A Hearty Plea from the _Fehrnstrom Fishwrap_

A plea for U.S. to engage By Boston Herald Editorial Staff | Friday, September 28, 2012 | http://www.bostonherald.com | Editorials Perhaps having failed to get a face-to-face meeting with President Barack Obama, Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu used the megaphone of the U.N. General Assembly to make his point that there is little time left in the fight to keep Iran from getting a nuclear weapon — a cause Obama insists he is committed to. “At this late hour, there is only one way to peacefully prevent Iran from getting atomic bombs and that’s by placing a clear red line on Iran’s nuclear weapons program,” Netanyahu said. “Red lines don’t lead to war; red lines prevent war.” And with the help of a rather simple graphic — based on public reports by the U.N.’s own nuclear watchdogs — he insisted that Iran is well within its second stage of uranium enrichment.... (...) He made the requisite pitch for a peace process with a “demilitarized Palestinian state” that would recognize Israel’s right to exist only to be followed at the podium by Palestinian President Mahmoud Abbas accusing Israel of “a campaign of ethnic cleansing” for building settlements in east Jerusalem. “We won’t solve our conflict with libelous speeches at the U.N.,” Netanyahu had said moments earlier. Nor will the problems of the Middle East — Iran, the conflict in Syria, the virtually stalled peace process between Israel and the Palestinian Authority — be solved by a president and an administration that are derelict in their duty to engage on those issues. To relinquish that authority is to create a vacuum that other players, like Russia’s Vladimir Putin, are all too eager to fill.

Q What do the editorial-anonymous Fingers of Fehrnstrom have in mind, exactly, when they preach 'engagement' to the freedummies?

A. A red line.

Q. Would that be an Alewife-Ashmont red line, or Alewife-Braintree?

A. Oh, definitely the former. Everything with a 'brain' in it has been conceded to Perfesser Warren and Mr. Chamberlain in advance.


Nevertheless, the Fingers DID almost, though not quite, notice how Magnifico Megalator thinks he's the Headmaster of an idiot school servicin Rio Limbaugh an Louisedayhicksville. "A rather simple graphic" is only in the warning zone, there is no immediate emergency, but the Tel 'Aviyv authorities would do well to assume that wombschoolin has not yet reduced the Tee Putty of central North America to PERFECT malleability. That it may never do so, even. Meanwhile, the closer you come to total malleability, the worse trouble you will be in, should your patients nevertheless start feelin that (what is left of) their intelligence has been insulted.

Lifting one's eyes from the local journalistic gutter, one must allow that "“We won’t solve our conflict with libelous speeches" was pretty nifty, agitpropwise. It happens to be the truth, which is never a bad thing for the agitpropper to deploy, provided nothing more important must be sacrificed. [*]

Happy days.

___
[*] The freedummies, or their Freelords an Kiddiemasters, may not altogether agree with Paddy's off-the-mouse generalization.

Lately the makin of libelous speeches (sc., against othervolks' religionism) has made a major come-back in whight-ring circles. Now of course conflict resolution is not exactly the point of insistin that Wunnerful US ought to be as rude as possible about Natives. Apart from the narrow interests of _jihaad_ careerists, the object of this exercise appears to be to make sure Amendment I to the Fedguv Constitution gets enough exercise so that it does not rust, or lapse into obesity, or whatever fate it may be that befalls amendments when they go ahoo.

Should these, the Calisthenics of Freedumb, as it were, lead to even more difficulties for our Native Management specialists and violence pros, well, that may or may not be accounted a misfortune at Wingut City, but it is certainly not a reason for the cits to abstain from what they have every whight to do.

"Not much of a line"

Robert Fisk Demonizes Mideast’s Persecuted Christians Posted By Raymond Ibrahim On June 26, 2012 @ 12:00 am.... Robert Fisk, the Middle East correspondent for the UK’s widely-read Independent, recently showed why it is that Islamic jihadists and terrorists, including the late Osama bin Laden, strongly recommend his propaganda to Western readers.   In a recent article Fisk goes out of his way to demonize the abused Christian minorities of the Middle East for supporting those secularist leaders most likely to preserve their freedoms and dignity.   For instance, after portraying the Middle East’s “old guard” in the worst possible terms, he complains that “Ahmed Shafiq, the Mubarak loyalist, has the support of the Christian Copts, and Assad has the support of the Syrian Christians. The Christians support the dictators. Not much of a line, is it?” (( ... whine ... whimper ... yimmer ... yammer ... ))

Moved by self-modesty, or whatever, M. le baron d’Ibrahime leaves unquoted Comrade Fisk’s really unforgivable analysmear:

But I am also aware that the Shafik warriors, those in Washington who want Shafik to restore Egypt’s old relationship with Israel, those who want, in effect, to restore Mubarak’s dictatorship, to recreate the old paradigm (Mubarak "stability" versus the old fear of Muslim Brotherhood), will want to pump up Christian fears and frighten the West with the awfulness of "Muslim fundamentalism", will pop up their heads again as surely as Assad. And as the Republicans close in on Obama, will they not show their love for Mubarak’s last Prime Minister?

One could argue, I suppose, that what that paragraph mostly proves is that Robert Fisk has inadequate notions of America’s Otherparty, the vast majority of whom--not Party base-and-vile alone, but certified G.O.P. Geniuses also--don’t waste more than fifteen seconds a week moanin’ over the woes of the Neolevant. Maybe not three seconds a week since they gave us the Crawford Crash.

I can imagine some court historian to Princess Posterity maintaining, more or less seriously, that General Mubárak fell because his ideobuddies at Washington, and Tel ’Avîv, and Rio Limbaugh FL, and Pajama Junction NJ, were too worried about the state of their secret-sector financial portfolioes to pay proper attention to Problems of Native Management.

That may be overspecific, and I would not dream of insisting.   In a broader and more general way, however, the jihád-careerist community, to which M. le baron so beautifully belongs, are probably in for a bumpy ride.   More and more often, nifty schemes of Native Management will run into an immoveable object called Grover, Freelord Norquist.  Clever, but pricey, neoplans will be hooted at disrepectfully with short-sighted but crowd-pleasin’ folly like "¿Hey, Bozo, didn’t anybody tell you we are broke?"

Bozo, that is to say, M. le baron d’Ibrahime, may be further discouraged if the Great Frakkin’ Bubble takes off the way it might.   Mostvolks here in the Heimatland G*ttes would be happy to possess more "energy independence." Jihád careerists, however, are definitely NOT mostvolks when it comes to fossil fuel, and a number of other specialised points. [*]

Oh, well, one can hardly expect to please absolutely everybooby.

Happy days.

___
[*] As homage to Fairembalance, the Fox Goddess, let me insist that only the greediest of oncological entrepreneurs would positively wish there were more cancer in the world. What we run up again with the collective self-interest of quacks or J. C.’s is no worse than the Rev. Clough’s update of Commandment VI: "Thou shalt not kill, but needst not strive, / Officiously to keep alive."

Olives, Vines, Vices, Bin Ledeen

Dear Dr. Bones,

Scribblin’ for pajamaclad masses that yearn to ¡take their Freedumb back! is hardly the ideal context in which His Eminence, Michael Grand ’Ayátalláh Bin Ledeen, can show that he really does know quite a lot about Italy. Most of this knowledge is at whight angles with what the Squire of Simon Pajama --an’ World’s Greatest YaleoDraama™ist, never forget that part--considers that Master Wally Wombschool an’ Cindy from Wasilla ought to be hearin’ about the miserable Old Euroes.

As you can see at a glance, O Bones, the Kiddiemaster gets his way an’ the kiddies get this Procrustean gunk, Berlusconistán

tarted up [1] to sound like North Korea.

And the moral of THAT is, "She who pays the piper, calls the tune."

Under the mercenary circumstances Paddy and Eye are not even sure that Muscle Mikey is bein’ honest with the kiddies of Pajama Junction NJ about his personal freelordly druthers. I guess we have to stipulate that he is, however, in which case it seems clear that the place he would fit in best is "Ancient Poland," as Pani Landowska called the splendiferous Rzeczpospólita of Century XII-XVIII-LV. There may have been --nay, there were--various other problems that some have considered pretty severe, but plainly the Wicked State did not have its vacuum cleaner plugged into one’s wallet pocket the way Uncle Sam (an’ the late Uncle Silvio) plug themselves in nowadays. Such Wicked State as was permitted to exist in good King Veto’s Golden Commonwealth knew its place, understood that it existed on sufferance for the convenience of Lubomirscy, and Radziwillowie, an’ Bin Ledeens, an’ Simons Pajama (also of Willards Mitt Romney), not their freelordships for State convenience.

