As any thinking person recognizes, The New York Times is a thoroughly irritating newspaper. Regardless of your political persuasion, nary an issue of the Gray Lady should fail to get your dander up.

Unsurprisingly, then, an examination of this past Sunday’s New York Times Book Review nearly caused paroxysms of rage for us crack young staffers. A particular piece made us want to hurl the Review as violently as possible—preferably at its editorial staff.

The review in question was penned by one Michael Wolff, a columnist for that most pathetic of mainstream rags, Vanity Fair. Mr. Wolff was given the task of commenting on Daniel Golden’s new tome The Price of Admission: How America’s Ruling Class Buys Its Way Into Elite Colleges—and Who Gets Left Outside the Gates. For its sheer myopia and ability to mislead, Mr. Wolff’s review is a locus classicus of dimwitted left-wing hackery.

You see, dear reader, Mr. WolffÂ’s review offers the distinct impression that the majority of students at Harvard owe their acceptance to their parentsÂ’ multi-million dollar gifts to the university. ThatÂ’s right, the majority. After ridiculing Bill FristÂ’s extraordinary donation to Princeton in order to ensure his sonÂ’s admittance, Mr. Wolff makes it seem as if this is typical of Princeton attendees.

To this end, Mr. Wolff writes:

Harvard may say it accepts 1 in 10 applicants, but, Golden writes, as many as 60 percent of the places in a top school are already spoken for by higher bidders, hence reducing, in parlance, the “unhooked” applicant’s chances to…well, you do the math.

Uh, 60 percent of Harvard students have parents who fork over millions of dollars to get their kids into school? Does anyone else find this a rather unlikely figure? Alas—but unsurprisingly—Mr. Wolff does not discuss exactly how this number was determined.

And the reader of Mr. WolffÂ’s review has a good reason to be skeptical of any of its claims. Just take a look at this willfully myopic passage:

Golden tells us that the admissions process, at least at the 100 top colleges and universities, is not a meritocracy—and exactly who thought it was?—but a marketplace. Every spot is up for bid. Some people bid with intelligence, which has obvious worth to the institution; some with cold cash, with its certain value; and others with the currency of connections and influence and relationships that serve the institution’s interests.

Gee, what’s missing from this description of college admissions? Could it be that charming misnomer referred to as Affirmative Action? Don’t lots of students—many more than the scions of multi-million dollar donors—owe their admittance to a malign form of social gerrymandering?

Obviously, yes, but for some reason Mr. Wolff leaves this out of his misleading polemic. HeÂ’ll excoriate anything else pertaining to college admissions, but institutionalized discrimination is, oddly, off his radar screen.

To this end, Mr. Wolff even ridicules students who got into the Ivy League due to their hard work and smarts: He labels such a pupil “an adolescent who accepts authority, willingly does absurd amounts of homework, is respectful of his or her college guidance counselor, listens to his or her parents and is a dedicated standardized-test taker to boot,” as if this is somehow deviously sordid. Exactly how much homework, Mr. Wolff, do you think is un-absurd?

All in all, Mr. Wolff’s review is a perfect demonstration of bad faith. It beggars belief that a fellow so enraged by college admissions chicanery cannot even bring himself to discuss Affirmative Action. And it demonstrates the degree to which social gerrymandering’s most fervent admirers recognize its deep unpopularity. Even in this sort of exposé, one dare not mention its name.

Better to blame Bill Frist.

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Every once in a while, dear reader, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” get sick and tired of our incessant partisan yapping. Yes, yes: We tend to favor the political Right—we get it. Although, as you might imagine, we usually bask in the glow that is our luminous pontificating, on occasion we enjoy taking on the role of Devil’s Advocate. Or, failing that, at least demonstrating that matters are not as simple as we portray them.

You know, shake things up a bit. And today, dear reader, is the day for some heterodoxy from the crack young staff. Unlike most “posts,” in which we excoriate some predictable lefty target, on this day we take aim at some things you might have thought we liked. Enough with the conservative blather; bring on the liberal blather!

Okay, so here goes—our Official “Hatemonger’s Quarterly” Against the Grain Day.

Item the First: Right-wingers hate to admit it, but itÂ’s true: Ariana Huffington was as much of a know-nothing, obnoxious twit when she was a Republican as she is as a Democrat. Though her politics have changed, her cacophonous, self-promoting nonsense has not.

Item the Second: Ann Coulter is a joke. But sheÂ’s not the only joke among conservative talking heads. Many right-wing talk show hosts are absurd, Michael Savage being only the most obvious example. As pathetic as Michael Moore may be, heÂ’s easily equaled in idiocy by the likes of Mr. Savage. That guy is a knuckle-dragging doofus.

Item the Third: We like Tipper Gore. Sure, it was easy to paint this woman as a prig, given her clumsy attempts to censor popular music. But, hey: What’s so bad about that? We don’t want our four-year-olds listening to foul-mouthed “rappers” whom other liberals champion as street-corner prophets. Right on, Tipper!

Item the Fourth: Many deeply conservative people are really creepy. You know: Home schooling, incessant prattling on about the evils of the liberal mainstream. ItÂ’s insufferable, and we can certainly understand why others are taken aback by it. Basically, political true believers of all stripes are a tad frightening. No political movement has a complete monopoly on the truth.

Item the Fifth: The conservative attack on academia is often overwrought and occasionally reeks of Know-Nothingism. To be sure, there are many systemic problems with bias in higher education, and those running universities will never self-reform. But, come on: Not all professors are Ward Churchill. Unfair polemics only sully more earnest attempts at much-needed change.

Item the Sixth: Tom Delay was a crook.

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As you might well imagine, dear reader, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” are a busy bunch. Whether it’s attending various important meetings or taking in a Hall & Oats concert at the local mall, we basically haven’t a jot of free time.

Which is why, dear reader, we’re deeply upset about the pathetic ways in which we use the few hours a week allotted to us for leisure. To the German philosopher Josef Pieper, leisure is “the basis of culture.” Well, if Herr Pieper took a look at the way we fritter away our time, he’d surely say that culture was in for some very dark days.

Now, in our postmodern world, lots of odd things can turn out to be inveterate time wasters. Like, say, video games. Or cellular telephones. Or Michael Moore.

But certainly one of the most vexing of all leisure black holes is to be found on ESPN. No, we’re not talking about Stewart Scott: A little more of his “I’m so darn hip” routine, and we’ll come close to throwing our set out the window. That ostentatious moron.

Rather, we refer to something called “The World Series of Poker.” It’s sad to admit it, but, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterely,” are addicted to the stuff.

