"national paranoia and xenophobia"

Public opinion in Pakistan is fashioned by the newly independent Pakistani media, which is often cross-owned. The media, made independent during General Musharraf’s era, has a pro-Islamist bias, which is reflected both in its vehement anti-Americanism and in its attacks on the social democratic Pakistan Peoples Party. Some analysts have recently referred to the Pakistani media as feeding national paranoia and xenophobia.

Dear Dr. Bones,

Can Roger, Freelord & Kiddiemaster Padjaama, foremost of yalodramatists[1] quick or dead, seriously suppose that he can sneak this neospecimen in over the border?

But wait! Perhaps we should wonder instead which brand of Kiddie Selfservatism is usin’ which here, for his freelordship could conceivably be the gettin’ the kiddie end of his own shtyk here.

Consider, sir, that Brahmin’stán has ALWAYS been at war with Pákístán , and that in deed and not in Orwell alone. Whereas his freelordship perverted to his neoteric pajamatarian kiddie selfservatism only the other decade. M. Apama de Pande has potentially whole kalpas of wombscholarship and wingnuttiness behind him. M. de Pande may or may not be an individual capable of mustering all the vast Brahmingstání forces, natural and praeter- and supernatural, for agitprop purposes -- that’s his look-out.

As to our own look-out, I fear M. de Pande does kind of appear as if he may not be very good at the agitation-propaganda racket. I cannot make out what he is up to in this scribble -- a situation also explainable, of course, on the hypothesis that he is far too smart to let his games be detected by the likes of me.

Still, I ask you, Dr. Bones, are the base an’ vile of the Party of Grant likely to care about the present state of journalism on Planet Mleccha? And even if Wally Wombschool and Cindy from Wasilla cared passionately enough to get their eyes off their bellybuttons and look towards Karachi ("where?") , what could they do? Write a letter to their neoheartthrob, Kiddiemaster Paul of KY, and then Kentucky Taxpayers United sends an ultimatum to ’Islámábád, which insolence bein’ insolently rejected, a state of war obtains between the High Noncontractin’ Parties, whereupon ... ¡B@@M! ...?

M. de Pande is alleged to be a student of political science, though when PJM does the allegin’, ’tis caveat emptor time at the O.K. Corral. Still, it should not take a degree of any sort from Hillsdale or Wombschool Normal or Pepperdine or St. Dilbert Antistate or George Mason to notice that no pack of aliens, legal or illegal, official or secret-sectorian, criminal or tamely conformist, have ever yet brought our holy Homeland™ riding to their rescue by first stirring up rank-and-file Homelanders™ to put pressure on their elected and representative statespersons at Washington City. An attempt along those lines as recently as the year of religionism 1207/1793/5557 was signally unsuccessful. Nothing much has changed in the interval since, which interval is, for those equipped with the Brahmin’stání sense of time, less than the nanosecond of us unspiritual in Greater Europe .

True, the Party of Grant and Hoover an’ Goldwater ’n’ Atwater has been known to flirt with the occasional "China Lobby" from time to time. It has always been clear in such cases that the Natives addressed themselves to the G.O.P. geniuses, all attempts at mobilizin’ the Wingnut City mob (such unimpressive attempts as there were) bein’ undertaken by the latter.

Hence, Pol. Sci. or not, M. de Pande certainly ought to know that he must apply at Beltway City DC to obtain the kind of public assistance and affirmative action for which he feels himself and his congenitals qualified.

And even then . . . .

Suppose the ideal pscenario from M. de Pande’s point of view, Dr. Bones:

Today is Monday, 2 April 2013 in the revised Christian-Christojudæan calendar. M. de Pande has been invited to make his case in a personal audience with the U.S. Secretary of State (John Freelord Bolton) after a ceremonial handshake or snakehandle with the POTESSA herself (Neocomradess S. L. Heath-Paling, the former Freedame Wasilla) plus more substantial strategy sessions with the Vicepotus (not the aforementioned Neocomrade R. H. Paul, who would likely have a tin ear for Natives, but ... how about Holy Joe, the now Senator from Neoconn.?).

So, then, what relief does M. de Pande petition for, exactly?

