Like all God-fearing Americans, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” spend lots of time traipsing around the left-wing “weblogosphere.” If you ask us, the lefty nutters who froth and foam about contemporary politics make for enjoyable reading. We consider their nonsense one of the great gifts of Al Gore’s Internet. (Here’s another: Pictures of a semi-clad Tipper.)

Now, when we say “lefty nutters,” we don’t mean reasonable liberals of the New Republic variety. One might quibble with the Peter Beinarts of the world, but he and his ilk are intelligent, grounded folk—far more compelling than crazy right-wingers like, say, Grover Norquist. (That man would run over his cousin in a Buick if it would lower taxes.) No: When we refer to “lefty nutters,” we most assuredly mean “lefty nutters.”

You know the kind of people we’re talking about, dear reader. They have a hard time sleeping because of the machinations of “the evil President Bush and his fascist, war-mongering minions.” They can’t think straight because they’re so enraged by the “Zionist conspiracy that led to 9/11.” They got into a car wreck because they plastered so many anti-Bush stickers on their automobile that they couldn’t see through the windows.

In a just world, such people would be confined to the very margins of society. You know, the places where lunatics hang out—like asylums and academia.

But no: Apparently we donÂ’t inhabit a just world. Boy, thatÂ’s news to us. And thus our frequent perusals of the World-Wide Web lead us to believe that the far Left has a welcome home on the Internet. Not, we hasten to add, a home sufficiently large to get Ned Lamont elected, but a house nevertheless.

Frankly, dear reader, taking in all these hardcore lefty screeds has left our minds reeling. How many times can you read minute variations on the same “Can-You-Believe-Evil-Chimpy-McHitler” theme and remain of entirely sound mind? We have the funny feeling that, if our reading habits remain the same, we’re bound to find out.

As crazy as these left-wing jeremiads are, however, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” think they can get even more unhinged. If you ask us, the typical arch-liberal diatribe suffers from a failure of imagination. It’s just a congeries of the same flaccid arguments, over, and over, and over. You know: Kind of like Keith Olbermann.

“Impeach Bush!” they shout, oblivious to American political realities. “Impeach Cheney!” To which we respond: Ho-hum.

Why not spruce things up a bit with a less cookie-cutter approach. Come on, lefties: Why not clamor to “Impeach Adlai Stevenson”?

Sure, Stevenson was never president. And he was a Democrat. And he’s dead. But, we figure, he’s got about as much chance to be impeached as George Bush. At least an “Impeach Stevenson” “post” would grab our attention.

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Take a gander at the following quotation: “We weren't involved in this event so we can be a neutral judge.” To what do you think it refers? Nancy Grace’s disgraceful hectoring of her guests? The ineluctably anti-Israel findings of James Baker’s feculent Iraq Study Group? The Hamburglar?

Good guesses, those. But they’re dead wrong. These words dribbled from the lips of Manouchehr Mohammadi, from Iran’s foreign ministry's research and education office. And, as the article from London’s Guardian from which they were culled makes clear, they refer to the Holocaust. Yep, you read that correctly—the Holocaust.

You see, dear reader, the loveable scamps from Iran have planned a spirited intellectual colloquy, to determine—reasonably enough—whether the Holocaust occurred. Boy, that’s a real brainteaser. Charming, isn’t it? Surely it’s one of the grandest scholarly events in Persian history—at least since the Shah was deposed.

And to think no foreigners yearn to study in prestigious Iranian universities! Maybe their meal plans are lacking?

Naturally, the mad mullahs of Iran thought that they’d prove impartial judges on the topic, since they obviously have no dog in this fight. At least we can’t think of one. As such, who wouldn’t believe Mr. Mohammadi when he claims: “Our aim is to scientifically study the Holocaust and listen to both sides before reaching a conclusion”?

Eminently respectable, is it not? Perhaps the cheerful Iranian regime will finally get to the bottom of a thorny problem that has vexed scorching anti-Semites and deranged neo-Nazis for decades.

As an upstanding lackey for the peaceable Iranian regime, Mr. Mohammadi is naturally concerned about spurious charges linking the upcoming conference to Muslim anti-Semitism. We think he proves particularly adept at denying these baseless contentions. About the larger meaning of the gathering, he says: “Our policy doesn't mean we want to defend the crimes of Hitler.”

Oh, great: Thanks for clearing that up. Color us convinced.

We, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” are sorry we’re going to miss this meeting of the minds. First, we won’t get a chance to see Profs. Mearsheimer and Walt offer their presentation. That’s a real pity: Don’t their prestigious university affiliations make anti-Semitism seem so much more respectable? If you ask us, it’s like Himmler in Tweed.

And, of course, we’ll also miss out on President Jimmy Carter’s rousing contribution to the assembly. That’s unfortunate: We savor President Carter’s learned musings on the Middle East almost as much as we treasure his tin-eared poetry. Gosh: “Stagflation,” anti-Zionism, atrocious doggerel, and blithering incompetence—can anyone explain why Carter isn’t deemed the greatest President in US history?

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Chris Wallace, the anchor for the television program “Fox News Sunday,” has caused a stir or two in recent months. As is well known, Mr. Wallace earned the finger-wagging ire of President Bill Clinton for daring to ask one tough question about the Clinton administration’s failure to capture Osama bin Laden.

More recently, Barney Frank, a Democratic congressman from Massachusetts, was in a huff over his interview with Mr. Wallace, arguing that the television host failed to offer his audience an accurate impression of the matters up for discussion.

Clearly, our pals in the Democratic Party don’t much care for media outfits that aren’t in their pockets. And who could blame them? Tough questions are, after all, tough. As a result, our lefty politicians far prefer the “mainstream media” outlets, which present a far less hostile environment to liberals.

Take, for example, Tim Russert’s mind-blowingly feculent interview with Jimmy Carter, former failed President, humanitarian, and Jew-hater. On “Meet the Press,” the typically tough Mr. Russert offered what must be the most pathetic softball group of questions imaginable to President Carter, even though Carter presented a string of dubious points on which any real journalist should have pounced. That, think our Democratic pals, is a much more congenial interview.