Let us clue you in to how spine-tinglingly pathetic this is. For crying out loud, we donÂ’t even know how to play poker. We mean, we understand the general principles, but weÂ’d have to write out a handy list of what-beats-what in order to play a hand ourselves. Even so, our complete ignorance of poker somehow doesnÂ’t stop us from watching hours and hours of this crap.

Further, we fully recognize that the whole poker craze is a fad. ItÂ’s the frickinÂ’ cigar fad for the Noughties. In a few years, people will be mystified as to why anyone wasted their time watching a bunch of hormonal goons play a card game. And yet we still keep our stupid eyes glued to the set.

It’s beyond wretched. Numerous members of the crack young staff have taken to arguing about Mike “The Mouth” Matusow, Freddie Deeb, et al. Can you even believe we know who these sleazy people are?

What’s worse, glorifying professional poker players is pernicious. These television shows fail to show us the great dangers of high-stakes card games—those who lose thousands, those who become hopelessly addicted, Bill Bennett.

As if that weren’t bad enough, many players at “The World Series” drop out of college to pursue lives of Texas Hold ‘Em. It’s a fine career if you can make it; if not, that little degree might come in handy.

If we keep watching this deleterious garbage, weÂ’re going to have to take away our own TV privileges. That may mean an end to our enjoyment of tasteful teenage lesbian dating shows on MTV, but, if it stops us from obsessing over Phil Helmuth, itÂ’ll be worth it.

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In the September 12 number of The New York Times, a staff op-ed offered a reaction to President BushÂ’s recent address to the nation. Surprise, surprise: The folks at the Gray Lady werenÂ’t that impressed. Who would have seen that coming?

Entitled “President Bush’s Reality,” the piece had one particularly glaring line toward its start:

When Mr. Bush warns that Al Qaeda means what is says, that there are Islamist fanatics around the world who wish us harm and that the next assault could be even worse than the last, he does not need to press the argument.

In other words: Spare us the platitudes, President Bush.

Ah, but in offering this assessment, the folks at the Times get things exactly wrong. When discussing these obvious aspects of the War on Terrorism, the President most assuredly needs to press the argument. And the argument requires pressing for the simple reason that the Gray LadyÂ’s staffers donÂ’t get it yet.

After all, it was the Paper of Record that has offered full-frontal assaults on the President’s legal attempts to catch terrorists. Further, it was the Paper of Record that gave column space to a former Gitmo prisoner with oodles of ties to terrorism and who dubiously claimed that he went to Afghanistan for a “dream vacation.” It was an outrageous lie, of course, but, hey, as long as it helps terrorists and hurts the President, it’s worth it to the folks at the Times.

Moreover, it was the Paper of Record that offered its editorial page to the ostentatious blowhard Joe Wilson, whose own column presented an untruthful account of his personal report on Saddam HusseinÂ’s attempt to procure uranium in Niger. And it was the Paper of Record that routinely trumpets bad news regarding the War on Terrorism and hides or dismisses the good news.

In short, President Bush must discuss the most mindlessly clear aspects of our War on Terror because the staff of the Gray Lady is still hazy about it.

As we’ve said before, we don’t think that “Pinch” Sulzberger and Co. actually pine for America’s enemies to defeat us. Still, they perceive that the Bush administration is a greater threat to the world than is Osama bin Laden and his minions.

Until the fools at The New York Times understand why this is a ridiculous opinion, we urge the President to press on with his platitudes.

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On Sunday, September 10, The New York Times editorial page offered a special section: “10 Ways to Avoid the Next 9/11.” Its point, as the Gray Lady tells us, was the following:

The Op-Ed page asked 10 people with experience in security and counterterrorism to answer the following question: What is one major reason the United States has not suffered a major attack since 2001, and what is the one thing you would recommend the nation do in order to avoid attacks in the future?

Of course, this two-pronged question offered numerous experts the opportunity to engage in a little Bush-bashing. But we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” were particularly intrigued by the answer offered by one Jessica Stern, a lecturer at Harvard and the author of a tome called Terror in the Name of God.

A few of us here at “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly” had read this book some time ago and found it interesting yet mildly dissatisfying. In it Stern offered a journalistic tour through the worlds of many religious terrorists: Islamist extremists; anti-abortion murderers; &c. By virtue of this approach, Stern seemed to stress the commonalities among these fanatics.

Which is why, dear reader, we found her short op-ed in the Paper of Record so curious. Its title says it all: “Keep American Muslims on Our Side.” In essence, Stern argues that America must hue to a foreign policy that won’t disturb this country’s Muslims; if it does not, we should expect more terrorism. With an obvious allusion to Iraq, she explains:

Every foreign-policy decision entails tradeoffs in regard to terrorism, especially with respect to the spread of the jihadist idea. Attacking the wrong people at the wrong time can backfire, just as Al QaedaÂ’s strategists say. LetÂ’s not make that mistake again.

Thus does counter-terrorism expert Jessica Stern forfeit AmericaÂ’s foreign policy to potentially disgruntled Muslims.

And hereÂ’s our point: Since Stern appeared to be intrigued by the commonalities between religious terrorists, why do we have the sneaking suspicion that sheÂ’s willing to treat Muslim terrorists much differently from others? Do you suppose, for instance, that Ms. Stern would suggest that America outlaw abortion in order to stop pro-life maniacs from murdering abortion doctors and bombing health clinics?

Of course not! After all, why should America change its domestic policies to appease a bunch of violent lunatics? This would be capitulation of the most sordid variety. Then why does Ms. Stern tell us to tout appeasement as a foreign policy?

We can suggest a potential reason. WeÂ’re pretty sure that Ms. Stern doesnÂ’t support the liberation of Iraq. Thus what sheÂ’s asking of the country in this case conforms perfectly to her own foreign policy views. And, weÂ’d imagine, sheÂ’s not pro-life, and thus she doesnÂ’t want to capitulate to anti-abortion fanatics.

ItÂ’s all a bit depressing. And, quite frankly, at least mildly paternalistic: SternÂ’s view appears to boil down to the idea that sundry Muslims simply canÂ’t help themselves; when provoked, they donÂ’t think, but react with violence. Why is this supposed to be a more progressive approach to Islamic fascism than the hope to bring democracy to the Middle East?

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Normally, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” spend our weekdays penning hilarious “posts” chock-a-block with knee-slapping delights. But, dear reader, not today.

For today, as you surely know, is the fifth anniversary of 9/11, certainly one of the most horrific days in American history. As such, weÂ’ve taken a break from our usual routine, in order to pay homage to the victims of this atrocity.