’Tis obvious enough that he would like to see the abominable Pákís bashed definitively, bashed so well that they will never make trouble again for Brahmingstán -- so well that that they never CAN make trouble. A thorough course of Hiroshima Therapy (®) would be ideal, I guess, but that is a bit around the neobend even for pscenario purposes.

At the other end of the Shock-an’-Awe scale--and improbably supposing M. de Pande to have no more grievances against the eternal abominables than he here rehearses, perhaps every editor in Pákístán might be required to send all her copy and videotape and audiotape--electronically, of course, nobody is talking donkeys--to be vetted first at Varanasi (for substance and ideology and ‘attitude’) and then at Bangalore (to make sure there are no secret code messages). Only after that process might approved media fodder be promulgated amongst the PK abominables.

A small thing to ask (especially compared to the sort of favour one suspects M. de Pande would like to ask), is it not? Yet how is even a Heath-Paling régime (pardon my Limbaugh) to accomodate this little request, the least of mutual courtesies as between fervent ideobuddies? Would the Party of Grant and Hoover not have to conquer the whole PK joint and then administer it seriously in order to grant M. de Pande what he prays for?

‘Seriously’ means at least "not like PGH rule of the former al-‘Iráq." Recallers may recall how the hogen-mogens of Party an’ AEIdeology dealt with the indigenous media of Postiraq, bribin’ WOG journalists (very paltrily) to praise the Occupation and the Occupyin’ Power, but never crackin’ down in earnest of the sort of incorrigible nogoodniks upon whom M. de Pande wants cracked down. [2]

I daresay M. de Pande could get the Heath-Palin’ites to award him a platinum star for being the very model of a modern Little Foreign Friend of the Republican Party, but when it comes to more substantial assistance, one must hope he does not hold his breath until it eventuates.

Oh, well! Che sarà, sarà and vice versa.

Furthermore, Father Zeus knows best.

And I wish you, sir,
Happy days through affordable healthcare.


___
[1] Let’s try ‘yaleodrama’ minus that obnoxious ‘E’, shall we?, in unsure hope that the inquiring student of neocomradology will take the first syllable to run to the tune of "halo" -- as it certainly ought to run, given that the ‘L’ is not doubled.

"Ought to" is a very treacherous guide to Mandarin English orthography, but what else is there?


[2] ¡¡For G*re’s sake, Dr. Bones, the Busheviki would not even insist that that arrest warrant (¡a warrant for bloody murder!) on the Rev. Señorito al-Sadr be executed!!

Phashism at Los Angeles and elsewhere

Dear Dr. Bones,

Should you happen to require more fruit of the wombschool, sir, come and get it while the poop is hot!

I betcha, Bones, that Neocomrade (Sixth Class) J. X. Dunphy of the Party of Grant (& Hoover & Atwater &c. &c.) has never before been called a PoG NC-6 in all its little life to date. Whereas no doubt it gets called a phashist at least six times every workin’ day -- every policin’ day, that is -- by all the beautiful people of ...

(( ... a small technical difficulty arises: at five thousand klicks’ distance, I have no idea where the beautiful people foregather way out there in the Mecca of darkest Schwarzeneggerland. And that despite being quite sure I heard the name of it from Neocomrade (Third Class) Dr. M. X. Weinstein-Savage [1] just a few days ago. Dr. Alzheimer seems to be *IN* of late.

(( Well, we can always make something up, Dr. Bones. That is what they do in Foxcuckooland, and we have it on high authority (and even in the High Tongue!) that fas est et ab hoste doceri. Hmmm. Let’s see, to annoy both plain vanilla kiddie selfservatives and tutti-frutti neokiddies simultaneously, how about we pretend "Laguna [de] Mecca" is the Los Angeles equivalent of Weston (oops!) or Dover or Kennebunkport or Chappaquiddick MA. The philological and ethnohistorical objections are formidable, but no matter, we can feign further that Dr. Dryasdust holds ‘Mecca’ to be a vulgar Yank corruption of some earlier and more Hispanically correct form. That should be close enough for Fedguv work. So, then, where was I? ... ))

No doubt poor, put-upon NC-6 J. X. Dunphy gets called "a [exp. del.] phashist" at least six times every workin’ day -- every policin’ day, that is -- by all the beautiful people of Laguna Mecca, who never policed (or even worked) a day in all their élitist lives, and absolutely never miss a chance to make mock of uniforms that guard them while they sleep , as the bard of Wingnut City hath so memorably barded. [2]

At the aforesaid distance of five thousand kilometres, one feels reasonably safe in spoofing NC6 JXD a little from Zip Code 0213X, in the sure and certain hope that Sgt. Crowley of the local constabulary will afford one protection, should protection be required. ’Not Joe Friday of the LAPD, perhaps, but not bad either.