This destination being, alas, out of reach until the Jobcreationist ©ommunity (_¡regina in æternum vivat!_) get the bugs out of the time-travel product, I guess the ideal slot for the Whight Reverend Bin Ledeen would be something like C. S. O., Chief Spiritual Officer, to the Cayman Islands. Presumably this position does not exist at the moment, but ’twould be easy enought to innovate it, much easier than makin’ ¡jedz, pij, i popuszczaj pasa! available to his freelordship. They gotta have at least one decent hotel down there the Rev. Mikey could guru it out of.

Those for whose convenience the Cayman Islands exist (quâ pseudopolity, I mean, not just geographically or geologically) rarely actually visit the [exp. del.] place, I believe. ¿Ain’t globalisation wunnerful?   Muscle Mikey, however, ought to be physically in residence most of the time. Bein’ but a Spiritual officer, his freelordship should have it made very plain to him that "First Estate" is strictly a phrase of courtesy, and does not involve any firstness that would put one even on a par with such goodvolks as Really Matter [*], Lubomirscy, an’ Walkers Bush, an’ Willards Mitt, an’ Koch Frères, an’ Berlusconiowie, an’ . . . .

Happy days.

____
[1] The uptartin’ is a curious business, though Eye do not care to get launched into more scribble about it than Muscle Mikey merits. Which ain’t a whole lot.

Briefly, though: take "discovery of financial corruption at the highest levels of the party."

Now Italy, and à fortiori the Lombard League, in fact exist more for the Berlusconioid Class convenience than _vice versâ_, so ¿What else would one expect?   Perhaps his freelordship cherishes the noble hope, even the dotty anticipation, that one day scab pols will scab for their Betters without any recompense whatever, disinterestedly an’ out of sheer _geistlich_ admiration for Betterness-as-such.   Professional FirstEstaters like His Eminence *do* have a tendency to fall into that hire-minded type of sandtrap, after all.

Whereas ignorant lay sheeps like the Muses and you, Dr. Bones, and Paddy and Eye think we know better than to hold our breath waiting for præternatural wunners to come to pass.

[2] The whight-wing Tanks of Thought are infested with "small people" who could do with havin’ this lesson rubbed into ’em with maybe a bullwhip.   But Eye digresses.

"the NYPD is increasingly derided"

Dear Dr. Bones,

It was a dark, stormy night. The Jumblies were far out in the Whight Sea, as they complacently supposed, in their goodship "Western Sieve," as they had been for over a century [1], when suddenly the unmistakable sound of surf on a rocky shore . . . .

’Ammá ba‘da, "but seriously,"

I just this minute realized that Fairembalance, the Fox Goddess, requires the recognizer to recognize that kiddie selfservatives exhibit a certain praiseworthy consistency in bein’, as most of ’em seem to be, at once Islamophobes an’ practitioners of (what I seem to remember that we once agreed to call) "reverse envy," their self-passionate fear an’ loathin’ of any hint that persons plainly worse off than the kiddies themselves might be closing the gap. (Invidia proper must be directed at one’s Betters.) The idea that the abhominable Muzzies are gonna overrun Wunnerful US before the end of the next Congress is about as dotty as dottiness gets.

Some of the bestembrighter Kiddiemasters have vaguely noticed that is not really all that much to be terrorized of, an’ adjusted their whight-noise machines accordin’ly. Among these is, evidently, Adam, zeroth Freelord Turner in the neopeerage, who has hitherto, ¡qué lástima!, eluded the attention of the present keyboard. Such moderate neo-militants admit, by their own original (¿?) arguments if not expressly, that their Party Neocomradesss Ch. K. N. Little has maybe exaggerated the Muzzie Menace a little. In the scribble at hand, we find the criminalien fiends postponing their vile schemes to take away the kiddies’ Kountry altogether in favor of a sort of preliminary sortie aimed at one of Rio Limbaugh’s most precious body fluids, namely the kiddiecons’ Freedumb of Speech. The goodship "Western Sieve" is not gonna founder altogether, at least not immediately, but she *is* in gravest danger of bein’ boarded an’ taken by crudthirsty pirates who will slit throats--figuratively, but not on that account any less unacceptably--if they hear even a single faintly discouraging word about _’Alláh_ and a’ that.

This scandalous sievejackin’ has already started: it has come to his freelordship’s attention that "the NYPD is increasingly derided for being anti-Muslim." [2] I trust I need not point out to the Muses or to you, Dr. Bones, what obamanations of desolation lie in wait at the bottom of *that* slippery slope. Why, next thing you know, ¡... Kankakee ... psoriasis ... broken-window effect ...!

But I beg your opardon, you can of course do that parlour game for yourself, and it is far better fun to play than to watch.

(( But ¿What was M*h*mm*d doing in front of the beer bottle? ¡Kankakee demands to know! ))

Happy days.
--JHM

___
[1] Remind me from time to time, please, of my project of looking out who first invented the "Western Civilisation" ideoproduct, and exactly what ax she was grinding. WC cannot have been a self-servicin’ Judæostatist gimmick *originally*, that way the chronology would be upside-down. I think I told of my unverified guess that originally everybooby Euro on the wrong side of the Alps, whwther geographically or dogmatic-mythologically, was proposed to be written off as merely Southern civilians--slacker devotees of "olives, vines and vices," witless worshippers of Bread, &c. &c.

[2] Quick, quick: ¿Can you, sir, without clicking on the freelordly link, make up a good joke against Gotham City’s finest that also panders to Muzziedom? ¿Even a not-so-good joke?

The Arab Spring Unsprung

Dear Dr. Bones,

I suppose the Muses and you and I ought to feel gratified whenever we hear a theorist of Team Zhabotinskiy sayin’ out loud in public [1] what we have long supposed her crew to think in the comfort an’ security of the Secret Sector.

An objector might object that to speak of Pajama Junction NJ as "public" without some fairly elaborate qualification is to ask for trouble down the slippery slope.

_Respondeo_ that this is _in primis_ a problem for the Zhabotiskiyites rather than for us humble. We might be better off the less careful TZh are about distinguishin’ Foxcuckooland from the United States of America.

I only say ‘might’, however, for there *may* (I only say ‘may’) be a happy convergence of morality and policy somewhere in the vicinity of "Always better for everybooby, if everybooby sees the Correlation of Farces as the C. of F. actually is" No cloud comes without a thorn, though: that formula would make foxcuckoos an’ pajamaclads a standin’ --STANDIN’--menace to everybooby in sight, for seein’ things as the kiddiecons (or the Conners of Kiddies) wish they was is, as it were, the active ingredient in pajamatarianism.

To sneak up on the announced topic, if I may, let me suggest a counterfactual pscenario to you, as follows: ¿How if the Arab Republic of Egypt were to grow a Child’s Garden of Foxcuckoes all her own?

Few humanoid events are less likely, I know, but sometimes dotty examples are helpful by virtue of their dottiness. Or look on the flip side of it, sir, which I venture to think is hardly counterfactual at all, namely that Zhabotinskiyanity has scant hope of ever becomin’ the established religionism of central North America by cozyin’ up to our violence pros rather than to Uncle Scrooge an’ Daddy Warbucks _y Tio Ruperto_ an’ all that wing of the national family.

To recur to First Principles, sort of, ’tis "well known in the art" that to be a success at pushin’ the lesser breeds without around, a Natural Master [1] may deploy one of two (and ONLY two) quite distinct Principles: (1a) FORCE, and (1b) fraud.

Here, for example, we find _M. le baron de Roubine_ singin’ the praises of (1a) as applied to the grave problems of Native Management that Egypt undoubtedly poses. All I am doing, really, is, first, to point out that the freelordly incantation is itself an instance of (1b) conducted for the benefit (¿?) of the Kiddie Selfservative Movement here in the _Heimatland G*ttes_, and then, second and finally, add that, although in theory TZh could pull off a sort of double goose-and-gander, rulin’ Cairo UAR by fraud, an’ Cairo IL by ¡FORCE! happily ever after, yet in practice, well, ¡please don’t be dotty!

Though First Principles beckon, I believe I will stick for now to Egyptian Exceptionalism, which is not, I presume, quite altogether first-class, principlewise. For those not ourselves subjects of Pharaoh, anyway.