But what to do about Mr. Wallace? Surely he canÂ’t go around asking Democrats difficult questions. That might give the American people the erroneous impression that the contemporary Democratic Party isnÂ’t pure political perfection.

We, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” think we have come up with a reasonable solution to this vexing problem. If Mr. Wallace would simply follow our advice, he’d no longer earn the opprobrium of those delicate Democratic politicos.

We call our solution “You Ask, You Decide,” and we think it’ll do the trick perfectly. Here’s how it goes. Before any interview with a Democratic politician, Mr. Wallace must ask his interviewee for a list of acceptable questions. During the taping, Mr. Wallace merely asks questions from the list—and questions from the list alone. A crisis averted!

In fact, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” will suggest a few queries for a future interview with Bill Clinton. Instead of his naggingly appropriate questions, we think that the following questions would earn him President Cliinton’s favor:

1) President Clinton, you seem like a real lady-killer. Do women quite fancy you? Why would that be?

2) President Clinton, many people think you’re one of the best—and handsomest—presidents ever. Could you explain your appeal?

3) Numerous Americans want you to be president forever. Why do you think they feel this way?

4) Could you discus how your earnest moral convictions guided your steadfast, just decisions during your term in office?

5) President Clinton, a lot of women would like to have sexual intercourse with you. Could you tell us how they could accomplish this goal?

Yeah, thatÂ’d be far more to ClintonÂ’s liking.

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God bless our computer’s spell-checker. For some marvelous yet inexplicable reason, it fails to recognize both “Gwyneth” and “Paltrow.” Of course, it also knows nothing of “postcolonialism” and “neoconservatism,” so perhaps our spell-checker was originally designed for use with an abacus. It seems more behind the times than a Chia Pet.

Regardless of the reason, our spell-checker delightfully professes ignorance about one of the most irksomely self-obsessed of American entertainers. We, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” wish we could say the same for us.

Oh, how charming life would be if Gwyneth Paltrow—the full-time anorexic who moonlights as an actress—failed to register on our collective radar screen! How beautiful that would be!

By now, dear reader, you have undoubtedly heard that Ms. Paltrow is currently making amends for putting her extremely slim foot in her extremely slim mouth. In an interview quoted on the Drudge Report (so you know it has to be true), Ms. Paltrow claimed that the “British are much more civilized and intelligent than the Americans.”

To which we respond: Uh, Gwyneth, that’s “civilised.” If you’re going to come down with a case of Anglophilia, you might as well get the British spelling right. You bloody fool.

Apparently, some of America’s rabid right-wing “webloggers” are in a huff over Ms. Paltrow’s slight (if you will). We’re sorry if we’re not as jingoistic as our angry fellow citizens, but forgive us if we fail to get enraged at this nincompoop’s insult.

We mean, come on: She dated Ben Affleck, for crying out loud. She was in Shallow Hal, pound for pound (if you will) the most insipid movie of all time. And she married some Neanderthal pop star who has made a decent living off of a passable Bono impression.

Not, we dare say, real intellectual material. We have the sneaking suspicion that Ms. Paltrow doesnÂ’t read back issues of Partisan Review before bedtime. After all, those George Orwell articles donÂ’t have any pictures.

And letÂ’s not even mention the fact that starving yourself to death in order to look sexy as a rail isnÂ’t exactly fiendishly clever. For someone who can claim to have helped girls worldwide generate eating disorders, sheÂ’s really not in a position to judge other peopleÂ’s smarts.

So, dear reader, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” are fully prepared to allow Ms. Paltrow to excoriate these here United States of America. Sure, the US may have horrid dental care in comparison with the UK. It may also boast distinctly inferior pudding. And thank the Lord that Ms. Paltrow has the right to express her opinion.

But, this being a free country, we possess that right as well. So here goes: Gwyneth Paltrow is a stuck-up, no-talent moron who only became a film star because of her parentsÂ’ connections. Gee, Gwyneth: How do you like a little freedom of speech, American style?

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Well, dear reader, December 5 is the day we have all been waiting for. And by “we” we mean “pathetically self-obsessed ‘webloggers’ who pretend to be more down-to-earth than mainstream journalists but are actually as sickeningly narcissistic as they.” Yeah: You know who you are.

You guessed it: On December 5—a very short day away—the official finalists for the “2006 Weblog Awards” shall be announced. Since a number of kindly readers of this humble “weblog” have nominated “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly” for a category or two, you can well imagine that we’re extremely nervous, full of anticipation. We’ve got more butterflies than a guy with lots of butterflies.

After all, this year’s “Weblog Awards” could mark our triumphant comeback from last year’s fiasco. As longtime enthusiasts of this “weblog” well know, the “2005 Weblog Awards” didn’t treat us terribly well. Although we landed a nice spot as an official finalist for the “Best Humor Blog” category, we were pretty much outgunned from the start.

As you can well imagine, this was well-nigh mortifying for the crack young staff. Whilst something called Jesus’ General basked in all manner of votes, our humble “weblog” fared worse than a Hitler for President campaign. Thank God we didn’t spend too much of our retirement money on television advertising.

Now, in our own defense, we must add a few important details: The clever lads and lasses behind the “2005 Weblog Awards” failed to spell our “weblog’s” name correctly on its roster of “Humor Weblog” finalists. That certainly didn’t make things any easier. We mean, come on: Do you think we would have had the same results in 1992 if “Bill Clunton” were on the ballot? We collectively think not.

Secondly, we would be remiss if we failed to mention that nobody seems to read this humble “weblog.” By this, we’re not inferring that nobody famous takes in our musings—Lindsey Lohan, say, or the lead singer of Loverboy. No: We mean that absolutely no one appears to like us. Not even our mothers.

It’s sad, dear reader, but it’s apparently true. Unless, of course, we find ourselves nominated for a prestigious “2006 Weblog Awards” category—like “Most Scintillating Use of Fecal Matter and a Cat Stevens Album”—and we spank the competition like a red-headed step child. That, as our old pal Steve Windwood would say, would put us back in the highlife again.

