen of those "youngsters from eight to eighty" that the commercial twistifiers allude to. Even Rembrandt coud only do eight OR eighty. "Life is unfair." Or to be exact, Art is unfair.

The second slight flaw is that in the bushogenic quagmire there is no single "the other side" for a grown-up critic of human events to demand an account of. There are more "sides" in the former Iraq than you can shake a stick at, and especially amongst the TwentyPercenter clients of Lynx, Badger. [3] Even inside the goofy cartoonoclastic 'narrative' itself, there are least the Noble Nationalists of ex-Iraq on the one hand, opposed by a ragtag of bad guys, including of course TwentyPercenter renegades [4]

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(2) It is picturesque to run into this particular idolette on the op-ed pages of the Jingo, which vies with America’s Moonpaper in its struggle to present a totally unified ideological persona and never let dissent get a word in edgewise. "Rupertofascism," anybody?


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[1] Do we mock those who can do what we cannot? Perhaps at times, but technically speaking, we are at the moment defending rather than attacking the Picture People.


[2] We spoof the goofy again, primarily, but at the same time this is not in itself a good cartoon, Mr. Bones. There is no visual joke; without the caption it would not signify anything in particular. There would be zero information loss if the funny were framed with words instead of an idol, "Daddy was tellin’ a bedtime story to Dubya at Château Kennebunkport one evenin’, when . . . ."


[3] Dr. Righteous Virtue has just dredged up and exhibited "the Sayyid ash-Shuhadá’ movement" as if every schoolboy had heard of them fifty times before. However he fails to make that crew functionally distinct from the abominable Hakeemites, so perhaps we are not missing much, Bones.


[4] Conspiratorializers without renegades would be like salt without savour.