A few of the young ladies here at "The Hatemonger's Quarterly”--let's just call them "Chip"--were standing by the water cooler, deep in conversation. The topic of this powwow? Why the incredible sexiness attributable to one Justin Timberlake, former boy band star and current black version of Michael Jackson. He is, like, so, like, cute.

Frankly, dear reader, the schoolgirl giggles over the likes of Timberlake from this handful of female staffers drove the rest of us crazy. To be honest, the rest of us--men and women--haven't a clue as to why these ladies--or any human beings, for that matter--could find Justin Timberlake even mildly attractive. Not one bit. Not at all. Nada.

Now, allow us to demonstrate that our general incredulousness regarding the attractiveness of Mr. Timberlake isn't some lame macho garbage aimed at demonstrating how very heterosexual we are. We aren't advertising some sort of studied aloofness to the hunks.

We can, for instance, completely understand why the weaker sex may get even weaker upon spying Hugh Grant. Sure, that floppy-haired oaf can't act his way out of a moist paper bag, but we'll agree he's dashing.

Further, we're entirely willing to admit that Ashton Kutcher is an understandable heartthrob for the gals. For some reason, as his appearances on MTV's "Punk'd" demonstrates, he has a complete inability to control the volume of his voice. But he's fetching all the same. Heck, even Fabio has an appeal--if you're a lower-middle-class, romance-novel reading piece of trailer trash. Which, if you're reading this "weblog," you probably are.

But Justin Timberlake? This is the guy who's "bringing sexy back"? Come on: He doesn't even have a sexy back. Or ankles. We just don't understand why anyone--even Elton John--would have a crush on this fellow.

For starters, he looks like a kid pretty much everyone one of us knew in high school. That is to say, he has perhaps the most indistinct late-teen-age sensibility going, and that is about as attractive as a lunch lady on meatloaf day.

Second, we suppose we ought to mention that his music is horrid. Now, that won't stop the gals from screaming, but it warrants a comment nonetheless. His songs are embarrassingly bad, the kind of fodder that women will soon be embarrassed they own. You know, like that old Marky Mark and the Funky Bunch cassette you have in your closet. You loser.

Perhaps women dig Justin Timberlake because he used to date Britney Spears; that would make an understandable case of "hotness by association"? But no one seems to pine for K-Fed even though he, at least, slightly resembles an adult. (A disturbingly unintelligent and ill-adjusted adult, but an adult all the same.)

So, what gives, ladies? Next thing you know, the fairer sex will tell us that they all have a thing for Jimmy Durante and Rip Torn. Hey, that Rip Torn's kind of sexy.

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The folks at The New York Times like to correct themselves. Or, to put it more accurately: In order to offer the erroneous impression of objectivity, the folks at The New York Times like to acknowledge some of their errors.

Each day, the second page of the Gray Lady features its “Corrections: For the Record” section—the locus classicus of self-serving mea culpas. In a typical installment of the paper, it features a few drab items, which tend to read like this:

A front-page article last Tuesday about the rising burden of housing costs nationwide misspelled the name of a Virginia county where census figures showed a big increase in the percentage of people spending at least 30 percent of their incomes on housing. It is Loudoun, not Loudon.

Well, gee, thanks. Now we can finally sleep at night.

Every once in while, however, a more telling correction appears. For instance, take a gander at this one, culled from the October 10 number of the Paper of Record:

An article on Saturday about a protest at Columbia University over a speech by the head of the Minuteman Project, a civilian border patrol group, gave an imprecise description of the groupÂ’s stand on immigration. While it opposes illegal immigration, the group does support immigration in general.

That, we must say, is a meatier correction than the misspelling of some God-forsaken county in Virginia.

Ah, but a look at the article to which this item refers demonstrates that it’s a rather misleading correction. Here’s the sentence in question, taken from Karen W. Arenson and Damien Cave’s lousy piece, “Silencing of a Speech Causes a Furor”:

When protestors stormed a Columbia University stage on Wednesday evening, shutting down a speech by the head of a fiercely anti-immigration group, they not only stopped the program, but also hurtled the university back into the debate over free speech.