How easy it is, dear reader, to forget about the despicable attack on the USA during the course of five short years! Yes, no one actually forgets that 9/11 happened, but many can’t recall the visceral emotions that the attack dredged up. Instead, lots of folks are content to label the whole thing a “tragedy,” as if 9/11 were a lamentable—though essentially blameless—phenomenon.

But 9/11 wasnÂ’t like the tsunami: Particular people were (and are) to blame. (And, no, conspiracy theorists, George Bush isnÂ’t the prime culprit for both.) Regardless of oneÂ’s take on American foreign policy since 9/11, everyone ought to think hard about the ways in which we can both avenge this assault and rid the world of Islamist extremism. If it isnÂ’t through spreading democracy, how shall we accomplish our goals? Capitulation?

Further, we think that an evil event like 9/11 makes clear who are AmericaÂ’s friends and enemies. As much as Yassir Arafat worked to hide it, the Palestinians reveled en masse over the carnage. We wept; they cheered in the streets like barbarians. Whilst we reflect on the situation in Israel, we ought never forget that, deep down, the Palestinians never have our interests at heart. They are our enemies.

But enough of this partisan soap-boxing. Thousands lost their lives on 9/11, and we ought to do them the simple courtesy of praying for them. In addition, we should give thanks to those armed men and women who defend our nation. They are that most rare of things in postmodern life—heroes.

God bless America. May those who lost their lives on that horrible day rest in peace.

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The other day, dear reader, one of the senior editors here at “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly”—let’s just call him “Chip”—found himself lying on his couch, taking in the feculent film 10 Things I Hate About You. Wretched, isn’t it? Indeed, when “Chip” realized that he’d just suffered through around 15 minutes of the picture in addition to 47 minutes of accompanying commercials without so much as a yearning to shut off the television, he realized that, in typical Alcoholics Anonymous parlance, he had a problem.

We mean, come on: It was a gorgeous weekend day, the sort that simply begs for a walk in the park, or at least around the block. The sun was shining, there was a delightful breeze, and the local ne’er-do-wells were nowhere to be found. What the heck was “Chip” doing watching a wretched teen pseudo-comedy starring the preternaturally talentless Julia Styles? Talk about the antithesis of carpe diem, eh?

It is a bit upsetting, is it not? But wait: It gets worse. For “Chip” had already seen 10 Things I Hate About You before—in fact, he’d probably seen bits of it dozens of times. All on bright sunny days, he’d wager.

What in the good Lord’s name, he wondered, compelled him to gander at this horrid spectacle? Odysseus had the Sirens: “Chip” has 10 Things I Hate About You. At least the Sirens could carry a tune.

Sickening—that’s the only word for it. Well, one other comes to mind: Lazy. And, quite frankly, this description fit “Chip” more than he would care to admit.

It’s sad but true: Like many members of the crack young staff, “Chip” fashions himself as something of an intellectual. Yet how can he call himself by such a title when he spends far more time with Heath Ledger than Marcel Proust? “Chip” has yet to finish A Remembrance of Things Past, but he’s kept up with nearly all the lame teeny-bopper flicks Comedy Central can re-run. Priorities, priorities.

But surely “Chip” isn’t alone. The Third World may have its own hurdles—AIDS, an outrageously high infant mortality rate, starvation—but we in the First World must have a lock on laziness. After all, say all the bad things you want about Zimbabwe, but its residents aren’t vexed by John Hughes films. They’ve got Robert Mugabe; we’ve got Mary Stuart Masterson.

Pick your poison.

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As we informed you in an earlier “post,” we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” are delighted that the new school year is at last upon us. For, as parents of the college-aged certainly recognize, this means that countless bright-eyed and bushy-tailed undergraduates will soon return to making their livers into brown bananas.

Ah, the ivory tower—there’s nothing quite like it (though, admittedly, Cuba comes close). Marxoid weirdoes babbling about Foucault; privileged white girls bemoaning the evils of male privilege; unchecked dipsomania—is there anything better than this? Night Court, perhaps?

Still, dear reader, we must admit that weÂ’ve always found the average college professor a bit irksome. Well, that isnÂ’t exactly true: If the PhD in question studies, say, chicken behavior, then itÂ’s not very likely that heÂ’d trouble us. Rather, it is the humanities and social science prof who really rankles. Not all of them, mind you, but more than weÂ’d like to count.

(Further, we donÂ’t just mean economists. Everyone hates economists. Everyone.)

And why, you may ask, do such academicians so irritate? Now we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” are hardly your typical anti-intellectual buffoons (after all, we’re not that typical). Heck no: Give us a copy of a chi-chi journal of academic literary criticism and we’re practically in heaven. No cavalier Know-Nothings, us.

Well, dear reader, our irritation with many of our beloved academics has little to do with their courses of study. Nor with their life decisions: We’ve always felt that the life of the mind is a worthy life—unless you’re Jessica Simpson, of course.

No, we canÂ’t point to any of that as our rationale. Rather, it must be the behavior of sundry academic types that so infuriates. In their own way, many professors are just as priggish and self-satisfied as the most ostentatious religious fundamentalist. Naturally, this sentiment would enrage our militantly secular professorate, but itÂ’s true all the same.

Ever have a conversation with a self-important prof? He’ll triumphantly inform you that he’s not like the “typical American”—which, we take it, is a very good thing in his book. Of course, he’ll sniff, I don’t watch any television, I don’t like the orgy of consumerism that is American culture, and I abhor so-called fast food.

Well, well, well, Mr. High-and-Mighty. (Or is that Dr. High-and-Mighty? You didn’t spend 8 years getting an advanced degree in smugness for “typical Americans” to address you as “mister.”) Awfully proud of yourself, aren’t you?

We mean, come on: We don’t care what you do with your free time—reading back issues of The Nation; devouring turnips; selling crack cocaine. Just don’t be so darn smug about it: You sound sickeningly like a fundamentalist browbeating non-fundamentalists for their failure to lead their lives according to the “true way.” In short, you sound like an ass.

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It was a disgusting display. What else can be said about it?

A few days ago, one of the senior editors at “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly”—let’s just call him “Chip”—went for coffee with a few friends and new acquaintances. Unfortunately, after a few minutes, the topic of politics came up.

Now, it just so happens that “Chip” knows a fair number of self-proclaimed members of the artistic avant-garde. In practice, this means that some of his pals champion a brand of aesthetics previously favored by Dada artists. That is to say, they consider themselves ahead of their time by favoring an outlook popular in painting circles in 1911.