Less unseriously, and before I digress off the map altogether, it seems to me that NC6 JXD does its cowingnutettes an’ cowingnuts a detectable discourtesy. It solemnly assures Cindy from Wasilla and Wally Wombschool that "When They Call You a Nazi, You’ve Won the Immigration Argument," an assurance which we may here, for purposes of pseudargument, admit to be excellent advice. But if I had the misfortune to be Master Wally or Miss Cindy, I’d be a little miffed that NC6 JXD does not explain where the lottery office is located that I take my lucky ticket to and cash it in for my winnin’s.

The purely moral rewards of bein’ defamed as phashist are all very well in their way, I suppose, but it would be ridiculous to pretend that that almost untravelled byway [3] is the mainstream Path of Party an’ AEIdeology. "If it doesn't pay, it doesn't count" is perhaps a slight exaggeration of the consensus omnium of the neocomradely community, but for practical purposes, it is highly reliable.

And I wish you, Dr. Bones,
Healthy and affordable days.

___
[1] Or perhaps Neocomrade (Third Class) Dr. M. X. Savage-Weinstein? San Francisco may not lie beyond the human event horizon altogether like Los Angeles, but it is a long, long way off all the same, so I fear I did not make a memorandumb of what NC-3 MXS-W (or NC3 MXW-S, as the case may be) identified for some call-in neopatient from Flyoverstan as the tip-top toniest zone of L.A. Except I do remember never having heard of the ’burb before.


[2] Needless to say -- but fun to add -- is that none of los alumbrados de Laguna Mecca either (1) knows more Spanish lingo then is indispenable to direct the servants -- always remember, sir, which language it was that the late fiend Kennedy Tertius had to hire a hand to take for him at H*rv*rd! -- or (2), would ever dream of religionating the Muslim way. Religionation of any sort is, like Cathtilian and Andaloosean, more or less left to the servants at Laguna Mecca. Up the slippery slope at Castle Podhóretz, the neogentry take that line too -- possibly it results from lookin’ down (figurative and political) slippery slopes all the time?

Please tell Dr. Dryasdust not to trouble me about los alumbrados being a laughably bad equivalent for "the beautiful people." Remember your Charles Williams Guideline , sir, and apply it a little: when in Hell (or at Sevilla), one must try to talk like a native speaker of Inaccurate (or of Andaloosean).


[3] "A mighty spoof, but not without a plan," that’s OUR lucky ticket, sir! Did the Muses and you and I not long ago identify the obscure by-way in question, and link it up with Sabbath School and Commencement Day in particular? Of course we did!

So then, 95% of neocomradely misbehaviour can be predicted on the basis of ""If it doesn't pay, it doesn't count." When that fails, perhaps as much as 95% of the oddball five percent is classifiable under the rubric of Sabbath Day and Commencement School, that is to say, lip-service paid by the neogentry to geistlich values that real gentry used to really value. Not altogether by coincidence, this rubric overlaps admirably with the one invoked above as "Servants, Matterss best left to the."

So "at the end of the day," there is only .0475% (one part in about 2,105) of neocomradely misbehaviour that calls for really SPECIAL explanation.

From this I draw two tentative conclusions for ourselves, sir, as follows:

(A) to prepare a tract called Neocomradology for Dummies -- or perhaps "for Dhimmies," or maybe even for both classes of customer? -- would be feasible enough, though it is not a project I care to undertake myself.

(B) Few sentimental/‘ideological’ things on G*re’s green earth are less like brand-name Fascismo than "If it doesn't pay, it doesn't count." And the same applies to the Hitlerism with which the kiddiemasters intend that their kiddies should confuuse the Italian product whenever the dread F-word is mentioned.