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Lots of people write their own “weblogs,” the Internet equivalent of a semi-public diary. We’ve long said that “weblogging” is one of Al Gore’s greatest gifts to humankind. All a prospective “weblogger” must do, it seems, is happen upon a marginally clever title for one’s musings, learn a handful of “html” commands, and start typing away.

Pretty soon, you’re darn near guaranteed to have around three readers, all of whom accidentally stumbled upon your “website” whilst searching for “on-line” pornography. (That’ll teach you to name a “post” “Three Cows and a Midget.”) It’s an exhilarating feeling: Penning feckless barbs for five people, three of whom hate your guts. Naturally, we heartily recommend it.

Now, since we heartily recommend the life of a “weblogger” (apt phrase, that), we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” figured that we’d offer a bit of advice for the World-Wide-Web novice dying to get started. Yeah: We’re that magnanimous. You don’t need to thank us: We do it for the intrinsic satisfaction.

So, what kind of help can we offer? That’s a darn good question. First, we suppose we should mention that you shouldn’t name your “weblog” “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly.” Obviously, we’re not dissuading you from this for entirely altruistic reasons: If you Sununu the title of our “weblog,” we’ll be mighty peeved.

Also, though, if you entitle your “weblog” “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” you’re likely to receive all manner of e-mails limp-wristedly chiding you for your choice. Take our collective word for it.

This takes us to a more important bit of e-advice. If you aim to write a “weblog” that lasts longer than the lifespan of a fruit fly, then don’t ask us for a “link.” As far as we can intuit, winding up on our “weblogroll” is tantamount to a one-way ticket to Failure Town (population: 5,576,478,894,103).

If Edward Hopper could see our “weblogroll,” he’d surely call it an e-boulevard of broken dreams. We’re not particularly proud of this, of course, but that doesn’t stop it from being painfully true.

It’s as if earning a spot on our “weblogroll” immediately alerts some odd Russian Internet mafia, which manages to bump off everyone listed on “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly.” Time after time, we “link” to a “website” only to find out that its author mysteriously vanished the moment we noticed him.

To add insult to injury, the only “weblog” for which we’re the “weblog father” lasted all of two days. Sure, it was a pretty good run. But a sixteen-year-old boy has more stamina, for crying out loud.

Sure, sure: There are a few gems on our “weblogroll,” whose authors have managed to stave off the Russian Internet underground. But they are few and far between. So, unless you desperately desire to “weblog” but have only one “post” in you, we suggest you stay clear of us.

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You know the guy weÂ’re talking about, dear reader. And, boy, does he burn our collective britches. WeÂ’ll bet that he irks you too.

Allow us to set the scene. You and a few buddies have grabbed a table at a local restaurant, eager to take in some well-earned victuals after a hard day at the office. Soon you’ll be transported into prandial bliss, thanks to the folks at TGIF. Before you decide on your entrée—will it be the beef or the shrimp?—the table offers its drink orders to a waitress with the requisite flair.

Naturally, like a manly man, you tell the waitress that you want a diet root beer. A guilty pleasure, perhaps, but so darn frothy and good. IBC, we think, is one of the great rewards of civilization. That and the rule of Law. (Jude Law.)

And around the room it goes: Bill savors a Pabst Blue Ribbon; Donnie wants a Coke; Len orders a Heineken; &c.

But donÂ’t you know it: Someone just had to ruin the fun. Tony, that miserable sod, steps up to the plate and ordersÂ…a water. No lemon, no lime, no nothing. Just a darn water.

Now if you are anything like us, dear reader, this iritating order will make your head spin. If not literally, then at least figuratively. It ruins everything. Even that George Mason Final Four Trip. Everything.

After all, you were content with your drink—a bit sugary, perhaps, but delightful nonetheless. And then Tony—that bastard—had to make everybody feel bad.

“Should I have ordered a water too?” you think to yourself. “Gosh, I really don’t need all that sugar. And it’s pretty much a waste of $2.50. Drinks are always so overpriced. Will I die fat and penniless?”

Thus went your enjoyable dinner with the fellahs, destroyed by one manÂ’s anchoritic drink order. No longer can you lay back and talk smack with the boys. No, sir: ItÂ’s time to fret about the waistline and pocketbook. Man, that guyÂ’s such a jerk!

If he orders a salad, we may just kill him.

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As we have mentioned before, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” very much enjoy The Spectator, the delightful London political and cultural weekly. The Speccie, as it is affectionately called, is truly a charming publication, and thus not to be confused with The American Spectator, which is a pile of garbage that features articles by such worthies as Ted Nugent.

If you ask us, The Speccie makes for a good read; The American Spectator makes for good kindling. (Albeit not as good as The Nation, which, like a feministÂ’s bra, really burns well. It must be that toilet-paper itÂ’s printed on.)

We must temper our profuse praise of The Speccie in a few respects, however. First, we should note that its recent decision to give the inimitable Mark Steyn the boot was outrageous. The film reviewer who has replaced him—Deborah Ross, we believe—isn’t nearly as witty; she seems to believe lame Limey slang like “toodle-pip” is hysterical. Note to Ms. Ross: Sorry, luv, but that isn’t going to cut it.

The radio column, in addition, hasnÂ’t been the same since the recent passing of Michael Vestey. We eagerly took in Mr. VesteyÂ’s musings on all and sundry, and the new gal (Kate Chisholm) isnÂ’t nearly as fun.

All of these criticisms, however, pale in comparison with what we deem the most odious feature of The Spectator. By this, of course, we mean Taki Theodoracopulos, the infamous author of the “High Life” column.

Perhaps you know Taki, as he calls himself. The heir to a Greek shipping fortune and a self-described anti-Semite, Taki is an old coot who spends his time snorting cocaine and attempting to bed young ladies. In between bouts of drink- and drug-besotted lechery, Taki writes a few articles for publications to which he contributed a sufficient amount of money to earn some column space.