Oh, stop being so darned radical! ItÂ’s hard to keep up!

Now, almost invariably a particularly malignant and un-thinking politics comes along with this pseudo-avant sensibility. Not always, but often enough.

Accordingly, many of “Chip’s” buddies are essentially Green Party fellow travelers, and they offer lock-step support for a variety of self-proclaimed “progressive causes.”

You know, progressive causes: Like hoping for the victory of militantly intolerant Islamic fascists against the forces of civilization. Oh, and promoting gay marriage.

Thankfully, after a few minutes the talk turned to another subject. “Chip” was forced to endure only a bit of praise for Hezbollah and condemnation of the nefarious “Israel Lobby.”

Talk turned to the topic of victuals. One of the interlocutors mentioned that he had recently enjoyed the food at a new Israeli restaurant in town. Upon the mention of this, one of “Chip’s” acquaintances, a young Mexican guy, groaned.

“Uggh,” he exclaimed. “How can you eat that stuff? Israel makes me sick.”

To which the first interlocutor responded: “Come on, Juan. You have to be able to separate the people from their governments. Just because you don’t like what Israel’s government does, you shouldn’t blame that on all Israelis.”

Without a moment of pause, the table was off to another conversation. Although disgusted, “Chip” offered nary a peep, and let the subject pass.

We know what you’re thinking: This is the kind of exchange one can hear from the mouths of left-wing radicals—the kinds of folk who are always bleating about their preternatural tolerance and anti-racism? This is pathetic!

We mean, come on: Just imagine if someone, upon hearing that a friend visited a fine Mexican restaurant, groaned and bellowed: “How can you eat that stuff? Mexico makes me sick.” Exactly how ultra-racist would that person sound?

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Regular readers of this humble “weblog” know that we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” spent a recent “post” taking aim at the disastrous city of Buffalo, NY. In short, we concluded that this horrendous upstate New York hellhole, as they might say in Texas parlance, needed killin’.

To see what kind of response this vitriolic entry might receive from the few unfortunate wretches who still inhabit Buffalo, we humbly sent our humble “post” to a “website” named BuffaloPundit. As far as we could intuit, this “weblog” attempts to cheer up the benighted souls who live in a city only slightly nicer than Utica.

The fellow in charge of BuffaloPundit kindly offered a “link” to our work. In essence, he said nothing of substance about our “post,” save for the fact that our reference to Timothy McVeigh was “flat,” because he hailed from an area close to Buffalo, rather than Buffalo proper.

Well, whatever. To us, thatÂ’s much like folks from Waco urgently insisting that the Branch Davidian compound was technically on the outskirts of their city, not in the city itself. To which the proper response is: Who gives a ratÂ’s behind? We didnÂ’t realize that critics had an obligation to keep their attacks limited to a cityÂ’s pomerium. God forbid anyone catches a bus and realizes that the suburbs of an s-hole are actually as awful as the s-hole itself.

Anyway, to our surprise, some of those leaving comments at BuffaloPundit were genuinely enraged by our “post.” Why, that’s yellow journalism, claimed one wounded reader, seemingly oblivious to the fact that we aren’t exactly The Wall Street Journal. Clearly, the residents of Buffalo have very thin skin. Which is unfortunate, given the weather.

But nothing shocked us as much as a semi-literate response to our humble animadversions penned by one Kelly Sedinger, the proprietor of the Thomas-Kinkade-esque Byzantium Shores “weblog.” It seems as if our musings deeply upset this fellow, who took time away from his hectic eating schedule to write his attack.

Now, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” could have a field day with this nerdy chap. We could mention that he looks like a corpulent über-dork—the kind of fellow constantly prattling on about the fact that his flail does three-to-six points of damage. We could note that his opinions on anything are suspect, since his “weblogger” profile advertises his love of the Chieftains, who are as cheesy as the label “Irish adult contemporary” sounds.

Or we could inform you that the fellowÂ’s first name is Kelly, which demonstrates that his mother didnÂ’t love him very much. (Perhaps this is the source of his binge eating and odd sartorial choices?)

Yet all of this is beneath us. Rather, let us take aim at the heart of KellyÂ’s angry response.

First, Kelly rages about our claim that BuffaloÂ’s weather is none-too-good. He says:

Well, if you think Buffalo's too cold, then you must not like lots of cities in the US either, like Cleveland, Detroit, Chicago, Minneapolis, Des Moines, Indianapolis, Milwaukee, Portland ME, and so on. None of those cities has an average temperature in January more than two degrees higher than Buffalo's, and a few of them are lower.
If you think Buffalo is "miserably cold", then don't come here. But don't blame Buffalo for the fact that you're a damn wuss.

Uh, we’ve already got reason to suspect that Kelly is a few snaps short of a full pair of overalls. In our humble “post,” we claimed that the weather was one reason to detest Buffalo, not that the temperature was the only nail in the coffin. To us, the weather is but the tip of the iceberg (so to say).

For the benefit of this portly oaf, weÂ’ll try to spell out our point even more clearly:

Chicago: Bad weather + nice city = nice city.
Minneapolis: Bad weather + nice city = nice city.
Buffalo: Bad weather + complete s-hole = complete s-hole.

We also savored the fat man’s “you’re a damn wuss” retort. Now, never mind the fact that many of us don’t possess the 200 lbs of excess body weight that surely makes Kelly warm in inclement winters. Stooping to the “wuss card” should demonstrate how pathetic is his response.

Just imagine Kelly’s further objections. “Buffalo is a dilapidated mess.” “Oh, yeah, shut up, you faggot!” &c. Real convincing.

Like Mr. BuffaloPundit, Kelly gets all hot and bothered by the fact that we linked Niagara Falls and Buffalo. Why, of course: TheyÂ’re two different places that are very close together! Gee, why would criticism of both of them be apropos?

Well, perhaps, Captain Bulge, the good people of Buffalo have cars and can travel a few miles to the surrounding area. If they’re so lucky, they’ll note that Niagara—like Buffalo—is a total s-hole.

Now, to be fair, we must admit to one mistake in our original “post.” When we referred to the boring Buffalo Symphony, we meant Buffalo Philharmonic. We apologize for mixing up the name of the crappy, third-rate symphony in town.

None of this detracts from our overall message. Buffalo is a complete mess. One stroll down the ghastly boarded up stores on Main Street, one ride on the cityÂ’s pathetic pseudo-subway, one trip around its colorless suburbs will amply demonstrate why Buffalo is one of the fastest shrinking cities in the US.