Even in High Prussian, Dr. Bones, geistlich is nowhere near synonymous with gut. The Master has taught us, Pol. 1267a, that no man becomes a tyrant in order to keep warm, and the same applies, I think, to devotees of ""If it doesn't pay, it doesn't count." Pushin’ folks around after the neomanner of weekly standardisers and commonterrorists &c. is unedifying in the extreme, yet if one insists on deciding whether it is to be called spiritual or materialistic, there is no doubt that it belongs in the ‘spiritual’ pigeon-hole. As, obviously, do all the contents of the "Sabbath School" and "Commencement Day" pigeon-holes. Q.E.D.

But Father Zeus knows best.

"A Fatwa on your head?"

Dear Dr. Bones,

I know your Ph.D. is in Progressive Assyriology, sir, but perhaps you know a trick cyclist or two with a veterinary sideline?

Common sense and general knowledge fail me, I fear, when presented with sweet puppies capable of supposin’ with a straight muzzle that their own 'liberty' -- "(yes, those are sneer quotes)" [0] -- to consist in publicly placardin’ the religionism of others as if it were a communicable disease.[1]

The potential fun side of the latest puppy game is obvious, though, or at least it was great fun for me up to the point at which Paddy knocked me down after noticing the sketches I was preparing for my proposed "You, Too, Can ESCAPE FROM PAPISM!" ad campaign.[2]

Oh, well! I doubt the Massachusetts Bay Transit Authority would have taken my doits and sheqels and published my copy in all their buses and trolleys: the VC people are a forty-four percent (44%) plurality up here, according to Big LEW . And by the way, "Isn't that a bit of Destructive ©®eationism™ to set Governor Winthrop revolving in his grave?," I ask you.

Further afield by the way, I walked across Boston Common on a sunny spring afternoon (yesterday’s) and, begorrah, did not hear even a single word of Irish (Gaeilge) ! What does the late Henry Adams make of that, I wonder, down there below where the warming, though global enough, is decidedly ananthropogenic?

Gov. Winthrop, for his part, with a much longer posthumous career already behind him, may (as I conjecture, perhaps a tad wildly) even be somewhat pleased that at least a little something has been snatched from the burning: in A.R. 1431/2010/5770, the bread worshippers of MA mostly worship their bread in "a language understanded of the people."

That was not exactly the main plank of the original reform platform, yet if the Muses and you and I, Dr. Bones, were to concoct something like St. Woodrow’s XIV Point Plan for the salvation of humanity by A. R. 1803/2371/6040 -- as far in the future, that is, as His Worship’s obituary date lies in the past -- would we not, all things considered, be happy if only whichever Point we now original-intent fourtheenth and hindmost were actually instantiated in full?

’Twere a blatantly impar congressus to contrast and compare a Party Neocomradess (Seventh Class) P. X. Geller with a veritable parens patriæ -- so let’s do it! [3]

At any rate, let me point out one seeming resemblance that looks primâ facie plausible to this coarse and illiterate keyboard, namely that, like His Worship, today’s specimen of Chlorella vulgaris in human or pajama form seems to be afraid of the religionism that she craves to badmouth and swiftboat. Furthermore, Gov. Winthrop and the Massachusetts Bay seem, in retrospect at least, to have been in quite as little immediate danger of being overrun by proto-Ratzingerites and Foxites and Laudians (and even Ms. Anne Hutchinson, by G*m!) as is the now Dade County FL by the Baní Ibn Taymiyya.

With NC7 PXG, the Chicken Little shtyk can instantly be put down to bad judgment and courage-challengedness, imprudentia ignaviaque, two qualities very prominent indeed at Rio Limbaugh and Wingnut City and, indeed, up the slippery slope at Castle Podhóretz also.[4]

To present Governor Winthrop as an out-and-out proleptic disciple of Party Neocomradess Ch. X. Little and Party Neocomradess P. X. Geller would be scandalum magnatum to the max. Fortunately there is no need to think it, for His Worship judged by rather different canons of judgment back in Century X/XVI/LIII than those of Dade County FL wingnutettes and wingnuts circâ 2010. Governor Winthrop was not scared of proto-Ratzingerites and Quakers and ‘prelatists’ directly, the way ChXL and PXG cower under their beds in personal terror for the safety of their physical and material hides. Winthrop’s undeniable Enthusiasm having not yet undergone the decerebration process that eventually produced the Rev. Norman Vincent Peale, he can have been directly afraid of Father Zeus alone.