Perhaps Taki is most famous in this country for floating the cash to establish The American Conservative, Pat Buchanan’s bastion of irrelevant and odious paleo-conservatism. Across the pond, however, Taki must be best known for his “High Life” column.

In the November 11 number of The Speccie, Taki offered one more reason to hate him. His column, “The neocon con,” presented yet another tired retread of Taki’s typical “blame the Jews” rhetoric.

Those insidious Hebrews, he fumes, have fooled American conservatives to unmoor their movement from “traditional conservatism” in favor of pro-Israel craziness. He writes:

Â…the conservative movement, both in America and Britain, has abandoned the basic items of the conservative agenda. When William Buckley drove Birchers, racists and assorted anarchists away from his conservative movement 50 years ago, he tried to shape conservativism into a party that drove away fewer people than it attracted. In this he succeeded, hence Reagan and Bush the First. Then the Fifth Columnists went to work, under the cute label of neocons. They are the real enemies of the conservatism of old, as well as that of the real civilisation of the West.

What a bunch of vile, anti-Semitic trash! The—mostly Jewish—neoconservatives are “Fifth Columnists,” eh? What a clever way to offer the old canard about Jewish dual loyalties! Perhaps William F. Buckley, Jr. didn’t remove all the disgraceful racists from his conservative movement.

It is a real gas that Taki, who laments the “draconian and devastating economic embargo on the Palestinian population,” claims that neoconservatives are the enemies of Western civilization. Ah, yes: Taki’s unbending support for the Palestinians, who revel in anti-Western violence, who support violent jihads against Westerners, who oppose the rule of law, women’s rights, and political liberty—that’s support for the true pals of the West.

This begs the question: Taki, as an apologist for violent Islamism, could you tell us whether the Palestinians or the Israelis cheered in the streets on 9/11? Which group would a civilized West and a civilized Western conservatism support? You anti-Semitic clown.

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One of the junior editors here at “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly”—let’s just call him “Chip”—recently headed to the local bookshop to take in the latest treasures from the land of darkened wood pulp. And—lo and behold!—amidst the other new tomes sat Palestine: Peace Not Apartheid.

Who, you may or may not be asking yourself, wrote such a monograph? Ralph “The One-Eyed Lebanese Lunatic” Nader? The Official Communications Collective at the Palestine Solidarity Movement? Or maybe, like an infamous anti-Semitic tract, it’s a Czarist forgery?

Well, dear reader, if you guessed any of these answers, we’re sorry to tell you that you’re wrong. The writer of this book, screamingly unfair title and all, is none other than former President Jimmy Carter. (Boy, we figured you could have guessed that from the title of our “post.” Go figure.)

Now, longtime reader(s) of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly” undoubtedly know that we despise this man. Sure: He built a couple of homes in his spare time to make up for the fact that he was the most incredibly incompetent political leader in American history. But this, we feel, can’t cut it: Jimmy Carter was such a horrid President that they had to invent words—like “stagflation”—to describe his preternatural failures.

As if this werenÂ’t bad enough, the whilom peanut farmer wasnÂ’t content building a few abodes for Habitat for Humanity and telling wistful stories about his Abbie Hoffman-wannaÂ’-be daughter Amy. No, President Carter simply couldnÂ’t bear to be this comparatively inoffensive.

Accordingly, he has routinely insinuated himself into contemporary American politics, as if anyone cares what this poltroon has to say about anything. Fidel Castro, Hugo Chavez—there’s nary a vicious left-wing dictator he won’t coddle for attention.

And donÂ’t even get us started on Jimmy CarterÂ’s poetry. If you ask us, his desire to publish his tin-eared, embarrassing verse demonstrates that he wasnÂ’t psychologically fit to be President of the United States. Which may explain CarterÂ’s botched attempts to end the Iranian hostage crisis, the oil embargo, and every other task he was assigned as President.

But now his new book—in all its coruscating obtuseness—has simply driven us over the edge. How dare this moron use the word “Apartheid” to describe Israel! What an embarrassment to the American people this man is! And this boob doesn’t even mention Israel in his title: Does he—like those loveable scamps in Hamas—hope for its destruction?

Upon spying some reader reviews of Palestine: Peace Not Apartheid on Amazon.com, “Chip” laughed at a fellow who loved the book and recommended fans of it also check out the scholarly works of…David Duke. Yep, that’s right: He’s a big booster of our 39th President and a former bigwig in the KKK. (For some reason, that review has been yanked from Amazon’s “website.” It seems someone was protecting Jimmy from guilt by association.)

Now, President Carter isn’t responsible for sordid folks who enjoy his wretched, three-words-per-page tome. But, with the disgusting misnomer “Apartheid” on the cover, is it any wonder that his vapid nonsense appeals to David Duke supporters?

Enraged as we are, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” have started our own book: Jimmy Carter: Shut Up, Don’t Talk. It will outline our plan to add a provision to the Patriot Act ensuring that Jimmy Carter keep his mouth duct taped at all times. And, of course, he won’t be allowed to write anything either.

Sure, that may not be terribly fair. But at least David Duke wouldnÂ’t support it.

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We, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” must sheepishly admit that we seldom read The American Prospect, a dullish left-wing rag. Neither as insightful as The New Republic nor as loony as The Nation, The American Prospect doesn’t really clamor for attention.

Yet a recent gander at its “website” suggests that we should check out this ho-hum publication more often. For, as far as we can intuit, its editorial staff is blessed with a complete lack of concern for intellectual coherence.

Allow us to explain what we mean. Among the articles “posted” on The American Prospect’s “website” a few Thursdays ago are the following:

Cruisin' With Miltie by Eric Alterman
A personal memory of Milton Friedman, whose legacy modern-day "conservatives" have left in tatters.

The Right's Denial by Harold Meyerson
So George Bush isn't a real conservative, and conservatism was vindicated in this election? Right-wingers, get real.