So, in the original article, the partisan hacks at the Times offered their sneering assessment of the Minuteman Project: It’s “fiercely anti-immigration.” Naturally, the staff got caught in a bit of demagoguery; they plainly mislabeled the group because, to them, anyone with the slightest concern over illegal immigration is a xenophobic lunatic.

If you ask us, the Times, even when coming clean about its error, doesn’t come clean. We mean, come on: Its reporters didn’t give “an imprecise description of the group’s stand on immigration”; rather, it offered a partisan shot at the Minutemen that was obviously based on ideological antipathy. Either have the balls to make the real correction, or don’t even bother.

After all, this is the Paper of Record: Plenty of editors get their hands on the articles before they appear. Do none of the staff at the Gray Lady realize that the Minuteman Project merely opposes illegal immigration, not immigration in general? Forgive us if we find that hard to believe.

This isn’t like misspelling “Loudoun,” for crying out loud; this is one of the political hot topics in contemporary America. They could have checked the Minuteman Project “website,” if they’re really that ignorant about this (in)famous group.

Yet the goons at the Times, after demonstrating their inability to present readers with fair-minded news, cover up their errors whilst reporting them. It’s enough to make you become “fiercely anti-Sulzberger.”

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As must be painfully obvious by now, dear reader, Western civilization is in for a rather nasty collapse. It should be crystal clear that many Westerners simply lack the nerve to defend their own way of life against the violent carping of Islamists and their myriad supporters.

We mean, come on: Muslim imams routinely say repugnant things about Jews, Christians, and the West and no one bothers to make much of a fuss. But if the Pope dares to quote a 14th century predecessor dilating on the downsides of Islam, all heck brakes loose. Bands of violent Muslim fanatics canÂ’t even stomach cartoons; bands of Christians stomach everything.

As a result, Westerners find themselves in a constant state of cultural obsequiousness: We must incessantly apologize for our benighted past, for fear of offending thin-skinned Muslims. Britain, for instance, feels the need to make amends for its imperialist past; the Muslim world feels no need to atone for its own—and rather successful—history of imperialism.

Ours is a cartoon world in which the West is always wrong, the Islamists always right. For this reason, it seems, millions upon millions of Americans yearn to escape the oppression of America and Western Europe and live in Muslim countries: With such a long history of correctness, itÂ’s not surprising that our Muslim friends govern such attractive and successful nations.

Boy, nothing reminds you of the horrors of the West like a trip to, say, Malaysia. Would that all countries were just like that one!

If you ask us, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” Western civilization is doomed. We don’t mean to get all Spenglerian on you, but we feel as if this horrid lack of societal self-confidence does not bode well for us. Pretty soon, we’ll wind up apologizing our way into creating an America that’s a lot more like Yemen. And that, friends, won’t be a good day.

The only question that remains, then, is how to make a buck off of the impending collapse of Western civilization. If weÂ’re all bound to wear burqas, we might as well enjoy our last few years in America before the caliphate. After that, we think itÂ’ll be a lot tougher to enjoy yourself. As odious as the Republicans may be, we have the distinct impression that the Muslim Brotherhood will be even rougher when theyÂ’re in power here.

Capitalist stooges that we are, we figured that nothing would make us happier than lots and lots of cash. The Beatles may croon about money being incapable of purchasing love, but it never stopped them from getting loaded. Even Ringo—and he doesn’t have any talent.

So, after literally seconds of brainstorming, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” happened upon the perfect way to get rich off the coming cultural catastrophe. Our idea is simple: T-shirts that read “Dear Muslims, We’re Sorry For Everything.”

Think of how many uses there are for such shirts! TheyÂ’re great for every situation, because the West must apologize for everything: Imperialism, Zionism, Huey Lewis, &c.

Yep, after firing up a batch of these T-shirts, weÂ’ll be wealthier than Ted Turner. ItÂ’s a pity the new Muslim dictator of America will take it all away from us.

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The Sunday, October 8 number of The New York Times presents a special section on its op-ed page. In this feature, the Gray Lady asks a handful of left- and right-leaning pundits to weigh in on how their party can win the upcoming midterm elections.

As even diehard Republicans recognize, the Democrats have an awfully good chance of making electoral gains this year. First, the incumbent presidentÂ’s party seldom fares well in midterm elections, as Bill Clinton can attest. In addition, despite some positive news about the economy and gas prices, the Republicans have a number of sincere political problems: Increased anger over the liberation of Iraq; Mark FoleyÂ’s sexual dalliances; &c.