His freelordship seems not at all interested in Egyptian Exceptionalism, his own preferred sweet Dulcinea bein’ rather "Turkey Exceptionalism," so to call it. His freelordship winds up wonderin’, in effect, why *all* Natives cannot be more like ataturkeys. At the moment, I am not sure _M. le Baron_ would be all that happy if he got his druthers. His freelordship cloudily perceives the problem, I think, when he scribbles "Of course, the army-in-control approach requires some demagoguery . . . ."

Now this ‘demagogy’ of M. de Roubine I take to be mostly a mere verbal alias for what a recurrer-to-firsts would call _impia fraus_ and I myself am unworthily tempted to call ‘Foxcuckoldry’ The violence pros of Neoturkey, his freelordship assumes, are compelled to talk a lot of rot that they do not actually mean. If they did not, the "Turkey Street" would soon rise against them and install a different crew of gobblers who *do* take the rot in question seriously.
His freelordship’s ruminations are, as I said at the outset, of interest because one does not often encounter Zhabotinskiyians barkin’ like this in places where they might be overheard. They are not of any interest from the destructive-creationist angle, however, bein’ half as old as the Neoseemighty hills. Once Guide of All Progressive Revisionism figured out that there is only one language that Natives can be safely counted on to understand, the Roubinite neo-insight was dialectically [2] inevitable.

Just for fun, let us set out the neonegation of the negation fair and square and Hegel-fashion:

(A) Natives only understand ¡FORCE! [V. Ye. Zhabotinskiy] (B) Some Natives don’t even understand that [common notoriety] (C) Fortunately, there exists a class of Natives that specialize in ¡FORCE! and can therefore be talked to. [B. X. Rubin _et al._, includin’ Q. E. Demonstrandum]

E. T. Al is Legion, to be sure, but his freelordship is as entitled to his share of the pot as anybooby else.

A pity his freelordship does not discuss what to DO with his pot now that he has won it. We do not even hear any (express) words to the effect that it is the plain duty of all Zhabotinskiydom to support the good Native colonels an’ generals in their eternal stuggle against Turkey Street.

His freelordship also did not *expressly* say ‘eternal’, but I ask you, Dr. Bones, ¿Aren’t you pretty sure that that is what his freelordship has in mind?"

Meanwhile, if I were a Native violence pro, I would be a little uncertain what to make of his freelordship’s gracious endorsement, seeing that it comes without a User Manual. I mean, it must feel nice to learn that _M. le baron de Roubine_ is one’s side one thousand an’ eleven percent (1109.037%), but even nicer would be some advice about how to make sure that one’s own shall be the winnin’ side. Not only does that freelordly insinuation of ‘eternal’ emanate a distinctly dismal pænumbra over the whole _m'gillâ_, there are not any *concrete* suggestions for stayin’ empowered through, say, sunset next Thursday afternoon.

Colonel Zimmî might cheer up a litle, though, if he notices that there may soon be a sequel in store:

At any rate, this dimension must be taken into account. We probably won’t find out more until 2013, when — if all goes as planned — Tunisia and Egypt will elect civilian presidents.

Not Thursday afternoon, perhaps, but ’tis not the _Kalendæ Neohebraïcæ_ either.

I guess the Tank Thinkers figure Zimmî and the b'hoys in uniform can always overthrow President Streetarab if they must using the tanks (and, for that matter, the thoughts) they are already in possession of, and then hold on for six months or so before urgently requiring intellectual reinforcements from Freedame GLORIA . Or less spiritual succour from her effulgent freeladyship’s Stepuncle Sam.

Bomby days.
--JHM


___
[1] For purposes of this discussion, we can prescind from taking notice of that Supernatural Mastery (® & © & ™) with which Team Zhabotinskiy has allegedly been imbued. As often happens with ideoproducts of that class, one can never catch the prefix part at work so clearly as to be entirely unmistakable. In all the ninety-five (95) solar years since Mr. Balfour of Airstrip One first swindled the Judæostatists, nothing has come to pass in the Neolevant that cannot be explained by the invocation of either fraud or ¡FORCE!. Possibly none of these explanations are really whight, possibly ‘Super-’ has been at work on the sly. The political analyst gains nothing analytically useful by so supposing, however.

(( And, to digress briefly, it at least *appears* as if the Dogmatic Mythologist acquires yet another professional perplexity, in that ‘Super-’ has achieved no better results than have the gruesome twosome of ‘F’ words. To be sure, the D.M. gentry can easily win that tie (an’ any other) to their own satisfaction by supposin’ a Supersuccess to lurk in the bosom of the existin’ Neolevantine correlation of farces, a sublime Hyperphænomenon which, exactly like the Supercauses that have produced it, is invisible to those of impure heart. ))

==

[2] The Beast of Berlin was not *always* wrong, Dr. Bones. And least of all about non-Anglophones.

=

[3] "A check or fighter squadron or two would also be not unwelcome. WWNN. As ever, Zim."

South of the Rio Grande del Patxama

Dear Dr. Bones,

Sticking as usual to the literary / rhetorical / agitprop[p]er side of the path to allow impatient wingnutettes an’ wingnuts to pass on their way to that funeral they seem always rushin’ to get to in time to make quite sure it can serve as their own, I put it to you, sir, that Don Ricardito de Fernández y Podhòretz throws away most Rio Limbaugh’s -- an’ especially its own -- more promisin’-lookin’ cards in this rubber.

Consider: (A) the Greater Levant and _la América Ibérico-Indocumentada_ are rather dreadfully like one unto another, now as much as ever, and (B) the _nuevoseñorito_’s Daddy, or perhaps its Daddy's Daddy, or . . . probably lived square under the yoke of John Quincy Monroe.

Even if there are no F&P family anecdotes left over from the Banana Grande period, little Ricky could appeal to public-domain fiestaware. ¿How about, say,

Poor Egypt, ¡So far from Father Zeus, so near the Tel ’Avîv statelet!

That Antiseemighty soundbark may seem nothing very special when this coarse and illiterate and semi-Pseltic keyboard clicks it forth, but -- comin’ straight from the armadillo’s kisser, as it were, ’twould sound very different, ¿_no es verdad_?.

Instead of which we get miscellaneous scraps--scraps , I presume, intended to insinuate that the verbal ragpicker might actually know a little somethin’ more ’bout overseas than most of the Party neocomrades-- that are entirely devoid of that heart-warmin’ an’ trust-cadgin’ cor local or regionalismo y nacionalismo which we, being Ice People, very naturally crave.

To be sure, little Ricky F&P has as much right to appropriate boilerplate claptrap like _Après moi, le déluge_ or "carry cole slaw to Newcastle" -- possibly even to the occasional little exuberance of Physics Envy like "some giant unseen gravitational source" -- as anybooby else. What we have here, though, is not a _Rechtsfrage_ nor even a _Machtfrage_, but a question of rhetorical technique. If the _nuevoseñorito_ was not aimin’ at the effect created -- the "rootless cosmopolitanism" effect -- then its competence is questionable.

If, however, you decide that the R. C. savour happened by neodesign, then kindly apply your figurative Y@@ T@@be to Don Jr.’s judgment and to the señoritoly taste.[*]

***

More substantively, . . .

Well, I much prefer to march into ‘substantively’ from a better jumping-off point than the brain-flat terrain around Pajama Junction NJ affords.

Still, it can't hurt to single out the passage in which Don Jr. comes closest to barkin’ somethin’ of real interest for the theory and practice of Native Management:

>“In countries like Serbia and Ukraine direct and indirect U.S. aid helped youth driven opposition movements successfully oust repressive leaders by training them in non-violent civil disobedience, election organizing and other fundamentals of civil society.” [**]

However, that sentence has quotation marks around it that make no sense as a solicitation to shudder or to sneer, so I guess the jackdaw [***] picked that scrap of flash up in a dumpster somewhere an’ pecked off the designer label.

"In my end is my beginning," for ’tis plainly an offense against Comp. Lit. rather than against Mil. Sci. thus to deploy unmarked dumb-dumb neobullets.

_Els desitjo dies feliços_ (like the Natives used to say to St. George Orwell, self-fetched from afar to do them Homage.)
--JHM


___
[*] Forget that silly proverb, please; nobody expects you to ‘dispute’ about or with so dubious a commodity as Party Neocomrade R. X. de Fernández y Podhòretz. All you need to do, sir, is CONDEMN.

Should you have forgotten how to do that less than civil trick, take two aspirins and fifteen minutes of Neocomrade Dr. R. H. Limbaugh in aërial suspension. After that, the technique is bound to come back to you. Like cycling, "¡never apologize, never explain!" denigration, once mastered, is a skill that even Dr. Alzheimer can never deprive us of. Hardly ever.


