Gigantic Chef Flashes America With Monster Penis

Millions Rejoice

Instapundit and his readers fantasize about going and living in the hills if Obama wins, abandoning civilization rather than pay their taxes. (And then we’ll be sorry.  Then we’ll realize how much we miss them. Then we’ll realize how we all depended on the wealth-creating Randian genius of real men like instapundit, who is a law professor at a public university. Oh yes. Oh yes we will.  But it’ll be too late.)

How long does it take for this fantasy of rugged manly pioneer-spirit off-the-grid individualism to collapse into whining passive-aggressive bathos? It takes less than no time at all, as several days ago Mrs. Dr. Instapundit was already suggesting not tipping your waiters under an Obama administration, in order to teach the ungrateful proles the real meaning of socialism. 

There are millions of these people.  I wish they would all go away.  The off-chance that possibly, just maybe, one or two of these idiots will follow through on their threats and sulk off into the hills, where they will immediately starve or fall into a ravine or get eaten by a sheep, is reason enough to hope Obama wins. 

How is it possible to find a crowd that large — I mean, even assuming camera-placement-trickery, there’s at least five people, not counting Mr. Burns — a crowd that large or indeed any crowd of any size that is unanimously, raucously, opposed to nuclear safety?

The “Drill, baby, drill!” thing didn’t make any sense as policy, but you could sort of see what kind of Freudian demons they were working out; but what’s going on here?

They’re just actively rooting for the death of the world now, aren’t they?

What could be more entertaining than watching right-wingers freak out about Krugman’s Nobel? Nothing, that’s what. 

No, wait: reading about respected Fox News commentator Anthony Martin-Trigona and his long campaign against the Bankruptcy Jews is possibly more amusing — in a sick way — like a funny nightmare, or an ether binge hallucination scrawled on your walls by Ralph Steadman in human blood and shit. 

Also entertaining: Weekly Standard hack Stephen Hayes pushing back against stories about the horrible vicious lynch-mob atmosphere of recent McCain/Palin rallies by arguing that ”The Angry Left” is even worse, an argument which opens and pretty nearly concludes with the following anecdote:

 This morning at a McCain rally here, a bearded young man in the crowd responded to a McCain critique of Barack Obama by shouting: “You’re a liar John!” He then hoisted a young woman with an antiwar poster onto his shoulders and began yelling antiwar gibberish as McCain tried to continue his speech. When McCain supporters ripped up the woman’s sign, she unfolded another one and the spectacle continued.

Can you believe it? An antiwar protestor who wouldn’t run away, even after some public spirited fellows ripped her sign out of her hands and smashed it up in front of her? Truly the Left is out of control.

I didn’t actually watch the debate, I just listened to it as a vague disorientating hum and drone, a kind of unpleasant political muzak. But I did see CNN’s post-debate analysis, which opened with CNN political analyst John King holding up his iPhone, as a witchdoctor or haruspex might brandish the signifying gizzard of an owl, and announcing that you could tell Palin did well because Republican party operatives had been emailing him to tell him that Palin did well.

I suppose that’s about the level of sophisticated analysis the spectacle deserves. How much do you think John King gets paid, though?

For less than the cost of the Iraq War, we could have built adjacent Large Hadron Colliders all the way up the West Coast.

That ought to be enough to get the job done.

Palin on the Economy:

Palin on Foreign Policy:

Palin on Wall Street:

Palin on the Middle East:

Palin is the Death of Meaning, the destroyer of sense and reason, one by one the words she uses are stripped of their definitions and connotations and spat out on the floor like chewed-up gum, once she has completed her great and terrible work there will be no language left to us and even mathematics will stop working

sometimes I think perhaps the Hadron Collider has started to destroy the world, and McCain/Palin ‘08 is how it manifests itself

stolen from elsewhere on the internet, can’t find original source:

Goldman Sachs and Morgan Stanley turned themselves into — by merely saying so — commercial (rather than investment) banks, thus affording them greater guaranteed protection in return for reduced scope of operation. This was … there are no words for this. It’s like the scene in escape movies where the prisoners make inch-perfect uniforms from a gray sock and a tin of nugget and pass themselves off as the German general staff. Will they get away with it? It depends if they’ve got someone on the inside, like say, former Goldman Sachs partner current Treasury Secretary Henry Paulson.

Can anyone explain why the television ads for The Duchess, the Duchess of Devonshire biopic, open with the voiceover: “She came from nothing. . .”  Her father was the first Earl Spencer and she was related to the Duke of Marlborough, and I mean I don’t want to sound like a prole here but that sounds pretty not-nothing to me, except I suppose in the ashes-to-ashes sense.  Is there some attempt at justification for this in the film, or is it just pure nonsense?

Cat Rambo sez:

I write in large sketch pads, because I like the space to draw arrows and circles and make marginal notes. . . . I always have liked writing with cheap fountain pens, but they’re harder to find than they used to be, and I have a bad habit of losing more expensive ones. So it’s ball-point today, which moves reasonably quickly, but lacks a fountain pen’s rapid grace. 

So why am I telling you all this? Because it’s a prelude to passing along the best writing advice I ever got. Are you ready? You might want to write this down if you’re still figuring out your own process.  It’s this: what other writers do doesn’t matter. Syne Mitchell told my CW class: “Figure out what works for you. And do it. Lots.” And I’m repeating it because that is seriously good advice. You don’t need to write two thousand words a day like Stephen King. You don’t have to write in silence, or with only classical musical playing, or by sticking your head in a victrola after downing a bottle of cheap red wine. What you need to do is experiment and find what gets you writing, and keeps you writing.

All the fiction I write is composed acrostically, out of the first letters of every line of every bit of apparently unrelated work I do, like e-mails, memos, shopping lists, this blog post, all the way back to juvenalia composed out of and precisely simultaneously with old school essays. 

I suppose maybe there are other, easier ways of writing, but I consider them cheating.