The only question that remains, then, is how the Democratic Party would manage—once again—to take a delightfully winning situation and render it a big loser. We, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” don’t happen to think that the Dems will do poorly in the midterm elections—but they sure might if they took the advice of some of their party’s prestigious pundits.

And this leads us back to The New York Times feature. Amongst the Democrats who contributed to this section, Michael Eric Dyson offers perhaps the most disputable—and dangerous—advice.

Maybe you know of Michael Eric Dyson: A religion professor at the University of Pennsylvania and simultaneously the host of a syndicated radio program (nice work if you can get it), Mr. Dyson seems much like Cornel West with a better haircut. A stalwart defender of the brutality associated with “hip-hop culture,” Mr. Dyson incessantly casts blacks as the victims of racism, thereby exonerating them of any bad behavior, regardless of the situation in question.

To this end, Mr. Dyson became a figure of controversy upon sharply criticizing Bill Cosby’s plea for the black underclass to act more responsibly. To Mr. Dyson, blacks qua blacks are always victims, and thus Mr. Cosby’s concern about pathological behavior was merely an example of “blaming the victim.”

Now, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” firmly believe that anti-black racism in this country remains a problem. But it is not, pace the very wealthy Mr. Dyson, such an incessant blight that blacks should feel free to blame all their problems on dastardly old whitey. Yet Mr. Dyson’s palaver shields American blacks from engaging in any much-needed soul-searching.

Accordingly, Mr. DysonÂ’s advice to Democrats is entirely predictable: Stop acting like ersatz liberals and veer toward the hard Left. Dyson says:

Senator Joe LieberamanÂ’s defeat in the Connecticut Democratic primary suggests that Democrats must stop hating who they are when they are at their best: politicians who help the vulnerable and the marginalized.

It is far from clear that this is what Ned LamontÂ’s primary victory suggests. After all, Connecticut is a very liberal state, and Senator LiebermanÂ’s problems there may not reflect well on American politics nationwide. LetÂ’s not forget, furthermore, that Senator Lieberman is currently ahead in the polls in Connecticut; whatever his primary woes, it appears that he may well end up victorious.

Even more obtuse is Mr. Dyson’s suggestion that Senator Lieberman does not care about “the vulnerable and the marginalized.” By this, Mr. Dyson surely means support for incessant taxpayer handouts to American blacks. Naturally, he doesn’t mean “the vulnerable and the marginalized” in Iraq: We’d wager that Mr. Dyson favors American withdrawal from Iraq—the very thing that will lead to further vulnerable and marginalized Iraqis living under a totalitarian Islamist government.

But surely Mr. DysonÂ’s peroration is the most absurd:

The Democrats should adopt the hip-hop mantra of authenticity: “Do you.”

We, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” are not major Democratic Party boosters, but we must say that we do not think the adoption of any “hip-hop mantra” is a good idea. Sure, “Do you”—whatever the heck that means—would sound awfully good coming from the tongue of Nancy Pelosi. (Can a more authentically “street” politician exist in America? We collectively think not.)

Even so, we think that Mr. Dyson’s proposition isn’t so much a call for Democratic Party authenticity as it is an attempt to demonstrate some authenticity of his own. One can note this penchant for out-of-place “hip-hop” phraseology in the work of Cornel West too. Both men—articulate pundits each—constantly feel the need to pepper their comments with bits of “hip-hoppery,” regardless of their appropriateness.

By this means, Messrs. Dyson and West seem to be saying: Offering articulate views on matters of national import is not authentically black; being an intellectual is not authentically black. As such, they must incessantly refer to aspects of black low culture to demonstrate their blackness to their audience.

Imagine if, say, a white politician constantly couched his political appeals with references to “The Jerry Springer Show.” What would this say about the self-conception of American whites?

Michael Eric DysonÂ’s demotic phraseology itself demonstrates some of the problems that plague the culture of many American blacks. But he doesnÂ’t see it that way; itÂ’s much easier to ask for taxpayer handouts.