[**] Though Ukrainia (_¿Quién?_) be more recent, mention of Serbia strikes me as especially good. So think about it carefully, please. Wink, wink; nod, nod.


[***] _"la gravilla" sive "Corbus monediva neoterrorica"_

News from Nowhere

Dear Dr. Bones,

Helena means: "The US's neo-colonial relationship with Egypt is at risk. Roll with the punches, and we can restore our relationship to what it was (neo-colonial)." Therefore I don't see how Helena's article is critically different from Obama's speeches.

’Tis fun to find the GeorgeFoxNews account (largely based on e-ja board dispatches from special Cairo correspondent the late Dr. Pangloss) contradicted from even farther out away from Terra than Planet Justworld herself.

Nobooby is going to fool Comrade[ss] ‘Domza' with mere word games, like pretending some newfangle matronisation scheme for Native Management would significantly different from plain old patronizin’.

¡Nurse Cobban is but General McBárak writ large!

Happy daze.
--

(( Paddy says to tell you that, between ’em, McBárak and O'Sulliman are likely to give us Pselts an even more glorious reputation for political mastery.

(( But Dr. Johnson knows best about us wunnerful, ever-immortal pride an’ glory of the Whight Civilisation of the Western Race. ))

"A better way to push for reforms"

Dear Dr. Bones,

Any competent admirator must frequently admire the B'nôt Chûtspâ. All the -- ¡far from inconsiderable! -- militancy an’ extremism of our own zimmy-dummy wingnutettes an’ wingnuts can be eclipsed to shame by a single neoperformance in the Path of Hyperzion:

Edelstein wrote Guardian editor Ian Black that he was amazed that his newspaper would agree to publish a letter [*] that calls for the murder of innocent civilians. He demanded that Black print an apology and clarification stating that the newspaper did not condone terrorism in any form and did not consider it a legitimate tool in a struggle for freedom. “I expect you to make clear to your readers that you believe that terrorism is a violent and despicable act, directed mainly toward innocent civilians with the intent to strike fear and anxiety in a society,” Edelstein wrote. “Certainly this was the goal of those who employed terrorism in the London bombing of July 2005.”

Though the aggressive self-spiritedness of such a thingee be above all praise, yet I betcha our old friend and M. Pascal’s, Ms. Prudentia, is horrified. Horrified, indeed, at more levels than one:

(1) Neufreiherr Minister von Edelstein seems, firstly, not to have computed that there are far more wicked Natives, and fellow-travelers with Wicked Nativism, in the world to address imperious scribbles at the fishwraps of Greater Tel ’Avîv than _vice versâ_. No doubt everybooby all ’round will regularly be tossing such directives in the recycle bin where they so richly belong. Nevertheless, the underlying correlation of farces is gravely asymmetrical: far more Jewish Statist than Nativist personhours are bound to be lost to a very elementary task of housekeeping.

What could be plainer as a matter of strategy / operations / tactics than that the Greatest Demographic™ must ever strive to fight on terrain where numerical superiorities count for as little as possible? Rear-Colonel Prudentia might, it seems to me, very reasonably wish to see the Neukamerad Gefreiter von Edelstein kangaroocourt-martialed for militerrory folly and incompetence.

*

(2) Coming at it from the opposite direction of Ms. Prudence, out of the remoter feverswamps, that is, of practical Y'hûdâ v'Shômrôn and theoretical Ziontology, I guess quite a number of swampsters will deem the Freelord of Edelstein a dement -- or even maybe a witless tool of Nativism -- to be (or even pretend to be) ‘amazed’ that Airstrip One should harbour badmouthers of the GD™ Folk: "¿Can the ziocomrade be really inaware that, like unto Oceania and Eastasia, Old Europe and Altneuland have *always* been at war? And by no means always a cold war: _¡¡Nie wieder Oswiecim!!_"

Whether exposing himself to such criticism involves a genuine imprudence on His Neoëxcelllency's part depends on what audience he panders to, exactly. I fear I never distinctly heard of him till this morning, so I have no clue to the freelordly stance beyond what the junior judæostatist from up the slippery slope at Castle Podhòretz reproduces. That, however, looks distinctly febrile and paludinous to me.

Let me know what you think, please, sir.

*

(3) Then comes the timing of this exuberance, my trump card. What would it profit the GD™ Folk to gain _The Guardian_ of London, but lose Gen. Mubárak of Nile River City, the closest product yet discovered or invented on land or sea to an anti-Nativism Native? [**]

One would have thought -- for what zimmy-dummy ‘thinking’ may be worth -- this a moment for a rather narrow concentration of all the force and frau . . . and _hasbarâ that Judæostatism can bring to bear, not for picking new fights, however ideologically congenial, at or beyond the extreme margin of the Greater Neolevantine Co-Prosperity Sphere.

***

Even the junior birdperson of _Commentary_ seems to allude obliquely to imprudence when she glosses her text with "There is little that the Israeli government can do to bring about changes at _The Guardian_. That most likely means that the freedamsel supposes the Neufreiherr von Edelstein -- a portfolio-carryin’ operative of the Tel ’Avîv government, remember -- is wastin’ his time an’ breath an’ energy -- generally labourin’ in vain.

On the other hand, her freeladyship clearly thinks there is a way to neolabour against the abhominable Guardian NOT altogether in vain:

A better way to push for reforms [2] would be if influential groups within the Jewish community started a campaign against the paper’s obsessively anti-Israel (and at times anti-Semitic) news coverage. Criticizing Israel government policies is one thing; publishing pro-terrorism letters and cartoons of Palestinian leaders dressed as Orthodox Jews is another. Jewish leaders should firmly and publicly condemn the endorsements of violence and outright bigotry that are becoming staples in _The Guardian_.

Two epiglosses on the glossatrix come to mind:

(A) I suspect the alleged "influential groups within the Jewish community" on Airstrip One have been doin’ firmly an’ exactly just that for years an’ years now.

(B) A very tiny point, though perhaps indicative of the JS neomindset: it certainly looks to this keyboard as if cartoonists in the UK would be getting quite a raw deal as compared with what their honourable and neogallant colleagues in Denmark have already been most graciously vouchsafed.

***

By way of hyperepigloss and conclusion: it occurs to me that Party Neocomradess (ninth class) A. X. Goodman may not "get out as much" as a young freedamsel should. I mean, ¿does she really *know* anythin’ much ’bout *any* part of Old Europe? Sheer neoïgnorance would handily account for both the trifling little discrepancies I have pointed to.

¡Happy days!
--JHM

___
[0] "Oddly enough," we are not provided a link to this Letter of Blood. Presuambly the factious tripe an’ bologna laid out on the e-counter at Contentions have a great appeal to persons who have not yet attained the age of reason and need to be protected from overexposure to S*x and V**l*nce.

Yes, that must be the explanation!

Trickier to explain is why I cannot find the L. of B. on the fiends’ own website either.


[1] I knowingly omit the Maronites and ‘Phœnecians’ of the Beirut statelet, who have let their wannabe patrons to the South down so many times that I strike them from the roster of effectives.

[2] ‘Reforms’ is good.

Concerning a Possible Flaw in "Heads We Win, Tails Barry Loses"

Dear Dr. Bones,

Don Ricardito de Fernández y Podhòretz takes great pains to establish what any decent political adult would have conceded in a flash -- that he, the apprentice Don, knows little or nothin’ ’bout the inscrutable Neolevant.

Well, but there is no reason why he should, is there?

The puzzle, then, is why such a neospecimen should attempt to fake it, especially considering that Hooverville and Rio Limbaugh/Port Ste. Lucie, even Pajama Junction NJ, are not facin' any shortage of well-credentialized exponents of Native Management for the Neolevant. The jackboot is on the other foot entirely, it seems to me. That is, should weekly standardizers and newcriterionmongers suddenly feel an urge to big-manage any *other* species of Native than the Levantine, they might be in rather deep doo-doo, at least in the preliminary stages of their aggression.

