Rule Thirty-Four: Not a Challenge

Sometimes the most benign phrases tell us more about ourselves than we ever wanted to know. “Remember,” I told my Minecraft-obsessed daughter, “there’s a wiki for everything.” Which, of course, is not quite true; there is not, say, a wiki for my personal, individual left nut^†.

To the other, it’s my daughter, so I didn’t clarify that it’s not quite like Rule Thirty-Four.

And then, of course, it hits me. Certes, if I look hard enough, I can find a pornwiki. But (gulp!) do I really want to know if I can find wikiporn?

In truth, I do not intend to resolve this question for myself; something about “priorities” goes here, and maybe something about Tommy Shaw, which would in turn constitute another Rule Thirty-Four question I really, really don’t want to know the answer to.

____________________

^† We’re caught up in an unfortunate shares dispute regarding merchandising, and thus have delayed the launch of the wiki for my right testicle. Never mind.

Low-Bid Theatre

If all the world is a stage, why isn’t there a better laugh track?

Or is it just a really bad sitcom?

So Glad You Made It ….

Hello, Mr. Linden! We’re so glad you made it. I’ll skip the part about gimme some Stanley lovin’, and all, and … er … ah … damn. Right. Sorry. Congratulations, sir.

(Image via CBC.)

Michael Reagan’s defense of fast food and putting women in their place

It is not so much that we should leave humor to the comedians. We all make jokes. Laughter, as the trite saying goes, is the best medicine; especially if you laugh yourself into injury. Maybe you hear something on the radio and drive the car into a telephone pole while cracking up. Perhaps you catch something on television, and laugh so hard you fall off the couch and gash your forehead on the coffee table. Or maybe you read an article on the internet and double over in agonizing amusement until you pull a muscle.

Okay, so it’s not that funny, but here’s the thing: Politics in America is a nasty business, and some people resent this. Many of them, of course, are perfectly willing to support their own brand of nastiness while condemining others. Sometimes this is justified. Wit, after all, is a bit more civilized than punching someone’s teeth. And, probably, a little less unhealthy to the wit than the fist.

Still, though, while our political cycles often play out amid a cacophony of disgusted and derisive laughter, sometimes genuine humor arises. In 2010, we had Christine O’Donnell and Sharron Angle, to say the least. Or that Nazi celebrant from the midwest. Or the DA in Colorado who had a rape accusation and a rape confession, but decided to not press charges because it was obviously a case of buyer’s remorse.

I know, I know, I’m only picking on one side of the aisle right now. Fine, to be fair, we can all chuckle at the fact that Sen. Harry Reid survived his re-election bid, but that only brings the Democratic side of the aisle back to Sharron Angle.

In 2008, it was Sarah Palin.

I even remember in 1996, when President Clinton stuck his foot in his mouth about some cheap rap song by Sistah Souljah, Republican candidate Sen. Bob Dole came to his rescue by saying if he was president, he would outlaw that kind of music. I mean, c’mon, Bob: Before we can even argue about whether you can legislate like that, tell us, just how exactly would you destroy, evade, or otherwise overcome that nasty little thorn in your side called the First Amendment?

Yet none of these people are the issue for the moment. Rather, let us turn to Michael Reagan, son of the late former president, Saint Ronald:

We are rapidly becoming a nation whose distaff leadership is allowing radical feminists to redefine the role of motherhood.

Our moms are being all but ostracized by a raging cadre of radical feminists should they dare to consider cooking for their families to be a major part of their traditional role as wives and mothers.

Hell, or, A Conversation with Brooks and Collins

I have a new vision of Hell, which is sitting around the “conversation pit” getting stoned with New York Times columnists David Brooks and Gail Collins. Apparently, the two get together and talk about issues for the newspaper’s Opinionator blog every Wednesday. To borrow a phrase from Supreme Court Nominee and current Solicitor General Elena Kagan, I wish they wouldn’t.

This week, the Dullard Duo took on one of the vital economic questions of the times: Deficit reduction or job creation?

Gail Collins: David, I was very interested in your column attacking the idea of a second stimulus. In fact, I was so interested that I almost put down my copy of this week’s New York Magazine, which has a big profile of you and your “charming, levelheaded optimism.” I agree totally with that assessment, although I part company with the author when it comes to your suits, which are certainly not shapeless.

The article also says that because of your book deadlines, you are only getting four hours of sleep a night. So I feel terrible asking you to converse about anything, let alone the economy.

David Brooks: My suits are absolutely shapeless. They are sartorial cumulus clouds. Given my body, shapeless is the best option, believe me. Other than that, I thought the profiler was admirably gentle and forgiving.

I’d like to say things could only get better from there, but … yeah. I’d also like to say it would be enlightening to hear an actual recording of this conversation in order to pick up some of the nuance, but, again … er … yeah.

Who’s your daddy?

Obviously, I’m missing something, or presuming too much. Something like that.

The caption reads, “U.S. President Barack Obama warned of ‘difficult days ahead’ in Iraq as U.S. troops withdraw from towns and cities, six years after the invasion. Here, a young boy reacts upon seeing his father return from a 12 month tour in Iraq”.

Now, like I said, there must be something wrong with my perception of the frame. Perhaps it’s more fun to simply ask if anyone else sees it?

Okay, okay. So, “Welcome Home Daddy”? (What, you see it now?)

I guess I’m wrong to presume that the child in the picture is associated with the pregnant woman, because I find myself wondering … um … you know … a twelve month tour? Welcome home Daddy? What, is the new one waiting a couple extra months for Daddy to get home? Or ….

Or maybe that’s just unseemly. At any rate, this one made the BBC’s Year In Pictures. There’s only twelve of them, so it’s not all that detailed an account of the year, but, you know, check it out if you’re interested. Hell, I figure a little unseemly humor probably works better than war, massive arson, or swine flu.

Anyway, yeah. I won’t claim this a useful post, but it’s something to do. Er … whatever. I’ll shut up now.