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As is widely known throughout Al Gore’s World-Wide Web, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” don’t write Saturday “posts.” Each Sunday, of course, we contribute a luminous essay for the fancy-pants “weblog” Wizbang, which offers our readers a chance to take in our coruscating genius on the weekends.

Accordingly, Saturday is the one day off for our hopping Internet outfit. You may be wondering, then, why in the Good LordÂ’s name weÂ’ve broken our typical Saturday silence.

Well, dear reader, the answer is simple. A few days ago, James G. Poulos, the self-proclaimed Postmodern Conservative, sent a literary “meme” our way. Like all God-fearing creatures, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” didn’t have the foggiest notion what a “meme” was. Yet, thanks to numerous telephone calls and hours of reconnaissance work, we concluded that a “meme” is merely an Internet questionnaire of sorts.

As such, dear reader, we figured that we’d do the Po-Mo-Co a favor and answer the “meme” he tossed in our humble direction. And what better day to do this than Saturday? Other than any other day, we couldn’t think of a response either.

Rather than force the entire staff to fill in its responses, we decided to dish the “meme” off to one poor sap. So here it is: The answers to the e-questionnaire that one of our senior editors—let’s just call him “Chip”—proffered for this, his first excursion in “meme-land.”

A LITERARY “MEME” FROM THE POSTMODERN CONSERVATIVE by “Chip,” Senior Editor

1. One book that changed your life

George OrwellÂ’s 1984. A lame answer, perhaps, but itÂ’s true. If you ask me, this work isnÂ’t a futuristic dystopia so much as a full-throttle attack on Communist totalitarianism. And itÂ’s life-changingly brilliant.

2. One book you have read more than once

Roger KimballÂ’s Tenured Radicals: How Politics Has Corrupted Our Education. As sad as his subject may be, Kimball presents such a savagely humorous attack on far-left academics that I couldnÂ’t stop laughing. The denunciations of the odious Houston Baker are worth a second read on their own.

3. One book you would want on a desert island

Fifty Handy Ways to Get Off a Desert Island (forthcoming).

4. One book that made you cry

Wow, that’s a tough one. Frankly, manly as I am, I don’t cry easily. Except for at the end of Keith Olbermann’s shows—that program’s so vicious it positively forces you to blubber. But maybe Peter Handke’s A Sorrow Beyond Dreams made me tear up a bit; Handke’s a real master.

5. One book that made you laugh

Evelyn WaughÂ’s Scoop. Sure, it may not be as politically relevant as WaughÂ’s Black Mischief but itÂ’s as funny as heck.

6. One book you wish had been written

Well, if I ever find myself on a deserted island, IÂ’m pretty sure IÂ’d wish that Fifty Handy Ways to Get Off a Desert Island made it to the shelf.

7. One book you wish had never been written

Adolf HitlerÂ’s Mein Kampf. We could do without that one, couldnÂ’t we?

8. One book you are currently reading

The Code of the Woosters by P.G. Wodehouse. Classic Plum.

9. One book you have been meaning to read

George SantayanÂ’s The Last Puritan. Perhaps, after reading it, IÂ’ll be condemned to repeat it?

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Congressman Foley, Congressman Foley, Congressman Foley. Although there must be oodles of other things happening in the world—doesn’t Iran hope to produce a nuclear bomb or two?—everyone in these here United States can’t stop talking about the disgraced former congressman and his ephebophilic indiscretions.

Even a self-proclaimed serious news outfit like The New York Times is repeatedly splashing this sordid story on its first page, above the fold. Martians could attack the earth tomorrow and the media would still be yakking about FoleyÂ’s shenanigans. Sure, weÂ’ll all have to spend the rest of our lives working in chain gangs on Venus as slaves to the evil Martians, but never mind that: Did you hear what ex-Congressman Foley did?

Are we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” the only ones fed up with this story? We mean, come on: It was interesting at first, but the obsessive coverage has made us well-nigh hope that some other calamity will strike us so that we don’t have to hear any more about this nonsense. Quick, someone blame the CIA for 9/11 again; anything but Foley 24/7!

Admittedly, Foley-gate (as itÂ’s quickly been dubbed) has many of the telltale signs one associates with media frenzy: A closeted homosexual Republican, an elected officialÂ’s misuse of power, salacious e-mails. Still, these have only served to demonstrate how low most partisan commentators will stoop in order to use this sorry brouhaha to prop up their own ideological confreres.