An example: from time to time, some of the more obscure freelords an’ kiddiemasters have suggested that Party & AEIdeology may have to do somethin’, one of these days, ’bout the heathen Chinee, who is now getting distinctly uppity economically, whilst remaining quite as mythologically misguided as ever. They would have a great deal of difficulty makin' a neogo of it, I fear. Their faction possesses several dozen, maybe even several hundred, _Bernielewisschüler_ for every honourable an’ neogallant Party groupie who happens to be learnèd in the lore of distant Cathay as well as the intricacies of trickle-down. [*]

Furthermore, our favorite pajamatarian _señorito_ is here caught behavin’ in a distinctly uncivil way: he is tryin’ to jump to the head of the queue, cuttin’ off many other Party neocomrades who have been toilin’ laboriously in the vineyards of _jihád_ careerism for years and years now. If Pipes Minor and the blessèd Hugh the Simple and Bob, Cardinal Spencer, are not a little miffed, it will only because Don Ricardito is so amateurish a J.C. wannabe as to be beneath the notice of the pros.

Worst of all, at the end of his scribble the junior Don yawns in the face of everybooby who has troubled to read that far, makin’ crystal clear that, over and above not knowin’ refried beans about the Middle East, he isn't even interested in it. The whole m'gillâ turns out to be yet another exercise in obamabashery. Not a happy one, either, because little Donnie wants to blame his POTUS equally for Gen. Mubárak surviving an’ for Gen. Mubárak falling. (¿Why not the Crimean War, while he's at it?)

Considered as a technical difficulty of literature / rhetoric / agitprop, one solution is not far to seek: Don Ricardito might have judiciously chopped his baby in half, publishin' the "Bye, Bye Mubárak" part here at Pajama Junction NJ, an’ "The O’Bama-Mubárak Axis of Tyranny" dingalingery somewhere else. Or _vice versâ_. Presumably he would soon have been wantin’ one or the other to sink without a trace, lest his candidate membership in Club Nostradamus be imperiled. But at least that way he could safely ignore one an’ dredge up the other for "¡I told you so!" purposes.

As it is, little Donnie will just get the worst of everythin’ available, should he ever point back at this thing. ’Twill be obvious, outside the factional monkey house and maybe even to some extent inside it, that Don Ricardito did not have a clue what was gonna come to pass in the Neolevant, but just kindly wanted everybooby to know who is to blame for it, whatever it may be. A complete waste of energy, that, for to come out from under the overcoat of Party Neocomrade R. L. Simon, Freelord an’ Kiddiemaster of Padjaama in the neopeerage of Foxcuckooland [**], has already spoken for itself eloquently, who’s-to-blame-for-everythin’wise.

¡Happy days! (through affordable healthcare)
--JHM



___
[*] Possibly tank-thinkers for the KSM, Kiddie Selfservative Movement, are aware of what seems to me a grave deficiency in their neopreparedness and yet not worried. The reason would be easy enough: that crew and the present humble keyboard disagree radically about the relative importance for Native Management schemes of "area studies" (distant Native lore &c.) and . . .

. . . I am so completely out of sympathy with their neostuff that to find a handy-dandy label for it that will not be all hostile sarcasm and zero fairembalanced information. What it comes to, perhaps one may say, is that when Wingnut City *does* finally resolve to march on Xanadu, their GHQ will not commence by recruitin’ speakers of Xanadese, but rather neocomradesses an’ neocomrades militantly fluent in Powe®Poin™.

(The Señto. de F. y P. appears to be no better qualified in P®P™ than in East-of-Eden Studies, by the way. Though ¿perhaps it is merely that he has never found a suitable occasion to show off that particular neoaccomplishment of his?)


[**] Plus -- ¡never forget!, ¡¡_nunca se olvide de recordar_!! -- the ¡¡¡World’s Greatest YaleoDrama™ist!!!

Concerning a Possible Flaw in "Heads We Win, Tails Barry Loses"

Dear Dr. Bones,

Don Ricardito de Fernández y Podhòretz takes great pains to establish what any decent political adult would have conceded in a flash -- that he, the apprentice Don, knows little or nothin’ ’bout the inscrutable Neolevant.

Well, but there is no reason why he should, is there?

The puzzle, then, is why such a neospecimen should attempt to fake it, especially considering that Hooverville and Rio Limbaugh/Port Ste. Lucie, even Pajama Junction NJ, are not facin' any shortage of well-credentialized exponents of Native Management for the Neolevant. The jackboot is on the other foot entirely, it seems to me. That is, should weekly standardizers and newcriterionmongers suddenly feel an urge to big-manage any *other* species of Native than the Levantine, they might be in rather deep doo-doo, at least in the preliminary stages of their aggression.

An example: from time to time, some of the more obscure freelords an’ kiddiemasters have suggested that Party & AEIdeology may have to do somethin’, one of these days, ’bout the heathen Chinee, who is now getting distinctly uppity economically, whilst remaining quite as mythologically misguided as ever. They would have a great deal of difficulty makin' a neogo of it, I fear. Their faction possesses several dozen, maybe even several hundred, _Bernielewisschüler_ for every honourable an’ neogallant Party groupie who happens to be learnèd in the lore of distant Cathay as well as the intricacies of trickle-down. [*]

Furthermore, our favorite pajamatarian _señorito_ is here caught behavin’ in a distinctly uncivil way: he is tryin’ to jump to the head of the queue, cuttin’ off many other Party neocomrades who have been toilin’ laboriously in the vineyards of _jihád_ careerism for years and years now. If Pipes Minor and the blessèd Hugh the Simple and Bob, Cardinal Spencer, are not a little miffed, it will only because Don Ricardito is so amateurish a J.C. wannabe as to be beneath the notice of the pros.

Worst of all, at the end of his scribble the junior Don yawns in the face of everybooby who has troubled to read that far, makin’ crystal clear that, over and above not knowin’ refried beans about the Middle East, he isn't even interested in it. The whole m'gillâ turns out to be yet another exercise in obamabashery. Not a happy one, either, because little Donnie wants to blame his POTUS equally for Gen. Mubárak surviving an’ for Gen. Mubárak falling. (¿Why not the Crimean War, while he's at it?)

Considered as a technical difficulty of literature / rhetoric / agitprop, one solution is not far to seek: Don Ricardito might have judiciously chopped his baby in half, publishin' the "Bye, Bye Mubárak" part here at Pajama Junction NJ, an’ "The O’Bama-Mubárak Axis of Tyranny" dingalingery somewhere else. Or _vice versâ_. Presumably he would soon have been wantin’ one or the other to sink without a trace, lest his candidate membership in Club Nostradamus be imperiled. But at least that way he could safely ignore one an’ dredge up the other for "¡I told you so!" purposes.

As it is, little Donnie will just get the worst of everythin’ available, should he ever point back at this thing. ’Twill be obvious, outside the factional monkey house and maybe even to some extent inside it, that Don Ricardito did not have a clue what was gonna come to pass in the Neolevant, but just kindly wanted everybooby to know who is to blame for it, whatever it may be. A complete waste of energy, that, for to come out from under the overcoat of Party Neocomrade R. L. Simon, Freelord an’ Kiddiemaster of Padjaama in the neopeerage of Foxcuckooland [**], has already spoken for itself eloquently, who’s-to-blame-for-everythin’wise.

¡Happy days! (through affordable healthcare)
--JHM



___
[*] Possibly tank-thinkers for the KSM, Kiddie Selfservative Movement, are aware of what seems to me a grave deficiency in their neopreparedness and yet not worried. The reason would be easy enough: that crew and the present humble keyboard disagree radically about the relative importance for Native Management schemes of "area studies" (distant Native lore &c.) and . . .

. . . I am so completely out of sympathy with their neostuff that to find a handy-dandy label for it that will not be all hostile sarcasm and zero fairembalanced information. What it comes to, perhaps one may say, is that when Wingnut City *does* finally resolve to march on Xanadu, their GHQ will not commence by recruitin’ speakers of Xanadese, but rather neocomradesses an’ neocomrades militantly fluent in Powe®Poin™.

(The Señto. de F. y P. appears to be no better qualified in P®P™ than in East-of-Eden Studies, by the way. Though ¿perhaps it is merely that he has never found a suitable occasion to show off that particular neoaccomplishment of his?)


[**] Plus -- ¡never forget!, ¡¡_nunca se olvide de recordar_!! -- the ¡¡¡World’s Greatest YaleoDrama™ist!!!

Yet Another Letter the Editor Was Spared

Dear Dr. Bones,

This patient suffers from a common syndrome, that of Narcissus Dexter supposin’ that the most important place in the world is wherever Master Narky happens to be standin’ at the moment. Other people are not the Hell of M. Sartre, they are just nothin’ at all -- as far as Narky is concerned.

Today is Tuesday, and Narky is "a practicing immigration attorney in Miami and New York," so obviously the Key to All Native Management must have somethin’ to do with immigration law or immigration policy. Obviously.