Does anyone else see a problem with consistency here? In the former piece, Eric Alterman, The Nation’s incessantly enraged media critic, argues that the “conservatives” in power are not true conservatives like the late Milton Friedman. In the latter piece, Harold Meyerson claims that today’s conservatives are full of it when they say that the “conservatives” in power are not true conservatives.

Gee: Maybe Messrs. Alterman and Meyerson would care to get their talking points together before the folks at The American Prospect lay it on all of us. ItÂ’s hard to figure out what the party line is.

Now, we suppose itÂ’s possible that the folks at The American Prospect like to offer disparate views in order to make their readers think. You know, like The Spectator includes both pro- and anti-Iraq War voices.

But we think thatÂ’s giving them way too much credit. ItÂ’s more likely that theyÂ’re just throwing as much they can at the proverbial barn, and seeing what sticks. No wonder no one reads this also-ran lefty magazine.

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Well, dear reader, it’s Thanksgiving—the holiday that, according to American high school students, marks the US victory in the Vietnam War. All throughout these here United States of America—even the parts controlled by Mexicans—Americans are gathered with loved ones, enjoying savory victuals and contemplating the memory of Myles Standish. Or, failing that, Miles Davis.

It’s a lovely time, of course, and we here at “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly” pray that you enjoy it to its fullest. Soon the next holiday will be upon us, and we’ll be compelled to endure Paul McCartney’s feculent tune “Simply Having a Wonderful Christmas Time.” If you ask us, that ditty is so horrid that it justifies stripping Sir Paul of his knighthood and handing it to Yoko.

So, whilst we all feast on turkey and stuffing, we should remind you that we’ll be back to our usual “posting” schedule on Monday. And, of course, you can always check out our Sunday essays on the wondrous Wizbang.

Till then, we hope you have a happy holiday. Except for the Canadians, of course. Those royalist stooges.

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Ever once in a while, dear reader, one hears a variation of the following grumble: In this country, 18-year-olds are deemed old enough to die in war but canÂ’t be trusted with a drink. ItÂ’s just not fair. Wah, wah, wah.

To which we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” respond: Yeah, that’s about right. After all, if you possess the requisite courage and magnanimity to defend the United States of America, do you really need a Zima? We collectively think not.

Naturally, most of the youths who complain about the “manifest injustice” of the “draconian” American drinking age haven’t the even the slightest desire to enlist in the armed forces. But heck, they must think, if it gets them closer to a can of Budweiser, it’s officially worth a shot.

To be downright honest, dear reader, we like our nationÂ’s drinking age just fine. Call us a bunch of inveterate teetotalers, but weÂ’re quite happy with Americans getting their first legal taste of firewater in their twenties. Sure, Liza Minelli and Drew Barrymore started in on the booze a bit earlier, and they turned out wonderful. But others, we fear, may not have such an easy go of it.

And, if any argument might sway us in favor of lenience, may we humbly suggest that the old “The French Drink at a Young Age” line ain’t going to cut it? The French do lots of things: Surrender to the Germans after a few hours of fighting; fail to stop Muslim youths from destroying their country; complain; and surrender to the Germans after a few hours of fighting. This doesn’t mean that any of these actions are necessarily peachy keen for Americans, now does it?

In fact, in a spirit of blue-blooded puritanical Americanism, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” believe that the young in this country should be compelled to endure more depredations, not fewer. It’s hunky dory with us that teenagers can’t legally drink, but why should they have so many other rights? We can’t think of a reason either.

We mention this, dear reader, because one of the junior editors here at “The Hatemonger’s Quartelry”—let’s just call him “Chip”—recently endured a scary passing of a busy street that made him think long and hard about another suitable prohibition. A few short days ago, “Chip” attempted to amble his way across a crosswalk whilst he had the right of way. And lo and behold: Two cars came whizzing by at un-Godly speeds.

The drivers in both, need we mention, were youthful fellows. And this forced “Chip” to think: Aren’t a large majority of reckless speedsters young? Aren’t drivers in their teens and twenties liable to make all manner of boneheaded decisions at the wheel?

And so here’s our lovely proposition: American citizens can be drafted at 18, can drink at 21, and can drive at 30. That may hurt Sammy Hagar’s record sales, but if it saves a few lives—and irritates a few youths—it’ll be more than worth it.

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Perhaps you have yet to hear the news, dear reader. Yeah, maybe thatÂ’s your excuse. Well, whatever it is, it ainÂ’t gonnaÂ’ fly any longer.

We speak, of course, about the “2006 Weblog Awards,” nominations for which are still being accepted. As far as we can intuit, dear reader, as of the writing of this humble “post,” you can count all of our nominations on no fingers.

You read that right: Not only have we failed to secure a nomination for, say, “Best Humor Blog,” or, say, “Best Blog That Uses the Word ‘Enema’ with Curious Frequency,” we’ve actually been blanked entirely. You name the category, we haven’t been nominated.

Now, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” can fully understand our readers’ reticence in regard to this year’s “Weblog Awards.” As many may know, last year we were finalists in the “Humor” category, and we lost. In fact, we lost, as Peter Gabriel might say it, big time. Big, big, big, big, big, big, big, big.

In short, we were the Jamaican bobsled team of the bunch. Only not terribly cute, and bereft of charming accents.

Yet maybe, just maybe, this is our year. After all, we’ve jumped up in popularity of late, thanks to some mentions on a few fancy-pants “websites.” Further, we could always do with a nomination for a slightly less weighty category. You know, like “Best of the Top 2501-3500 Blogs.”

Sure, winning that lowly ecosystem category is kind of like beating out Della Reese in a marathon. Even so, a winÂ’s a win.

So, come on, people: DonÂ’t make us beg. Please, please, please, please, please donÂ’t make us beg. We beg of you not to make us beg. &c.

As if it’s not lame enough to pine to compete in the “Best of the Top 2501-3500 Blogs” loser category, it’s even worse to nominate one’s own “weblog” for that pathetic competition. Don’t make us into a bunch of Lee Siegels, for crying out loud.