For instance, as we pointed out a few days ago (and as David Brooks, curiously enough, pointed out yesterday in the Gray Lady), liberalsÂ’ shock at FoleyÂ’s actions stands in glaring contrast with their wholehearted championing of lesbian statutory rape in Eve EnslerÂ’s clunker The Vagina Monologues.

We thought our lefty pals loved outré sex—especially homosexual outré sex. We guess they do, unless the fornicator is a Republican.

But the drive to denigrate Foley whilst championing homosexuality gets even lamer. Take this choice passage on the scandal from comedienne Margaret Cho, whom we like to think of as the husky Asian version of husky Janeane Garofalo:

What is infuriating about this issue is that the braindead homophobes out there will look at it as some kind of proof that homosexuality has something in common with pedophilia. It doesn't but some people are just that dumb, and the homophobic are very special kinds of a**holes.

Rep. Foley is obviously a deeply troubled individual, and this type of thing happens to people who want to live their lives in the closet. It's the karma of the closet. What comes around, goes around and eventually gets pushed out. Ah well, what do you expect from a Republican?

We know what youÂ’re thinking, dear reader: ThatÂ’s really pathetic. She begins her comments with a passionate defense of homosexuals from the barbs of homophobes. How dare the anti-gay zealots use this one instance of improper conduct to tar and feather all homosexuals?

After this rousing appeal, the husky Ms. Cho then decides to use this one instance of improper conduct to tar and feather all Republicans.

Boy, that was really well thought-out. No wonder our left-wing pals are always championing themselves for their tolerance.

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One of the junior editors here at “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly”—let’s just call him “Chip”—headed into the gym the other day for his quotidian workout. Naturally, just like the rest of the crack young staff, “Chip” likes to keep fit as a fiddle. How else would he manage to date all of the no women who enjoy the pleasure of his company?

Unfortunately, on this particular occasion, “Chip” endured one of the most mortifying workout experiences he’d ever lived through. No, his pants didn’t fall down to the accompaniment of a slide whistle, and he didn’t slip on a banana peel. Nothing so obvious as that.

Yet it was mortifying nevertheless. Sufficiently ego-withering, in fact, that we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” figured that we’d discuss it in today’s humble installment of our delightful musings.

As befits any fellow trying to keep in shape, “Chip” found himself on an elliptical machine. However, he was not alone: A couple of lads were grunting away on the machines adjacent to his. Bedecked in heavy-metal T-shirts, if he recalls correctly.

Anyway, whilst they sweated away their water weight, these guys were enjoying a mordantly pathetic television program: A WWE wrestling extravaganza, to be precise. Thus, even when doing his best to better himself, “Chip” was compelled to endure a minor hardship—the horrific testosterone-filled morality play that is professional wrestling. Gosh, thought “Chip”: I really hope that WWE wrestling fans are either eight-years-old or retarded.

But it gets worse, dear reader. During the course of his workout, the two characters on adjacent machines finished with their labors and left the gym. And they did so before “Chip” had the opportunity to request that they change the television program to something watched by those who don’t drag their knuckles when they walk.

As a result, “Chip” was trapped alone—trapped like a rat—on an exercise machine, watching one of the most embarrassing programs imaginable. Of course, he wasn’t alone for long.

Soon a few comely lasses took the place of the departed gentlemen on the adjacent equipment. Before “Chip” could scream “Hey, I didn’t put this stupid garbage on the set; these Neanderthals before me chose this crap. Please, please, please change it,” these two fetching gals put on their headphones and began a-runnin’.

Ugh: Now these two females—along with any passersby in the gym—were going to think that “Chip” has a real big thing for pro wrestling. Yeah, “Chip” lived to see another day, but it wasn’t pleasant.

Oh, if only the Lifetime network were on instead! Or maybe a tasteful teenage lesbian dating show?

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Poor Rudyard Kipling. How many great authors are more reviled for their politics than beloved for their writings? Not even Ezra Pound, we think: Although he was a disgraceful fascist, people still have a soft spot for him. And Jean-Paul Sartre? Sure, he was an unrepentant apologist for Communism, but heÂ’s ever so chic.