Accordingly, Narky comes up with a sure cure for Global Tourism an’ the Islamophalangitarian Menace™ that collides head-on with other sorts of laws and policies. What does *he* care, for instance, that Pakistan is officially an Ally of his Uncle Sam in the ongoin’ counter-jeehad? " ‘That’s not my department,’ says Werner von Braun." [1] [2]

Happy days.

___

[1] http://j.mp/aZdQgG

Foggy Bottom in particular seems not to be Narky’s department:

Determination should be decided (sic) by intelligence officials AND NOT THE STATE DEPARTMENT[!]

barks he.

Hard not to wonder if at some point an attorney from State did not signally triumph over the patient in a courtroom.


[2] Mainstream an’ full-time jihád careerists often paint themselves into this same corner, with Sa‘údiyya more often than not the immediate occasion. There is an awful lot to dislike about that joint, no doubt, but nevertheless Riyadh has been a MAJOR Ally for decades. If kiddie selfservatives seriously want to break off the Wahhábí Connection, it is very kiddie of them indeed not to discuss the Big Picture.

Outremer for Dhimmies

Dear Dr. Bones,

Look what just discovered Outremer!

To spend ninety minutes or so working up such a theme from scratch for purposes of factious polemic is not unworthy of Don Rossito de Douthát’s chosen faction.

Doubtless, ninety-nine neocomrades in a hundred will stick with their received Party-an’-Ideology line, "History is bunk," yet even they can enjoy hearin’ an illiberal and antidemocratic señorito stickin’ it to what selfservative kiddies call "the Democrat party" and all bicycle-challenged perfessers by condescendin’ to "a mix of amnesia and self-abnegation."

Speaking of self-abnegation, I should say the best part of this, or any, Douthatian joke is that corporate soapbox from which Sir Oracle the quick study gets to condescend. Why, sir, with Don Rossito, ’tis almost as if the late M. de ‘Arafát had been in a position to use the pronouns ‘we’ and ‘our’ with reference to the Tel ’Avîv Parliament!

Genuine TAPsters may worry about drowning suddenly in a tempestuous sea of Natives, but the New York Times Company soars far above such courage-challengedness, setting an admirable example for all decent political grown-ups.

Genuine TAPsters and Hyperzionists generally, not to mention serious historians of Century VI/XII//XLIX, will probably notice that the señorito does not take quite a perfectly tel’avîvocentric view:

[Hyperzion’s] friends can learn something from Outremer as well. Like today’s Jewish republic, the Crusader kingdoms were small states forged by military valor, based in the Middle East but oriented westward, with distant patrons and potential foes just next door. Like Israel, they were magnets for fanatics from east and west alike.

I daresay any ninety-minute analogy whatsoever is likely to be deficient with that sort of deficiency. Your P&I agitpropper wants her neo-analogies for a reason, after all; she is not going to spend lots of time puzzlin’ out wie es eigentlich gewesen when it is so extremely easy to come up with wie es wiedermassagiert werden dürfen, a neoproduct which, as noted, very few marks and dupes can reliably distinguish from the former. Such being the nature of the neoproduct before us, we ought to attend to the analogy that a Don Rossito thinks it has discovered quite without reference to any of its long-ago analogy-fodder. Nothing could be easier: this ‘conservative’ ‘intellectual’ would dearly like to live in a parallel universe where Jewish Statism is "based in the Middle East but oriented westward, with distant patrons and potential foes just next door."

Though perhaps not too far off in the manifold, that is plainly not quite the universe Don Rossito is actually stuck in. As I started to say, though, such Jewish Statists as have taken the trouble to emigrate to the neo-Levant personally and find themselves playing the "Immigrants and Natives" game for high stakes will see as well as the Muses and you and I do that el mondo douthatiense is not quite the Terra which Hyperzionists know and congenitally rise far above.

At any rate, they won’t be liking their little North American fellow traveler’s talk about "distant patrons" one bit. M. le président de Nétanyahou and Gospodin Ministr von Liebermann and the rest may consider that they still need Uncle Sam at least a little, but there can be no question of neo-indigenous Immigrants to Hyperzion accounting their "Jewish republic" any patron’s client.[1]

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

___
[1] If one may decently draw Miss Clio into a dispute with Fordian bunkists and opportunist señoritos and militant extremist HZ’s at all, then serious value ought to be attached to the mass of evidence that she has assembled to suggest that the words "Jewish Statism" pretty well mean not being anybody’s stinking client ever again.

I conjecture that Don Rossito de Douthát is a tad unreliable on this point due to its personal circumstances. One might say that Cui servire regnare est is the maxim the NYTC neoladdie tacitly goes by: "To be a client of Sam is to enjoy Perfect Freedom™."

That’s all very well in Hackensack, maybe, and when it is thought in English. Thought in neo-S*m*te at, say, Haifa, however, . . . .

To venture on a little ad juvenem, Dr. Bones: I would not be altogether flabbergasted to learn that Don Rossito thinks it really nifty that he (dba as ‘we’) should get to be somebody else’s "distant patron." Quite a number of more adult neowingnuts, some of them actual members of The Greatest Demographic, think like that.

When Mr. Walt and Prof. Mearsheimer start making those distressing noises of theirs about "dual loyalty", I fear they run off the track as regards most of the Little Foreign Friends of the Tel ’Avîv Statelet, missing the not exactly obscure point that pushin’ other folks around is a good in itself, a good thing that does not have to be explained in terms of some comparatively abstract Kiddie Kause like Hyperzionism or Anti-Islamophalangatarianism. To be sure, one almost always finds the practitioners of neoconnery pretendin’ that some Kause makes ’em do the pushin’. And, oddly enough, ’tis always a Kause that the pushy happen to devoutly neobelieve in.

What this flummery signifies, of course, is only that even at Rio Limbaugh and in the neo-Levant, the Spiritual Evolution of the Human Race has not yet progressed far enough for "I just happen to LIKE pushin’ other folks around" to stand alone in splendid isolation and full ethical-intellectual respectability. It looks like we will be sinking to that any day now, but today is definitely not the day. Check back next October, Dr. Bones, why don’t you?

(( A tad more ad juvenem: with RD and the señoritoly element in general it is unquestionably a matter of "JUST happenin’ to like to push." At a loftier level, though, another factor enters in, the factor of Big Management: this señorito’s Daddy Warbucks and its Tio Ruperto and Uncle Scrooge can claim without total absurdity that, over and above and quite distinct from the sheer innocent merriment that libido dominandi affords all its practitioners, some of the practitioners, like for example themselves, have a special flair for around-pushin’. Or make that a special mastery of it credentialised with an M.B.A. from the H*rv*rd Victory School, if you take around-pushin’ to be a science rather than an art.

(( Now obviously Big Management, like Global Tourrorism, is not of itself a Kiddie Kause, but rather a tool or weapon available in principle to any Kiddie Kause that may come down the pike. Yet this obviousness is one easily lost sight of, especially when your HVS MBA’s start goin’ on about ‘efficiency’ or ‘productivity’ or ‘technocrats’ &c. &c. That unwarranted self-esteemin’ could be tolerated if the Big Managers were playin’ at contract bridge or dominos, but the case is rather different when ’tis all us noncorporate organic persons who are to get pushed around, not tiles and cards.

(( BTW, what on G*re’s green earth is more bigmanagerial than WHOSE service is perfect freedumb? And what more laughable than for Don Rossito de Douthát and the Singin’ Señoritos to echo the paternal motion as Nobis servire regnare est?

(( But Mammon knows best. ))

A Traitor to his Faction?

Dear Dr. Bones,

Is not Neocomrade R. L. Simon, Freelord & Kiddiemaster Padjaama in the peerage of Foxcuckooland, here sacrificin’ the very essence of his belovèd Party and its AEIdeology for trashy yalodramatic effect and comfy self-chauvinism?

As follows: if The Wicked State be always wrong, and the Secret Sector almost as good as infallible (which is the crux and pith and gist of wingnuttinesss, no?), does it not follow in a flash that all boycotts and blockades, not to mention lesser political tamperin’s with Absolute Freedumb of Trade, are an unclean abomination in the eyes of Lord Mammon?

You may recall that thirty or forty years ago the hard-rightist scribbler of anticommunist potboilers A. S. Drury wrote a book about the former Suid-Afrika in which he seemed generally distressed about this point. One of the reasons why he could not enthuse about the Baní Malan as much as he wished he could was that, although they were forever representing themselves at Washington as a crucial concern of the former Free World, examination of how they actually ran their racket at home made them seem like a ragtag band of quaint backwoods Socialists.