But, hey, if youÂ’re a morbidly obese loser with a passionate regard for the Chieftains and this withering hellhole, suit yourself. We also hear Syracuse is really lovely, you bloated moron.

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Our friends in the Democratic Party (other than Joe Lieberman, that is) often talk about foreign policy merely in negative terms. George Bush shouldn’t have attacked Iraq; George Bush isn’t protecting us sufficiently from terrorism; George Bush is doing too much in a phony attempt to protect us from terrorists—these are many of the shibboleths of our friends on the political Left.

Now, dear reader, to some extent this is entirely natural. After all, Republicans currently control the presidency and both houses of Congress; it stands to reason that Democrats would offer their views on world affairs in mostly negative terms.

And yet it seems to speak to a poverty of ideas within the Democratic Party itself, which is quite dangerous for a movement hoping to recapture the White House during our Age of Terrorism.

It just doesn’t make sense: Our pals on the Left are always prattling on about the “root causes” of problems, but—besides lunatic causes like the existence of Israel and George Bush—they can’t fathom a “root cause” for terrorism. Rather, it’s the political Right that has trumpeted a lack of political freedom as a key ingredient in the fomenting of anti-Western violence. Need a “root cause”? The Republicans have one; Ned Lamont doesn’t.

Many have expressed surprise that the Republican Party has become home to a muscular Wilsonian foreign policy commonly called neoconservatism. After all, a quick look in the history books will demonstrate that the Grand Old Party was quite isolationist in its not-too-distant past.

But, if you ask us, perhaps the more peculiar thing is how gosh-darned parochial the political Left has become. Ask your lefty pals what they think the president should do, and they will likely give you one of two options (which are not mutually exclusive): Leave Iraq and/or offer capitulations to the terrorists; focus solely on capturing Osama bin Laden.

These, we feel, are rather simple-minded “solutions” to real problems. Regardless of what one thinks about the justice of deposing Saddam Hussein, it should be obvious that cutting and running wouldn’t make things better in Iraq or in the world. And, if you have been paying the slightest attention to the terrorism the world has experienced since 9/11, you should know that capturing Osama bin Laden—while surely offering some catharsis—will not end the terrorist menace.

So, the next time youÂ’re talking to a pal whoÂ’s blabbing about the horrors of the Iraq War, ask him what he thinks the US should do to combat terrorism. Nothing? Give up Israel to the terrorists? Allow Iran to get a nuclear weapon? Put the ACLU in charge?

WeÂ’re pretty sure you wonÂ’t get a good answer.

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Okay, okay, okay: John Mark Karr, the 41-year-old pedant, was in fact not the killer of JonBenet Ramsey. Apparently, Mr. Karr offered a false confession either due to some sort of delusional mental state or out of a desire to get attention. (Boy, youÂ’d figure that he could have found a better way to get some attention. Ever heard of E-Harmony?)

After days of speculation about the guilt or innocence of Mr. Karr, the juryÂ’s in. Which is to say, thereÂ’s no need for a jury, because Mr. KarrÂ’s DNA doesnÂ’t match that of the killer. (If only the Duke lacrosse team had it so easy!)

Now, dear reader, by the time you take a gander at this humble “post,” the Nancy Graces of the world will already have blabbed on about Mr. Karr for days. Perhaps the tabloids, now fed up with Mr. Karr’s phony confession, will have moved onto more pressing matters. Like Tom Cruise’s baby’s pictures.

Even so, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” don’t think that we’ve had our fill of the discussion. We may be more than a bit late on this issue, but we believe we must bring up something pertaining to the John Mark Karr brouhaha that really needs an airing.

Our particular concern can best be related in the form of a plea to Mary T. Lacy, the embattled and seemingly inept District Attorney for Boulder, Colorado. You see, Ms. Lacy currently finds herself on the hot seat because it was she who cooked up the whole Karr case in the first place. And now, media firestorm and thousands of dollars later, this lunatic has embarrassed her by being perfectly innocent.

But we think that Ms. Lacy can make things better for herself with the disgruntled citizens of Boulder and make the streets of the world safer in one fell swoop. HereÂ’s what she must do: Arrest John Mark Karr anyway, and compel a judge to put him away for many, many years.

Now, weÂ’d imagine that Mr. Karr already has some legal problems, since he wound up in Bangkok due to his jumping of bail on a child pornography charge. That, of course, is no worse a charge than any Kennedy has mustered, but itÂ’s not a clean record nonetheless.

If you ask us, a few years for kiddie porn just isn’t enough. We, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” firmly believe that Mr. Karr requires immediate, long-term incarceration for the sin of being extremely creepy.

Now we know what all our ACLU boosters are going to say. ThatÂ’s illegal! ThatÂ’s undemocratic! ThatÂ’s wrong! After all, if you could lock someone up for being creepy, Mickey Rourke would have rotted away in solitary confinement years ago.

But hear us out. We’re darned sure that John Mark Karr is up to no good. Sure, he may not have killed JonBenet Ramsey. He may not have even stolen the space between “Jon” and “Benet.” Yet mark our words: That fellow doesn’t have a bright future ahead of him, and he’s sufficiently creepy to earn our vote for future child molester.

So, come on, Ms. Lacy. Everyone thinks youÂ’re a schmuck anyway. Why not send this oddball to prison for some ghastly sentence and protect our kids? ThatÂ’s what Alberto Gonzalez would do.

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“I’ve lived in Buffalo for 38 years and I’ve never heard gunfire.” Thus spoke Newell Nussbaumer, an organizer for Buffalo Old Home Week, a festival aimed at attracting warm bodies to the beleaguered upstate New York locale. Not, we must say, a ringing endorsement.

In the August 28 number of The New York Times one can find David Staba’s article “Alumni Reunion Is Staged To Burnish a City’s Image.” Mr. Staba reports on a revamped Buffalo Old Home Week, an attempt to stop the shrinkage of one of the fastest shrinking cities in America.

Now, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” don’t want to rain on anyone’s parade—though you’d be stupid to have a parade in Buffalo—but we happen to think that Buffalo, New York deserves to die. In fact, it possibly begs for a killing.

A few of our editors—let’s just call them “Chip”—spent some time in Buffalo recently, and we must say that we wouldn’t spend 38 years in Buffalo without gunfire: Stuck in that dank hellhole, we’d shoot ourselves long before then.

According to Mr. Staba’s report, the “city’s reputation suffered because of the assassination of President William McKinley at the Pan-American Exposition here in 1901….” Uh, sorry Mr. Journalist. That has absolutely nothing to do with it.