Yet the unabashed imperialist Mr. Kipling, regardless of his great verse, will forever be remembered for his line about “the white man’s burden”—bringing Western civilization to the benighted barbarians. The same folks who think The Jungle Book was composed by Walt Disney detest the ethnocentric Mr. Kipling. He’s as unfashionable as a pair of spats.

We, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” were reflecting on Mr. Kipling anew upon coming up with a name for what we consider a relatively new phenomenon. We call it by two titles: “The White Woman’s Burden” and “Dating as Social Work.”

What, you may or may not be asking yourself, are we talking about? WeÂ’re glad we made you ask, dear reader.

Darn near everyone knew a few white girls in college whose past and present boyfriends, if brought together for a photograph, would resemble the United Nations, minus the Western countries. Their dating past is like a Bennetton ad—without all that preachy anti-death-penalty stuff. Unlike most co-eds, who are content to shack up with some milquetoast frat boy with a white baseball cap surgically stapled to his head, these gals seem only to fancy young men whose backgrounds are suitably Third World.

ItÂ’s as if they have some sort of points system: Five for an Indian; eight for an Arab; 10 for a Latino; 14 for a Native American; and a full 20 for an African. The more the homeland of this fellow represents hell on earth, the more these gals savor them. In short, failed states make them horny.

Now, before we continue with our rant, allow us to inform you that, at heart, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” are integrationists. We think that anyone from any ethnic group should be able to date a partner from any other ethnic group—and opponents of this are bigots.

Still, we would be remiss if we failed to mention that this “Dating as Social Work” often rankles. For one, there seems to be something rather pandering about it—as if some upper-middle class WASP named Gwendolyn can lay claim to “understanding oppression” merely by going to a movie with a guy named Juan. Yeah: You know all about slavery now, Ms. I-Went-To-Choate.

Further, most of these gals wind up marrying some rich white lawyer and chalk up their time with Achmed and Tito to their delightfully anti-racist past. As such, the time they spend on dinner with the oppressed irks their parents, pleases their womenÂ’s studies professors, and allows them to feel even more high and mighty. These chicks are just the straight versions of what is known at womenÂ’s colleges as the LUG: Lesbian Until Graduation.

That’s why we call this phenomenon “Dating as Social Work” and “The White Woman’s Burden”: Though its perpetrators like to think their dating habits are helping society, they’re merely serving as an opportunity for self-congratulation. It’s the multicultural version of scalping.

But maybe what particularly troubles us, dear reader, is how unfair all this is to our white male brethren. We know, we know: They’re white and male—they’re responsible for all the world’s ills, and, accordingly, they deserve all the knocks they get. We went to college too. Still, we can’t help but feel a bit sorry for the inequity of it all.

After all, every minority this side of Timbuktu wants to date white women. From Bangkok to Bengal, Caucasian women are where itÂ’s at.

But white men? Are you kidding? Who the heck wants to spend time with those infantile oppressors?

So step aside, Rudyard Kipling. Old-school imperialism is out and social imperialism is in. “Take up the white woman’s burden--/Send forth the best ye breed.”

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Our pals at The Huffington Post are in a huff. A large number of the columns on display there call for the heads of anyone related to the Mark Foley page-gate brouhaha—no matter how tangentially.

Fire Tony Snow, shrieks the peculiarly named Erin Kotecki Vest. Remove Dennis Hastert, bellow others. Hang Matt Druge!

Now we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” happen to agree that former Congressman Foley’s actions were deplorable and people are right to probe into the conduct of those who may have known of his shenanigans and allowed them to pass unnoticed.

Yet we couldn’t help but conclude that, in getting in a lather about the Foley business, our pals at the Huffington Post are demonstrating—once again—their passionate attachment to hypocrisy.

We donÂ’t mean to cast any aspersions, but it seems rather clear that erstwhile Congressman Foley is a gay man. This doesnÂ’t mean that, qua homosexual, heÂ’s entitled to the support of the Huffington Post; our radical pals have every right to dislike politicians regardless of their sexual orientation. But the perfervid denunciation of homosexual pedophilia (or, if you prefer, ephebophilia), rings a bit hollow, coming as it does from the Huffsters.