Naturally even neo-Dutch rednecks have their excuses: the S-A Secret Sector of 1967 was all Brits of dubious loyalty to the Pretoria neorégime, not to mention that they (or Brits, anyway) had fed ground glass to the alone Daughters of Virtue & Sons of Wisdom in their concentration camps circa 1900.

Nothing would be easier than to write a yalodrama about all that. And, who knows?, the DVSW of S-A might even have managed to pull the wool over the eyes of Neocomrade A. S. Drury altogether, had he not been (roughly speaking) in the yalodrama business himself.

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

Snoopy at Bay meets The Shadow

Dear Sir or Madam Bluepearl, High-falutin’ though your matwood be, I believe I will see it and raise you one evermeule and half a snoop. [0] The Sea Might Folk of Hyperzion must (or at any rate, ought to) feel that what impends overhead like the sword of Bar Damocles is a good deal more substantial than any mere ‘shadow’. To be sure, an iceberg would do even better than an icicle, substancewise, but what with global warming and all nowadays . . . . Furthermore, that discrepancy--the fact that the immediate danger is merely ridiculous--was an original part of the Rev. Schultz’s little funny. The esteemed H*rv*rd did not have any use for that angle in elucidating Aspects of Death in Early Greek Art and Poetry, but happily the courage-challengedness does fall in with the neoëxistential Angst of the self-exceptional, and self-indispensable, and in every conceivable and inconceivable way selfwunnerful and wunnerselfish, Tel ’Avîv statelet. Happy days. ___ [0] This must be my all-time favorite cartoon -- a judgment that presumably establishes me as a total Palestinian in the killing fields of graphic art. ( Music is much more like it, if you ask me.) Nevertheless, "Snoopy At Bay" would be striking just as anecdote and ‘narrative’, would it not? Which leaves me amazed that G@@GLE has swiped it only in conjunction with the entire specimen eruditionis I remember it from myself.

"Changes everything"

"Changes everything"?

An odd estimate, even as coming from the little green gentlebeings of Planet Justworld, zillions of light years removed from Terra, not to mention from the neo-Levant. Possibly an original High Justworldic expression has been mistranslated, one that originlly meant something more like "One just don't see how the earthlings’ world can keep on like this!"

Less remote and aetherial observers may take refuge with the New York Times Company, which almost certainly thinks and writes in North American English and sees fit to write as follows :

Israel’s deadly commando raid on Monday on a flotilla trying to break a blockade of Gaza complicated President Obama’s efforts to move ahead on Middle East peace negotiations and introduced a new strain into an already tense relationship between the United States and Israel.

Rather a fascinating forty-four words, though scarcely because they contain anything utterly unprecedented. Au contraire, the main fascination is to find so much that is stale and trite crammed into so tiny a package. Especially to be relished in this revelation of the NYTC Weltanschauung is how POTUS and Peaceprocess stand in the center of the ring, Natives and Immigrants alike relegated to their proper and peripheral rôles.

Here, in fact, is a tale that can wag two different dogs simultaneously.

But alas, from every perspective but the literary, the performance only narcissism as usual. Narky D. [1] will no doubt be among the last to have his whole day wrecked when "Changes everything" actually takes place some day.[2]

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, the good, gray NYTC is trying her [3] best to make quite sure nothing changes. This is a bit of a challenge in light of that organ’s traditional bias in favour of Immigrants as opposed to Natives. Notice how boldly she grasps the obvious and obnoxious nettle: ‘deadly’ comes right up front, word #2 of 44. [4]

Once that's out of the way, the rest can be pre-owned fudge, and that it more or less is, apart from possibly 'break a blockade of Gaza." Without countenancing any Chicken Little exuberances of Planet Justworld, I must admit not having heard much about Gaza being under a blockade before early Monday morning. But of course the NYTC cooked that piece of fudge on the basis of this blockade being the status quo, in place ever since the year 1387/1967/5726. To take a "changes everything" stance would sadly spoil the NYTC confection, which requires that the burden of aggression, or at least of status-quo infringement, fall upon Natives rather than upon Immigrants.

An objector might object that this ploy rather tends to make the neo-Levantine status quo a sort of endless surprise packet: "Who knows what hitherto unknown unknowns," Ms Objector expostulates, "We shall be told next have been the established rule for decades?"

I reply: though naturally each particular surprise must be unanticipated, yet the general surprise-packet shtyk has indeed been going on for decades. I do not pay a great deal of attention to the Palestine Puzzle compared with true fans and passionate groupies of Immigrants or Natives, but even I have learned to expect about a Copernican Revolution in international law that finally and definitively proves that one or the other crew are right -- have been utterly right all along!! -- about every month or six weeks.

‘Fudge’ , I calls that parlour game myself, though you may call it ‘spinach’ if you prefer. "Changes everything" I should never dream of calling it.

More as a curiosity of literature than as substantive agitprop or serious analysis, I notice that the NYTC rather paints herself into a corner: if the blockade is to star in this production by the Surprise Packet Players, then the hapless Natives (or friends of Natives) must have been "a flotilla trying to break" the blocakde. Sort of like at the Dardanelles in 1333/1915/5674, don't you see. (The parallel is especially happy because the Terrible Turks come in on both ends.)

Zeal and chauvinism will stand anything, I know, but it takes a great deal of them to swallow what the NYTC here strives to get swallowed, that a foolish and deplorable publicity stunt is to be classed well up there with the Spanish Armada.

***

The little green viewers from afar write "[Israël] can [not] hope to have this version of events generally accepted-- or at least, accepted by enough of the people in power around the world that they don't need to worry about the real facts getting out. It seems they don't understand the 21st century," -- referring to a ‘version’ in which that the publicity stuntsters "fired first."

I suppose the proposition is likely enough to prove verbally true, but not in such a way as to warrant any tripe and baloney about "changes everything." There is no need at all for the hack pols and violence pros of the Tel ’Avîv government to insist on "people in power around the world" genuinely believing the T. A. version of events. Simply not being laughed at to their faces when they rehearse it will do nicely.

Few human events are less like "changes everything" than a parcel of rogue diplomats solemnly assuring the world of facts that pretty well everybody anywhere near being "people in power" understands to be fictional.

If the Planet Justworld theory be that Terra will abandon old-fashioned insincere diplomacy in Century XV/XXI/LVII and take to something else instead, one cannot rebut without relying on those very tricky "predictions about the future" that the wise have warned us to be wary of. For all I know, "Changes everything" may be lurking just around the very next bend in Ms. Clio’s dark tunnel.

Nevertheless, I detect nothing in this teapot tempest to support so extraterrestrial a conjecture.

Happy days.



___
[1] Strangers refer to my hero as "Master Narcissus Dexter." But come along, gentile reader, who is really a stranger to Narky?


[2] Narky is ubiquitous and unavoidable, yet more so some places than other: “When the end of the world comes, I want to be in Kentucky, because everything there happens twenty years after it happens anywhere else.” – Mark Twain."

(( The NYTC folks oddly classify that as a joke about "the current state of the U.S. economy," when obviously it mocks Paul Minor, the dilbertarian dingaling nominated for the Fedguv Senate by the KY GOP. For practical purposes, Planet Dilbert can be taken to be quite as distant and alien as Planet Justworld herself, only in a polarly opposite direction. ))


[3] The present keyboard’s holy Homeland™ having resolved by a five-to-four vote that corporations are persons once more, it shall loyally do my best to pronominate them accordingly. Fifty-six percent of the time, anyway.


[4] Making it the very first word would be a stiff challenge to an Anglphone stylist, though perhaps not insuperable.

"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.

’Tis now to be "war of awesome dimensions," by G*m!

Dear Dr. Bones,

Let us invoke the Spirit of Music, shall we, seeing that Bedrich Smetana will be making a guest appearance this morning?

*** OVERTURE ***

"War of awesome dimensions, a war with a long and bloody history [that] is not the consequence of this or that unpopular policy but above all of beliefs we are not even supposed to pronounce nowadays, the crazed visions of Muslim extremists who are waging jihad against us. And [a war that is the consequence of] the beliefs of radical secular extremists who share the goals of jihad. That war is being waged by people who hate America and Israel, as they hate Christians, Jews, Hindus and Buddhists, and those many Muslims who want to live in peace."