After all, President Kennedy was shot in Dallas, but that hasnÂ’t made that city a laughing-stock. And Kennedy was killed far more recently than the murder of McKinley, for crying out loud.

So, let us inform Mr. Staba of why Buffalo is slightly more depressing than an Ingmar Bergman film festival—and far less cosmopolitan. First, we must not forget the weather: It’s miserably cold, horribly windy, and snows quite often.

Even worse, from October to April, the sky in Buffalo is completely overcast. Not just overcast: More than half the year, Buffalo is home to a “The Gods Must Be Angry” sky. It’s like London without any of the vibrancy and culture.

Further, as a cultural center, BuffaloÂ’s moribund. Sure, itÂ’s home to a good art museum. But thatÂ’s about it. It used to be a haven for avant-garde classical music (Lucas Foss, Morton Feldman), but now itÂ’s completely dried up. The Buffalo Symphony plays nothing but standard fare for the blue-haired ladies in the audience.

Have you ever been to downtown Buffalo? ItÂ’s a complete horror: Boarded up stores, suspicious neÂ’er-do-wells, urban decay. Talk about a disaster. Even Niagara Falls is a dilapidated mess.

Perhaps the name of one of BuffaloÂ’s most famous citizens will prove our point once and for all: Timothy McVeigh. If you ask us, his lawyers should have used the area he grew up in as part of his defense.

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Ah, dear reader, the season is upon us. Soon bright-eyed teens and young twenty-somethings will head off to the four-year drinking marathon commonly referred to as college. Take out the rape kits, folks—your sons and daughters are about to return to their busy carousal schedule.

You can almost smell the glee from college administrators country-wide. As we write this, countless Office of Equal Opportunity czars are putting the final touches on their latest attempts at institutional discrimination.

After a few months spent on vacation at the French Riviera, Marxist “cultural studies” professors are getting prepared to prattle on about the oppressed in their sub-academic courses. Nothing sounds as authentic as a browbeating lecture about the horrors of capitalism from a fellow with a deep tan and a fascination with $5 cups of espresso.

Yes, dear reader, if you listen closely, you can hear the world’s academics and administrators gearing up for the year: Hear that? It’s a faint whisper of the word “diversity” in the air, and, when you can notice it, you know that some faculty member somewhere or other is busy preparing a lecture on Audre Lorde.

We, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” mention the start of the new academic year for a particular reason. Before it is officially underway, we aim to guess what kind of high jinks will take place on campus during the 2006-2007 academic season.

Last year, of course, meant the dismissal of Larry Summers from the presidency of Harvard University. If you can’t recall that far back, we can tell you that Mr. Summers was given the boot because he dared to posit that a biological difference existed between the sexes. And, naturally, our “diversity”-obsessed faculty was irate. How dare Mr. Summers suggest something opposed to ultra-feminist diktats?

So whatÂ’s going to be the big scandal this year? Another Ward Churchill brouhaha? At this point, thatÂ’s hardly the cause for a scandal: The faux-Indian doofus has pretty much had his 15 minutes of academic notoriety. And he plagiarized them anyway.

Perhaps some prominent anti-Israeli Middle Eastern Studies professor will get in hot water for heralding terrorist violence against the West. Naturally, he won’t get in hot water on campus—the lauding of terrorist violence is pretty ho-hum in the tony purlieus of academia these days. But maybe this would generate some sort of firestorm in the general public.

But this, we fear, is a rather tame prognostication. If youÂ’re going to bet on the academic scandal of the upcoming year, you might as well proffer a long shot.

Which is why weÂ’re guessing that this will be the year Camille Paglia marries Judith Butler. Mmmm: ThatÂ’s a lovely image.

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Surely one of our favorite weekly reads is The Spectator, a conservative British alternative of sorts to The New Yorker. Only not as stuffy. And without the interminable articles on nugatory subjects. Oh, and no Seymore Hersh (thank God).

But we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” would be remiss if we failed to mention that the jolly old Spectator has irked us a bit of late. First, it is darn near impossible to find this magazine at the newsstand in the USA, unless you are at a very fine newsstand indeed. Once a mainstay at the local Borders or Barnes & Ignoble, now it is almost nowhere to be found.

This would not be such a big deal, dear reader, if The Spectator werenÂ’t such an obscenely expensive rag for those of us across the pond. $256 for a yearÂ’s subscription? For crying out loud: You can probably get, say, a vasectomy for cheaper.

But some of the recent editorial decisions rankle as well. Now, we aren’t the type to argue that The Spectator’s columnists should be lock-step behind the Bush administration—we think the diversity of opinion on display in the magazine makes it quite fun. It’s always humorous to read mop-top Boris Johnson’s ludicrous take on the Middle East, for example.

Yet why in the good LordÂ’s name did the folks at The Speccie give the preternaturally entertaining Mark Steyn the boot? We savored his columns and film reviews each week, and the magazine dearly misses his caustic wit.

And then there’s the cheap little semi-advertising section that The Speccie has recently dreamed up. Since the arrival of Matthew d’Ancona as editor, the back part of the magazine has featured a few articles that are really elaborate plugs for various companies—companies that paid to be mentioned, no doubt.

For instance, delight in this bit of writing-cum-advertising from the pen of one Jenny Wilhide:

In the end I went to optometrist Viren Jani (020 7409 2559) on Mount Street in Mayfair because the eye test came with complementary Iridology—the Ayurvedic practice of analysing flecks in the iris for signs of trouble in the body.

Gee, Jenny: Thanks for including the telephone numbers and “website” addresses of all the businesses you mention in your uncompromising, un-commercial writing. You complete hack.

Most assuredly, however, the most irritating thing about The Spectator is an old one: The continued presence of Taki, the insufferable paleo-conservative Greek heir to a shipping fortune who bought his way into the world of punditry.

Now, don’t get us wrong, dear reader: We don’t disesteem Taki merely because we disagree with him. Rather, this self-described anti-Semite routinely presents the most insipid commentary the world has ever seen. Why would the eminences who bring us The Spectator—surely one of the most well-produced magazines in the world—see fit to present us with the ramblings of a lecherous goof who lacks even a semblance of political acumen?

Think weÂ’re a bit harsh? Take in this genius from TakiÂ’s August 5 column:

I may be biased, but what IÂ’d like to know is who the terrorist is: the one who has killed 750 civilians and 100 fighters, or the one who has killed 33 soldiers and 18 civilians? The SpectatorÂ’s editors may disagree with the poor little Greek boy, but the proof is in the numbers. The Israeli high command sounds like George Michael. They insist their behaviour is not in any way abnormal, obscene.