Man, the “2006 Weblog Awards” have only just begun, and already we’re ashamed of ourselves. We thought that “webloggers” didn’t care about the blandishments with which the mainstream media are obsessed. We thought that the “pajama brigade” was above this kind of narcissistic tomfoolery. But throw a hypothetical award for “Best Hat Design” at us, and we’ll jump all over ourselves to secure a nomination. How pathetic.

Oh, and by the way: DonÂ’t forget to nominate us.

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A good sign of an unhinged left-wing nutter, we think, is his use of the phrase “President Bush and his cronies.” As far as we’re concerned, anyone who describes the Bush administration in this unnecessarily partisan manner is already verging on loopy.

It came as no surprise to us, then, to find that one Jonathan D. Edelfelt, who employs this lame phrase, turns out to be a moron. Mr. Edelfelt penned the following letter to The New York Times, which, for some bizarre reason, saw fit to print it in its November 19 issue:

To the Editor:

Re: “We Won, Now What?,” by Leon E. Panetta (Op-Ed, Nov. 12):

ItÂ’s difficult for Democrats to be magnanimous when for the last six years President Bush and his cronies have squelched all dissent (even to the extent of calling dissenters unpatriotic and treasonous). The clear message from the midterm elections is not an intolerance for gridlock, as Mr. Panetta suggests, but a rejection of the entire Bush agenda, including his ill-advised invasion of Iraq, profligate spending and sullying of AmericaÂ’s reputation by the use of torture, secret prisons and so in an indeterminable war on terror.

Why should Democrats compromise until Mr. BushÂ’s swagger and smirk are replaced with some hint of contrition and humility? Failing to extract at least a pound of flesh would be to squander the victory.

True, Democrats should work to foster trust between themselves and Republicans, but should be wary of being too accommodating. Had the election gone the other way, thereÂ’d be no compromising.

Jonathan D. Edelfelt
El Paso, Nov. 12, 2006

We suppose we first ought to suggest to Mr. Edelfelt that he re-read Shakespeare’s The Merchant of Venice. We think he’ll find that demanding “at least a pound of flesh” isn’t that pleasant an expression.

But that is neither here nor there. Rather, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” found Mr. Edelfelt’s missive interesting because it is another example of a strange left-wing phenomenon: The dubious argument claiming that America under the Bush administration—or, we suppose, “Bush and his cronies”—is tantamount to a police state.

Read this bit of the epistle again: “It’s difficult for Democrats to be magnanimous when for the last six years President Bush and his cronies have squelched all dissent (even to the extent of calling dissenters unpatriotic and treasonous).” Wow, Bush and his horrible minions sure are nasty.

But this made us think: If the current President of the United States has worked so tirelessly to “squelch all dissent,” how in the good Lord’s name did Jonathan D. Edelfelt manage to have his criticisms of Bush published? We mean, come on: Isn’t this one example of “dissent” that hasn’t been “squelched”? Maybe, just maybe, Mr. Edelfelt could find a few other examples of such daring criticism of our Totalitarian-Fascist-Leader-in-Chief?

For starters, perhaps Mr. Edelfelt would like to check out the following underground, samizdat, or otherwise banned American publications: The New York Times; The Boston Globe; The New York Review of Books; The Nation; The Progressive; The Utne Reader; The Washington Post; The Los Angeles Times; The New Republic; The New Yorker; The New York Observer; Z; Dissent; The San Francisco Chronicle; The American Prospect; The Boston Review; &c.

Boy, the Bush junta’s crusade to “squelch all dissent” sure is going well, isn’t it? We applaud the courage of Jonathan Edelfelt to be the lone voice of criticism against the evil Bush minions.

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It never ceases to amaze us how stupid some people are. As much as weÂ’d like to think man is the most intelligent being on planet earth, specific examples of homo sapiens often do such pinheaded things that we wind up thinking platypuses are far wiser. And donÂ’t even get us started on Tony Danza.

One can easily find instances of human imbecility. Take, for example, the “website” of a California organization called the Peace and Justice Center of Sonoma County. Thanks to James Taranto’s mention on “The Best of the Web,” we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” decided to find out more about this outfit.

And—lo and behold!—it’s a group made up of complete ninnies. We’re talking Grade-A chumps here. People whose intellect can’t match Jessica Simpson’s.

As a perusal of their low-budget digs demonstrates, the nitwits at the Peace and Justice Center of Sonoma County have taken it upon themselves to urge all American soldiers to leave the military. You read that right: All American soldiers to defect, go AWOL, or otherwise resign from the US military.

This, think the folks at the Peace and Justice Center of Sonoma County, will bring us closer to world peace. Not the dismantlement of al Qaeda, but the end of AmericaÂ’s self-defense. Now, if you ask us, this stance positively begs this little multiple-choice question:

If the United States had no military at all, the following would be more likely to occur:

(A) Peace on earth for every man, woman, and child.

(B) A hellish nightmare in which brutal dictators scheme to destroy the prosperous West and steal its riches unimpeded, bringing untold misery to billions of people.

Now, that should be a simple question to answer, we think. And, if you answered (A), congratulations: YouÂ’re officially a complete imbecile. YouÂ’re so dumb you ought to ride the short bus to school and never take off your helmet, even though youÂ’re not on the team.

If you ask us, then, anyone signed up with the Peace and Justice Center of Sonoma Country—whether a permanent resident of Sonoma County or not—is a complete nincompoop. We’re talking Paris Hilton dumb.

But it gets even better. Right above their “website’s” clarion call for US soldiers to get out of the military, the Peace and Justice “website” offers the following message: “Act to stop the Genocide in Darfur.”

Uh, wouldn’t we need a military to do that? A couple of troops might come in handy. After all, we have a hard time believing the Sudanese government will cave in to the demands of a hippie enclave with a low-fi “website.”

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Like all honest, God-fearing people, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” detest Arianna Huffington. Ms. Huffington, the ostentatious, smarmy, loud-mouthed Greek pseudo-pundit who apparently believes that marrying money entitles you to share your opinions with all and sundry, is the proprietor of the reflexively left-wing Huffington Post.