*** INTERMEZZO sive ZWISCHENSPIEL ***

Suppose, sir, that you woke up in your hammock one fine morning to discover that that, presumably either for your sins or for His own entertainment, Father Zeus had transformed you, not into a fat disgusting cockroach like poor Herr Samsa chez Kafka, but into a lean-an’-mean and militant and extreme Hyperzionist. Rather like Grand Ayatollah Mikey Bin Ledeen is, if you know what I mean.

If you prefer, we can leave you out of the game and directly imagine His Eminence wakin’ up and findin’ His own Self-Eminence in the Cartesian plight of literally havin’ "to live [say, the Tuesday of next week, 4 May 2010] as if it were the first day of [His Eminence’s] life." [0]

Well as usual , I don't strictly mean ‘literally’, even as I do not propose to dabble in any philosophy more exalted than the joke Neoëxistentialism of Team Jabotinsky. To refine the hypothesis, then, suppose His scenario-bound Eminence to wake up, recallin’ what Hyperzion is, and more or less able to find it on a map, and--above all--remainin’ militant and extremist that Hyperzion must remain Hyperzion [1], exfoliatin’ all its exotic neobeauties without stint or limit in sæcula sæculorm amen.

What our feigned H.E. does not remember is the correlation of farces in the world: who is a friend to Hyperzion, or at least a useful idiot, who is neutral, and who is not only antimegistodemographical [1a] in sime inherited or religionistic way, but actively and avowedly antihyperzionist, at Turtle Bay or in any other forum that dares to show its head in public.

In short, imagine that my travesty of Mikey Cardinal Ledeen has somehow forgotten who the enemies and friends of the GD™ Folk [1a] are, and must start from scratch to russle ’em up some new ones. [2] How well adapted to that end, in your opinion, Dr. Bones, would be the agitational-propagandistic modus operandi that His Eminence here deploys in "preachin’ to the choir"?

Whether you care to play my parlour game or not, Dr. Bones, please make a memorandumb [3] of this Binledeenian exuberance so we can find it later and use it against the kiddies.

Considered narrowly as choir-preachin’, "We are all Israëlis now" is a damp squib: the sweet birds of neosong would have been given the Frum’s rush [http://j.mp/9a9K9M] out of the Neotemple the instant they were detected to be anythin’ but.

Tthe Cardinal Auxiliary of Jehádkarírestán in partibus infidelium must, one presumes [3], intend His Eminence’s choristers to march forth and proclaim the Neogospel Accordin’ to Mikey unto benighted heathens and perverted heretics proper.

What makes this item memorandumb fodder, Dr. Bones, is how extremely perspicuous His Eminence makes the underlyin’ Common Terror magazine shtyk, which consists in Castle Podhóretz (or other competent neoäuthority) issuin’ a Woodrovian declaration of "War against war." Needless to say, it was THEM that started it, commenced a

"war of awesome dimensions, a war with a long and bloody history [that] is not the consequence of this or that unpopular policy but above all of beliefs we are not even supposed to pronounce nowadays, the crazed visions of Muslim extremists who are waging jihad against us. And [a war that is the consequence of] the beliefs of radical secular extremists who share the goals of jihad. That war is being waged by people who hate America and Israel, as they hate Christians, Jews, Hindus and Buddhists, and those many Muslims who want to live in peace."

Lots and lots of neodingalingism crammed into very few words -- ninety-one, I make it -- that is, Dr. Bones, and therefore memorandumb-worthy to the max.

To be sure, nothin’ human, except of course the GD Folk™, can achieve perfection. Mikey Cardinal Bin Ledeen has not provided us a sort of handy-dandy CliffsNotes™ edition of "Rupert’s List," that conjectural omniumgatherum of all the scattered enemies lists held at Hooverville and Rio Limbaugh and Castle Podhóretz and Port Ste Lucie and Pajama Junction, indeed, anywhere at all in Foxcuckooland from sea to whinin’ sea.

Notably absent are (1) the "Smash Capitalism!" contingent (unless His Eminence’s little word ‘radical’ is read far stronger than I think it can bear), and (2) environmental whackos,

*** CODETTA ***

"war of awesome dimensions, a war with a long and bloody history [that] is not the consequence of this or that unpopular policy but above all of beliefs we are not even supposed to pronounce nowadays, the crazed visions of Muslim extremists who are waging jihad against us. And [a war that is the consequence of] the beliefs of radical secular extremists who share the goals of jihad. That war is being waged by people who hate America and Israel, as they hate Christians, Jews, Hindus and Buddhists, and those many Muslims who want to live in peace."

I wish you, sir,
Healthy and affordable days

____
[0] Not "the first day of the rest of His Eminence’s life" as the vulgarism runs, but Day One simpliciter, the entire space between the ears of His Eminence contain’ nothin’ but hard vacuum, or call it tabula rasa.


[1] Paddy suggested the slogan ¡Hyperzion go bragh! at this juncture when we were confabulating this little fable. I had to point out to him with some asperity that, like most rules, the rule "A cat may look at a king" has the occasional probative exception, this exception, or one prominent exception, being obviously catus felix Kilarniensis.

[1a] A denier may deny, for the sake of argument or with gusto, that the Greatest Demographic™ is in fact so extraordinarly self-exceptional and self-indispensable and all-’round self-wunnerful as to be out of legitimate range of ALL the slings and arrows of us miserable Lesser Breeds Without, but that certainly does not mean than any Irish need apply as archers or peltasts.

Quelle idée!, like my great-great- ... -grandma used to mutter into her porridge in the Gaeilge, before the villagers lynched her for a witch.

As you and the Muses know, Dr. Bones, my favorite breed amongst the LBW to set up with dhimmian uppitiness against the GD Folk fanatics is the Bohemians, who call themselves ‘Czechs’, but thereby deceive nobody and haven’t for several centuries. Probably Herr Smetana [http://j.mp/bs84On] is the efficient cause of this McWhim: "Would you believe it, Princess, that shixy peasant had the gall to associate our tune with his vlast!"

Whimmed or whimless, I have never set foot nearer the place than Schneeburg (?) in Upper Bavaria, or for practical purposes, say Bayreuth BRG. A notorious hotbed of antimegistodemographical activities was that town, to be sure, when the Serene House of Wagner reigned. This is immaterial, however, because with Bohemia Bayreuth has nothing political to do and never did, beyond being Habsburg subjects.


[2] Like any good pscenario, this one is, I flatter myself, not entirely unconnected with the former Real World. For, in a certain sense, every snake-oil salesman and agitprop artiste that ever lived has been in the situation I conjure up for my pseudo-Mikey. As regards the "swing vote," I mean, those who have not yet taken any definite position on the merits and drawbacks of hula hoops, or Shock-an’-Awe (®), or le surchauvinisme hebraïque, or pet rocks, or . . . -- whatever product or ideoproduct the flogger may be trying to flog.

The analogy is imperfect, I admit, because Team Jabotinsky and the Hyperzionism product have been around since, at very latest, shortly after the war of A. R. 1387/1967/5726, twoscore and two (solar) years ago. His Eminence is bound to be especially concerned with official State enmities and friendships and neutralities and idiocies and utilities, and one can scarcely imagine any foreign ministry on G*re’s green earth where the statespersons have simply never heard of Hyperzionism the way Cindy from Wasilla has (almost certainly) never heard of the blessèd and meaningless hula hoop [http://j.mp/aubixm].


[3] To give you a head start, here’s ... Mikey: http://j.mp/9mGUo4

That is the pajamatarian neopost, but who cares? The PJM title of the thing is right there inside it, even if Mikey called it somethin’ different chez soi.

And by the way, the former chez soi seems to redirect straight to Mikey’s latest pair of pajamas in any case.

"Creativity and Destruction in all about I see / Father Zeus, Who wingnuts not, / Abide with me!"


[4] One may be presuming temerariously, however, for it is not impossible that His Eminence intended no more than to warm up the water a little in that bath of self-wunnerfulness in which his immediate auditors incorrigibly wallow: "O nos felices, who alone actually realize that ‘we’ "are all Israelis now."

A wonderer may wonder, after all, whether Neocomradess Ch. Little entirely likes the idea that others should detect the imminence of skyfall with her own eagle eye and squawk against it with equal volume. Or whether the hack pols and violence pros of the Tel ’Avîv statelet would rejoice singleheartedly and without mental reservation to discover three or four additional and undeniable ‘democracies’ scattered around the neo-Levantine landscape.

Grand Ayatollah Mikey Bin Ledeen bein’ what His Eminence is, the only complete certainty hereabouts is that H. E. would dearly love to see somebody bomb the evil Qommies back into the Stone Age. To "wipe them off the map," you might say, even.