Uggghhh: How obtuse can you get? To this moronic cocaine addict, a “terrorist” should be defined solely by the number of civilians he has killed. Never mind the fact that Hezbollah specifically targets citizens and the Israeli army does not. Never mind the fact that Hezbollah uses civilians as human shields. This is all irrelevant to the dimwitted Taki. Perhaps he’d like to take a gander at the definition of the word “terrorist” in the dictionary, before he proffered yet another criticism of the lone Jewish state.

Presumably, Taki would agree with the lunatics of the far Left, who see the United States as a terrorist entity due (in part) to the bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. And why aren’t the Allies in WWII “terrorists”? They sure proved more effective at killing Nazis than Nazis were at killing them—much to Taki’s dismay, no doubt.

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No, dear reader, the title of today’s “post” does not refer to Dolly Parton’s bras. Rather, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” figured that we’d change things up a bit and take a break from our quotidian political cogency. That is to say, in today’s humble “post,” we envision a horrible piece of legislation and offer it our unmitigated support.

Now, you may be asking yourself, why in the good Lord’s name would we want to do that? Well, dear reader, every once in a while we get sick and tired of making so much darned sense. We get fed up with the ultra-rational demonstrations of our unique political acumen. In short, we need to “think outside the box” once in a while, as countless twits say.

Supporting a hands-on approach to combating Islamic fascism; caterwauling against the excesses of multiculturalism; obliterating hypocrisy; defending civilization against its enemies—all this may be dead-on, but it’s also boring. So, today we’ve set our minds on making a horrendous mistake. Consider this our Ashlee Simpson “post.”

We call this mistake the “Leave Some Children Behind Act,” and we think it’s a dandy. As you well know, dear reader, politicians from both ends of the political spectrum can’t stop prattling on about “leaving no child behind.” From Bush administration stooges to the loveable loons at The Nation, darn near everyone thinks that leaving a child behind is a cardinal sin. One wonders how they manage the courage to hire a baby-sitter.

Frankly, dear reader, we think forcing every child in front of you (if you will) is a big mistake. In fact, we deem it preferable to leave at least some children behind. Hence the name of our proposed bill, which would surely be as popular as tofu in Cheyenne.

Now, before you get up in arms about the militant unfairness involved in leaving a few scamps behind, hear us out. We, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” have absolutely no interest in discrimination of any sort. As our liberal pals know, discrimination is an abominable evil, which must be rectified by state-sanctioned discrimination.

As such, our bill is an equal opportunity leaver-behinder, if you will. We support shoving all sorts of kids into the background: Rich white kids named Nigel; poor Mexican kids named Nigel; the Amish; et al.

And thereÂ’s good reason to champion our bill. Pace every elected official in the country, some kids positively beg to be left behind. We mean, come on: The world needs ditch-diggers too.

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Here’s a good rule of thumb: Never trust a fast-food place that serves fish. We, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” consider this such an obvious piece of advice that it hardly merits repetition.

It’s kind of like “Don’t have unprotected sexual intercourse with Paris Hilton.” Or: “Don’t let Mickey Rourke house-sit for you.” We mean, come on: Isn’t that so obvious?

All the same, dear reader, one of the junior editors here at “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly”—let’s just call him “Chip”—would have been well served to hear this tidbit from the mouth of a friend before he headed off to the local Long John Silver’s establishment for a quick lunch. It would have saved him a lot of agony and warded away around 45 pounds of fat.

For whatever reason, “Chip” had never set foot in a Long John Silver’s. Perhaps it’s a result of good upbringing. Or maybe it’s because there wasn’t a Long John Silver’s in his hometown area. Anyway, it seemed like a foreboding franchise, the sort of business that’s not for the dedicated landlubber.

ItÂ’s the kind of place that even a Taco Bell fanatic might find nauseating. As the antiquated commercial goes, Mikey might like everything, but thereÂ’s no way that heÂ’d dig Long John SilverÂ’s. After all, even the placeÂ’s name is an abomination. It probably even sounds hokey to pirates.

In fact, “Chip” must report that Long John Silver’s is even worse than you’d imagine. And there are manifold reasons why this is so. Allow us to highlight a few.

First, the particular restaurant (and we use that term very loosely) that “Chip” entered was filthy: Trays of unappetizing foodstuffs on the tables and assorted crumbs as far as the eyes could see. Not, “Chip” thought to himself, a good start.

And then there’s the small matter of the victuals themselves. Having forced himself to take in most of the “popcorn shrimp” he ordered, “Chip” can firmly declare that Long John Silver’s produces the kind of food that makes KFC appear like a haven for gourmands.

In short, Long John SilverÂ’s is for people who find Red Lobster a bit too upscale. Everything tasted like chicken-fried garbage.

To be honest, it’s just as well that this establishment is so unappetizing. After all, treat yourself to a plate of deep-fried pseudo-fish death scrapple a day and you won’t last long enough to enjoy a healthy retirement. We, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” have the faint idea that the hush puppies were the most healthful item on the menu.

So, dear reader, take our advice. Stay away from this wretched place. And, yes: Eschew the Lobster Bites. We promise youÂ’ll thank us for it.

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As you may recognize, this humble “weblog” has a somewhat different format from most. Other than the fact that we don’t publish pornography. Unlike, say, the Internet’s famed Instapundit, we tend to “post” an essay a day, rather than offer oodles of “links.”

Frankly, dear reader, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” like this arrangement. It allows us to pontificate at some length on topics, instead of composing “posts” whose full text reads “Heh.” To each his own.

There are, however, distinct shortcomings to our e-arrangement. Our focus on an essay every weekday typically leaves us unable to make manifold references to other “webloggers” on Al Gore’s storied World-Wide Web. As such, whilst other people occasionally “link” to our work, we seldom have the opportunity to return the favor.

Accordingly, every once in a while (read: Once a year), we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” like to compose a “post” that offers details regarding some of the “weblogs” we particularly fancy. And, in case you are preternaturally slow, let us inform you that today is the day we’re going to do that. (Gee, we really thought that would have been obvious by now. Huh. Go figure.)

Now, before we present our truncated list of some good, wholesome “weblogs,” we need to proffer a few significant caveats. First, we decided against fawning over our typical list of favorites: The Llamabutchers, Naked Villainy, the Jacksons, Agent Bedhead, &c. For good reason: We believe that everyone who reads our humble “weblog” already reads these “websites.” And loves them, of course.