Allow us to explain what we mean. Surely one of the most successful and popular examples of left-wing agitprop in this country is Eve Ensler’s feculent radical feminist play The Vagina Monologues. This horridly written anti-male tract has become all the rage on college campuses—hardly any school fails to perform this dimwitted show on Valentines Day (or V-Day, as Ms. Ensler prefers).

And what, dear reader, does the much-heralded radical feminist play The Vagina Monolgues champion? Well, among other things an older lesbian’s sexual encounter with an underage girl. In the original version of the play, the gal was 13; her age was since changed to 16. Delightfully, the mature woman in the scene exclaims about the encounter: “If it was rape, it was good rape.”

Wow: How charming. And how suitable: The revised version of the much-lauded Vagina Monologues touts lesbian pedophilia with a 16-year-old gal—the very age of the boys whilom Congressman Foley harassed. Except, of course, Congressman Foley didn’t rape any boys.

So, our feminist pals are off celebrating V-Day and The Vagina Monologues in February and are calling for Congressman FoleyÂ’s (and any other RepublicanÂ’s) head in October. But surely the folks at the Huffington Post are even more egregiously hypocritical: They boast Eve Ensler as one of their beloved columnists.

Could our buddies at the Huffington Post explain whatÂ’s going on here? Do they dislike Congressman FoleyÂ’s actions because he isnÂ’t a lesbian or because heÂ’s a Republican? Obviously, they have no problem with pedophilia per se.

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Less than two days—fewer than 48 hours. Less than the amount of time it feels like when you sit through the movie Waterworld. This, dear reader, is how long it took the crack young staff to force Glenn Reynolds’ hand.

As e-strollers all round the Internet well know, yesterday afternoon Mr. Reynolds, under what we can only describe as feverish pressure, caved into our hunger strike’s demands and gave us our Instalanche. For the price of a Yom Kippur-and-a-half, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” got our much-sought-after “link.” And darn it if it doesn’t feel really good.

Naturally, our brazen display of Internet power will have other “weblogs” nervous. We don’t blame them: A successful hunger strike in less than two days?

How long did it take GandhiÂ’s hunger strike to compel the British to leave India? WeÂ’re not sure, but we bet it was longer than two days. Accordingly, we feel fully justified in asserting that weÂ’re currently more powerful than Gandhi.

And just as magnanimous. Sure, we could have stooped to some World-Wide Web violence in order to secure our goals; we could have been the Internet version of the Tamil Tigers. But no: We took the morally laudable route, employing creative non-violence to get Mr. Reynolds to cave.

At this time of vindication, dear reader, we would feel remiss if we did not heartily thank Mr. Reynolds. It must have been a difficult decision for him: Does he let the crack young staff starve or does he send us a “pointless link”? The campaign from our boosters such as Dan Riehl, Dr. Rusty, the Llamas, and others couldn’t have made his work easy for him. But we think he made the right call.

In fact, in order to thank Mr. Reynolds for his kindness, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” want to repay the favor. It’s the least that we can do.

So, Mr. Reynolds, here you go: A “link” from the crack young staff. Around the office, we like to call it a “Hate-lanche.”

Man, he’ll watch his “hits” just roll on in.

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For no apparent reason, certain news stories have a way of getting our collective dander up. It makes little sense: One news item—say, The New York Times’ printing anti-Bush leaks—won’t trouble us at all, but another one will simply enrage us.

Right now, for instance, Bill ClintonÂ’s shenanigans in his interview with Fox NewsÂ’ Chris Wallace is really sticking in our craw. We havenÂ’t the vaguest idea why: To be honest, weÂ’ve never harbored much ill will for erstwhile President Clinton. Sure, his foreign policy was a mess, but we thought welfare reform a good idea and were pleased with other decisions he made.

Heck, weÂ’d rather have Bill Clinton serve a 200-year term in office if it could destroy the prospect of another minute with Jimmy Carter at the helm. (That self-righteous, dunderheaded peanut farmer is one of the biggest embarrassments in American history. Imagine a president so bad that you actually think better of him after reading his poetry and youÂ’ve got Jimmy Carter.)

And yet, dear reader, the merest thought of Clinton’s ungracious tomfoolery on “Fox News Sunday” is enough to get our blood pressure boiling. As if that weren’t bad enough, moronic left-wing talk of Bill Clinton’s supposed “ambush” at the hands of a Rupert Murdoch marionette has us seething.