Now, dear reader, let us inform you that we despised Arianna Huffington just as much when she was an obnoxious right-winger. In fact, we firmly believe that Arianna Huffington should be the one subject about which everyone agrees: We all—black, white, red, women, midgets, hobby horses—should hate her.

We had reason to reflect on our scorn for Ms. Huffington anew upon checking out the new “Fearless Voices” section of The Huffington Post. This sappy exercise in feminist bromides advertises itself as a necessity for today’s self-assured woman. To this end, Ms. Huffington has given column space to an assortment of women with pseudo-empowering tales to tell.

Unsurprisingly, the reality is quite different. Actually, we think Ms. Huffington ought to call this section of her “weblog” “Shameless Self-Promotion,” since the whole kit and caboodle ties into her hyping of her latest book On Becoming Fearless..in Love, Work, and Life. Thus, whilst she pretends to request guest submissions to “Fearless Voices” out of concern for the common woman, in reality Ms. Huffington is merely attempting to drum up a few more sales of her latest insta-book.

(Incidentally, we must say that we havenÂ’t taken a gander at Ms. HuffingtonÂ’s latest magnum opus. Even so, for some reason we feel content to suggest that itÂ’s a steaming pile of horse manure. WeÂ’d even bet you a sawbuck on it.)

Ms. HuffingtonÂ’s self-promoting antics, then, have enraged us. In fact, they have sufficiently enraged us to publish our own book in response: On Becoming Fearful...in Hate, Leisure, and Death. Our tome will focus on the fears one experiences upon taking in the anti-intellectual garbage spewing from the mouth of an obnoxious Greek lady without a rudimentary understanding of politics.

In order to promote our book further, we’ve decided to invite you, dear reader, to contribute to our new “Fearful Voices” section of our “weblog.” We’ll pick a few essays from readers whose unparalleled fright knows no bounds and serves as an inspiration for us all.

So, if you’re scared by Arianna Huffington—and who isn’t?—send us a short essay describing your terror by clicking the “Contact Us” “link” at the top right-hand corner of your computer screen. If you’re lucky enough to be have your essay chosen for publication, you won’t receive a copy of Ms. Huffington’s new book.

Now thereÂ’s a prize for you.

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In the October 1 number of The New York Times Book Review, Paul Berman, the center-Left author, caused something of a stir by taking aim at two new tomes pertaining to the late I.F. Stone. Mr. Stone, for those of you unaware of him, was a popular “progressive” journalist who penned, among other works, perhaps the worst book on Socrates ever written. Nay, ever contemplated.

Mr. Berman’s review caused a minor brouhaha because it dared to offer a nuanced portrait of I.F. Stone. And nuance, it seems, is not taken too kindly in “progressive” circles, where Mr. Stone is revered as the veritable second coming of Marx.

We, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” were reminded of this recent flap when turning to “Romancing I.F. Stone,” a brilliant little article by Ronald Radosh in the latest issue of the beloved New Criterion. In this piece, Mr. Radosh deliciously dissects the often-sordid career of I.F. Stone, demonstrating the foolishness of those who consider him an unblemished saint.

After all, as Messrs. Berman and Radosh pointed out, I.F. Stone—for all his insightful criticism of the United States—spent many of his days as an apologist for Stalin. Unlike his more thoughtful colleagues on the Left, Stone remained a hagiographer of the Soviet Union well past the Show Trials and even the Nazi-Soviet Pact. In fact, he did not turn on the USSR until 1956.

Further, in his antipathy for the Vietnam War, he even had kind words to say about Ho Chi Minh: Radosh quotes him as calling this Stalinoid nightmare “a very human man” hoping to build a “democratic state” in Vietnam. All in all, as even a reviewer for The Nation concluded, I.F. Stone’s “tiger eyes that could spot the threat to liberty in the footnotes of a Congressional report couldn’t see the meaning of show trials, slave labor, and class-based mass murder.”

Not, we should think, a model for journalists today. Ah, but of course he is: Our “progressive” pals, ever content to forget their comrades’ dubious pasts, love to pretend that as erratic a figure as I.F. Stone is an unproblematic voice of reason.

Or so we find out from a blurb on the back of All Governments Life, a new biography of Stone by Myra MacPherson. ItÂ’s a breathtaking quote, coming as it does from Helen Thomas, the left-wing doyenne of the White House press corps, who constantly badgers the Bush administration with insipid queries:

Would that he [I.F. Stone] were alive today to lead our country to its greatest ideals again.

We know what youÂ’re thinking, dear reader: Huh? Would that I.F. Stone were alive today, to lead our country to an orgy of Stalin-loving, Ho Chi Minh-worshiping Communist apologetics? Sorry, Helen, but the US needs I.F. Stone about as much as it needs Helen Thomas.

Which is to say, of course, not at all.

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As even the casual reader of this humble “weblog” may be aware, fans of our glorious animadversions are free to send us e-mail by clicking the “Contact Us” “link” at the top right-hand corner of their computer screens. Though we greatly enjoy keeping in touch with our numerous correspondents, we would be remiss if we did not mention that every once in a while we positively rue the day we installed our own e-mail “link.”

This is because, dear reader, occasionally we receive a slightly less pleasant missive. And, though we enjoy criticism as much as the next enraged Muslim, we must say that such e-letters tend to ruffle our feathers.

Why, just the other day, in fact, we were on the receiving end of a curt note from one Bob Schneider. Through the magic of “cut and paste,” we present the entire contents of his missive below:

Subject: Things I don't like...

Date: Sun, 12 Nov 2006 15:40:37 -0800

..about your weblog:

(1) The title. Sometimes embrace-the-slur works, but certainly not in this case.

(2) What's with the "whilst's" and "dear reader's"? They're obnoxious.

(3) Everyone likes Britt Hume. He's not a blow-dried idiot.

Well, gee: ThatÂ’s a pleasant item to stare at on an early Monday morning. Really brightens up the week, eh?