As follows: Puritan divines took certain passages of the Uncommon Testament seriously and literaliter after a fashion that I betcha pretty well nobody at all in Dade County does nowadays. Various afflictions that fell of yore upon Palæojerusalem in deed and not in allegory alone were attributed to the anger of Himself at toleration of idolatries and abominations perpetrated upon the High Places. ’Twould be silly to fancy that ’Elîyáhû was afraid of Queen Jezebel as Neocomradess P. X. Geller and her Party base an’ vile are self-terrorised of M. bin Ládin and Dr. Zawáhirí: the problem was simply that if the Elect did not ditch the bitch and stop playing ball with Baal and otherwise change the régime a little, Father Zeus would make sure that it never rained again, so good-bye milk and honey! [Lib. III Reg. cap. 18]

The allegorice of that for the Massachusetts Bay of 1640 was not far to seek, the search being of course conducted upon the inexpugnably sound basis of Enthusiasm in Massachusetts as it was in 1640. It would be extremely unreasonable, Dr. Bones, to subtract even a single point from John Winthrop’s score because, eighteen score years afterwards, an uncharitable painter could, if he chose to, paint His Worship’s short way with dissenters to look like the notions of those evil Qommie ayatollahs who was in the news this week for discovering that female unchastity and impudicity, and missed prayers, and being stingy about charitable giving somehow provoke Father Zeus to harrow the land with earthquakes.[5]

I wish you, Dr. Bones,
Healthy and affordable days.

___
[0] Cf. peanut-gallery Peanut #3.

Final score: singles enclose sneers, doubles mark mere quotation. (( Yet can any 'quotation" ever be really "mere' ? A promising topic for some other day. ))


[1] I had written "COMMUNICABLE disease" but have decided the adjective is unwarrantable.

Neocomradess (Seventh Class) P. X. Geller provides only the one sample of her factionette’s agitation and propaganda -- " ‘Fatwa on your head?’ " &c. &c.--and that one happens to offer relief to victims of the alleged disorder, rather than callin’ upon healthy sheep to quarantine afflicted goats in ‘existential’ self-defense. Though everything we know in general about this less common neobreed of sweet puppy suggests that NC7 PXG would not hesitate a nanosecond to do the latter, still in fact it is not done here.

Accordingly, I withdraw "placard ... as communicable" so as not to fall afoul of the Charles Williams guideline, " Hell is inaccurate. "

And Father Zeus knows best!

(( You may remember Comrade C. R. Dawkins, Oxon., who proposed that all Enthusiasm and Superstition without exception consists of memes , these being feigned entities which, as far as I was ever able to make out, are much the same thing as "communicable diseases." To be sure, when one borrows a term from the High Tongues, or coins one that pretends to be such a borrowing, Wally Wombschool, and Cindy from Wasilla, and (probably) NC7 PXG are not half so likely to notice that one is laughing from them. ))


[2] Cal Luther -- you may remember I introduced you to her once when we were touring Nantes ? -- offered some criticisms that were less trenchant but more weighty, as that simply substituting "Ratzinger" for "Alzheimer" in all sorts of existing scripts would not just "vix dignum ingenii vestri", as Cal neatly put it, but positively tacky.


[3] Like the man said, "Never give a wingnut an even break!" Furthermore, only a genuine blue-state meanie could wish to deprive sweetpuppiedom of their occasions of sweetest self-sorrowin’: "Nobody knows the trouble [they've] seen, nobody knows but G. Suss" -- whoever G. Suss may be.


[4] Hooverville is much more intellectually respectable, perhaps because one can always gauge from casualty insurance rates how afraid of the Islamophalangitarian Menace (Pat. Pend.) Daddy Warbucks and Uncle Scrooge really and objectively are. BFZKB.


[5] Chicken Little and NC7 P. X. Geller et al. might -- but doubtless will not -- reflect that they maybe look just a little silly bein’ existentially autoterrorised by a religionism not yet purged of flagrant Dark Ages stuff like that.