In addition, we must stress that our list is in no way comprehensive. Perhaps we’ll add another installment of our list in a future “post,” as a means to prove that our “weblogging” loves are not exhausted by today’s mentions.

Okay, okay, okay—enough hand-wringing. Bring on the “weblogs.”

A List of Darn Good “Weblogs” Outside the Beaten Path

1) Wizblog: Penned by one Dan Wismar, Wizblog routinely offers “links” to interesting articles and stories, with a particular focus, it seems, on the United Nations. If you haven’t seen “links” to any juicy pieces lately, check out Wizblog.

2) Muslihoon: Critical elaboration on the War on Terrorism from a conservative-leaning Muslim? How could you resist this? Muslihoon features some in-depth discussions from an intriguing perspective.

3) Pillage Idiot: A grab-bag of Internet fun from Atilla, the proprietor of Pillage Idiot. Don’t worry: As his “weblog” informs you, he’s “not really a Hun” though he “play[s] one on TV.”

4) Andrew Cusack: A former intern at The New Criterion, Mr. Cusack features intermittent, longish “posts” and some dashingly handsome “web”-design.

5) The Joy of Curmudgeonry: A “weblog” with footnotes and the tag line “Unio Europaea delenda est”? It doesn’t get any better than that. Deogolwulf, the proprietor of this “website,” presents learned musings from across the pond.

6) Feisty Republican Whore: With some “weblogs” the title says it all. A delightful mix of humorous conservative rants and libertinage.

7) A Sweet Familiar Dissonance: From Lynn Sislo, the culture queen of the World-Wide Web. Take a break from your partisan muckraking and savor her “posts.”

Well, dear reader, we think these are some dandy “websites.” But there are plenty of others. As we said, in a future “post,” we’ll mention some more. Perhaps we’ll pay tribute to a bevy of real heavy hitters, as if Charles Johnson is going to give a darn that we recommend Little Green Footballs.

For now, enjoy.

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As has been reported in the press ad nauseam, Günter Grass, the esteemed left-wing German novelist, has caused a row in Germany by announcing that, as a teenager, he was drafted into the Waffen SS. This has ignited a stir because Mr. Grass, the famed author of The Tin Drum and a winner of the Nobel Prize for Literature, was the self-styled conscience of post-war Germany.

Throughout the decades, in addition to offering apologias for various left-wing totalitarians, Grass has hectored the German public, urging his fellow Krauts to come clean about their Nazi past. And now, after years of sanctimonious preaching, Mr. Grass turns out to have been hiding his own Nazi past. Ah, the wages of hypocrisy!

As a famous novelist, however, Mr. Grass naturally has his share of literary pals, the kinds of folk who can rush to his defense with a timely op-ed in some large-circulation rag. And thus novelist John Irving has penned a remarkably obtuse, slipshod apologia for Grass in—wait for it—The Guardian. Of course, The Guardian is a perfect fit for such a piece: The paper is a prime apologist for Islamic fascism, the Nazism of today, and so it makes sense for it to give space for an excuse for Nazism of the old-fashioned variety.

Interestingly, unlike the other Guardian op-eds, Mr. IrvingÂ’s pathetic disquisition doesnÂ’t allow on-line readers to offer their comments on the piece. Perhaps Mr. Irving realized that he hadnÂ’t exactly hit an argumentative homerun.

For good reason: Humorously titled “Günter Grass is my hero, as a writer and a moral compass,” this article makes its case by studiously ignoring the obvious problems with Mr. Grass’ behavior. For instance, Mr. Irving explains:

Grass enlisted [in the Waffen SS] when he was 15; he said he volunteered mainly “to get away.” I wonder if any of his critics truly remember themselves at 15.

To which we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” reply: Mr. Irving, you’re a complete dolt. From all the criticism of Mr. Grass we’ve read, we’ve yet to find writers who find fault merely for Mr. Grass’ teenage transgression—even though he claimed that he believed in the Nazi cause until the end of the war. Grass was surely morally obtuse (stick that in your compass, Mr. Irving) but he was an adolescent.

Rather, critics have harped on the quintessential hypocrisy Mr. Grass has demonstrated as an adult—and about this glaring hypocrisy Mr. Irving is eerily silent. No one likes to be bullied into coming to grips with their problematic past by a fellow who fails to come to grips with his problematic past. Is this really so hard to understand?

Apparently it is for John Irving. That he has composed such a feeble defense of his friend perhaps demonstrates that the Günter Grass Moral Compass has led him astray.

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ItÂ’s been some time, dear reader, since we dropped our quotidian political polemics in favor of excoriating an apolitical subject. With all the hubbub surrounding IsraelÂ’s pesky desire to exist, we havenÂ’t had much of a chance to take aim at a non-partisan topic.

Until, that is to say, now. Recently, a long time confidante of the crack young staff—let’s just call him “Chip”—experienced the joys associated with hiring a moving company to lug his belongings to his new abode. And, from “Chip’s” bitching on the telephone, we can safely say that we hope to stay put for a long time to come.

Naturally, everything associated with moving is a hassle: Informing the editors of Cat Fancy and Feminist Karate Monthly of your new address; hiring a moving company; packing up your stuff. And yet the right moving company can make the average hassle into an extraordinary disaster.

Now, we suppose we should note right off the bat that nobody will ever be as careful about moving your belongings as you will be. It doesnÂ’t matter if youÂ’re a 90 pound weakling or as powerful as Pee Wee Herman.

And there’s a good reason for this. In fact, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” have labeled it our Official First Rule of Moving: It’s not their stuff.

This might sound like a rather obvious rule, but itÂ’s the key to realizing that any movers are bound to do a bad job. ItÂ’s sad, but itÂ’s true.

Did the movers treat your boxes of books as the Turks treated the Armenians? Of course: It’s not their stuff. Did they “mistakenly” drag your bed on the pavement? Certainly: It’s not their stuff. Did they prop your broken furniture against a wall, in the hope that you wouldn’t notice the massive damage they wrought? Naturally: It’s not their stuff.

Further, although moving companies make it extremely easy for you to buy their services, they make it extremely difficult to collect on damages they caused. And, of course, they tend to be about as timely as Lindsey Lohan on a movie set.

Ah, itÂ’s simply marvelous: YouÂ’ve just arrived at your new home, and, in addition to all the other irritants you must deal with, your furniture now resembles that of a refugee camp. All this for the price of a modest used car. Does it get any better than this?

If you ask us, hardworking folks should band together and head to the homes of moving company CEOs. Nothing says “payback” quite like a rowdy mob treating the CEOs’ belongings like Allied treated theirs.

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