Naturally, we needed to send Mr. Schneider a considered response. And here it is:

Subject: Things We Don't Like...

To: "Bob Schneider"

...about your e-mail:

(1) The lack of a salutation. Why not show some manners and write "Dear Crack Young Staff," or words to that effect? Not very classy, we'd say.

(2) A mean-spirited lack of constructive criticism. Surely we'd be more likely to take your comments to heart if they were addressed in a spirit of kindness?

(3) Obtuse criticisms. If your points were sensible, we'd be more impressed. But this is assuredly not the case. The notion that "Everyone likes Britt Hume," for instance, is absurd—even though we quite fancy him. It casts doubts on your other dubious—if not tin-eared—stylistic points.

Cordially,
The Crack Young Staff of THMQ

We figured that he required a little taste of his own medicine. That twit.

Which reminds us of our point: Why would you waste your time composing a nasty note to the staff of a “weblog” you hate? Perhaps if you had something substantive to say, or could point out a glaring error, it would be politic to send a letter.

But why the heck would you write in to quibble about our use of the word “whilst”? Man, Bob Schneider must have time on his hands the likes of which we’ve never even contemplated.

If he asked us, dear reader, weÂ’d tell him to quit whilst heÂ’s behind. That ass.

***

Speaking of asses, by way of a postscript we must say that weÂ’ve been a bit of a donkey of late ourselves. One of our most cherished readers plays a role in a worthy cause: Operation Gratitude, which is gathering money to help disabled troops in a special way.

We officially exhort all three of our readers to check out the “website” of Operation Gratitude and donate some cash. It’ll make you feel good. And perhaps Operation Gratitude will chip in a little bit for a mallet for us, so that we can give Mr. Schneider a well-deserved bop on the cranium. That boob.

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Like everyone else in the civilized world, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” took in the recent news that Britney Spears will divorce Kevin Federline, her currently estranged husband. Thus, after two years of marital non-bliss, did Ms. Spears finally catch up with the rest of the world’s longtime understanding: K-Fed (soon to be Fed-Ex) is not marriage material.

Now, as the scrupulous (and even unscrupulous) reader of this humble “weblog” can well attest, we seldom concern ourselves with celebrity gossip. After all, the ingenious Sadie and her minions already do a wonderful job commenting on such popular detritus, and, furthermore, we must admit that we’re a little bit out of the contemporary celebrity loop. (Since when was Tim Conway not great material for the gossip-mongers?)

Still, we felt the need to mention Ms. SpearsÂ’ recent realization of Mr. FederlineÂ’s rather obvious matrimonial shortcomings because we think it sheds light on an important topic: WomenÂ’s choices. We have a hunch that Ms. SpearsÂ’ disastrous pick of her mate may speak to broader female difficulties making adequate choices that pertain to their personal lives.

First off, we suppose we ought to mention that we’re not composing this “post” as a means to score points against legal abortion in America. In this regard, we must say that we’re solidly “pro-choice.” If we weren’t, we have a hunch that our mothers might kill us.

Even so, dear reader, we believe that as much fun is made of Ms. Spears’ white-trash choice of mate, her oddball decisions are fairly typical of the weaker sex as a whole. We mean, come on: How many chicks did you know in college who blindly doted on some Neanderthalic fraternity member who liked his women like his beer—six at a time?

If you ask us, darn near every woman has fallen head-over-heels for a guy only slightly more morally upstanding than the guys in al-Qaeda. The more a guy positively screams “Acquaintance Rapist,” the more the ladies fawn all over him. It’s sad but it’s true.

ItÂ’s not the looks; itÂ’s not the money. ItÂ’s the raw expression of power and cockiness that makes these girls get weak in the knees. Naturally, it will lead to disaster, but these future man-haters will have to discover this for themselves.

So, ladies, before you ridicule Ms. Spears for marrying that gangly, ill-bred oaf, you may just want to take a look in the mirror.

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As longtime contributors to Al Gore’s World-Wide Web, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” often ask ourselves a variation on the following query: How will we know when we have made the “weblogging” big time?

Will it be when Glenn Reynolds, the Internet’s famed Instapundit, is strong-armed into “linking” to you? Will it be when John Podhoretz, scion of neoconservative royalty and a brilliant political critic, speaks well of your “weblog”? Or, alternatively, will it be when you get thousands upon thousands of "hits" each day?

Well, dear reader, we’ve mastered the first two feats we mentioned. But, in regard to the third, we must say that—so far—we’ve come up a bit short. And this is the case even though the dutiful parents of the crack young staff—who number, of course, in the low thousands—inform us that they read our humble musings with regularity.

Frankly, however, a few recent conversations with confidantes of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly” has led us to believe that our thus-far illusory hunt for manifold readers won’t actually lead us to the promise land of “webloggery.” In fact, we have a hunch that we’re going about our mad dash for e-fame all wrong.

We say this, dear reader, because an alternative approach to “making it big” was floated in our humble direction, and we must say that it makes a heck of a lot of sense. Further, it hasn’t got anything to do with “hits,” “links,” or—better still—Arianna Huffington.

Rather, the sure sign of having made it is this: Possessing your own private bathroom at work. Yeah, you read that right—having your own bathroom. Laugh all you want, dear reader, but we sincerely believe that this is the true test of a human being’s worth. And, of course, the only reason you’re guffawing at us is because you ain’t got your own private bathroom at the office. So there—loser.

Now, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” feel your pain, cramped as we are in lifeless cubicles. Sure, we can doll up our workspaces with fun little pictures of cats playing with yarn. But this doesn’t remedy the problem: We still inhabit a work environment that would make a monkey hurl feces.

Man, we would kill for a private bathroom at the office. In fact, we would gladly trade a private office for a private bathroom. WeÂ’d just work away on the computer whilst sitting on the john all day, happily typing in our very own water closet. No weird fellow employees who donÂ’t flush. No strange guys checking themselves out in the mirror for hours on end. No, just us in our own lou.

Ah: Happiness is a private bathroom. Finally we have a goal in life.

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