We mean, come on: Did Chris Wallace’s single question really amount to a televised hatchet job? If Bill Clinton was angry at the recent hostility he perceived from one ABC drama and a question from Fox News, how do you think conservatives—the perennial whipping boys of the mainstream media—feel?

Yeah: The press has been really hard on you, Bill. Why donÂ’t you complain to Dan Quayle; that bastard got nothing but fawning attention from reporters.

Perhaps what so enrages us about this brouhaha, dear reader, is the fact that the arguments from the Left are so obviously weak. At least when one discusses the wisdom of liberating Iraq we can all agree that there are many valid arguments. But these Clinton apologetics are enough to make one positively cringe for Paul Begala. Does he really believe this stuff?

If Tim Russert hadnÂ’t mysteriously lost his spine in his recent interview with President Clinton, he could very well have asked Bubba the query that landed Chris Wallace in hot water. Arrgh: This is so obvious we simply want to scream!

But maybe, dear reader, we’re just showing a lot of emotion because we’re cranky. And who’d blame us? We’re officially on Day Two of our Official Hunger Strike for an Instalanche, and, thus far, Glenn Reynolds doesn’t even know we exist. As such, our latest ploy for mega-“hits” has been about as successful as New Coke.

Hold on to your Twinkies, folks: ItÂ’s going to be a long time without food, we fear.

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As longtime readers of this humble “weblog” well know, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” have been pontificating on all and sundry for well over two years. Though we undoubtedly run one of the humbler outfits on Al Gore’s World-Wide Web, we must admit that we’ve had a modicum of success: “Links” from the likes of The Corner, Andrew Sullivan, James Taranto, Nick Gillespie, Vodkapundit, The New Criterion, &c.

All the same, dear reader, one mark of Internet accomplishment has ineluctably eluded us. Try as we might, Glenn Reynolds, the famed Instapundit, has failed to offer one measly “link” to our humble “weblog.”

ItÂ’s just not fair: Through the years, weÂ’ve sent Reynolds umpteen sycophantic e-mails, positively begging him to check out our uproarious musings. And what have we received in response? No responses.

As far as we can intuit, Mr. Reynolds treats letters from the crack young staff like spam messages for dubiously produced generic Viagra.

That’s right: After two solid years of self-effacing e-missives, you can count all our so-called Instalaunches on no fingers. Just think of all the excitement that we’ve missed: No fleeting moments of e-fame; no counting our “hits” with glee; &c. Without some Insta-love, we’re like the Adrian Zmed of the World-Wide Web.

Frankly, dear reader, itÂ’s downright pathetic. In fact, itÂ’s sufficiently pathetic that we are prepared to take extreme measures to remedy the situation.

As of today, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” will officially go on a hunger strike until Glenn Reynolds gives us an Instalanche. You heard us right: Without Mr. Reynolds’ help, they’ll be no hamburgers, no fish sticks, no victuals of any kind for us. And no Peeps either, though they’re only tangentially related to foodstuffs.

We may waste away, dear reader. But, hey, perhaps thatÂ’ll do marvels for our incipient modeling careers. Last we checked, Kate Moss wasnÂ’t much of a heifer.

And just think of all the magnanimous people who have gone on hunger strikes: Saddam Hussein, Bobby Sands, Omar Khadr, Jesse Jackson. If such tactics could work for unrepentant mass murderers, IRA militants, one of bin LadenÂ’s lieutenants, and a black guy, just imagine how well itÂ’ll go for us.

Of course, our whole scheme could backfire; we could die. WeÂ’d imagine that Glenn Reynolds wouldnÂ’t want that on his conscience. But, hey: He is a lawyer.

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Our old pal Mr. Misspent recently dropped us a line, offering a suggestion for a future “post” on this humble “weblog.” The Good Mr. Misspent is currently that most unfortunate of creatures—a graduate student—and he wondered if we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” could expatiate on a wretched topic we have mentioned before: Female graduate students.

Now, we, dear reader, werenÂ’t born yesterday. And weÂ’re not Jimmy the Greek either. Accordingly, we fully recognize that our candid discussion of female graduate students may engender something of an uproar.

Not, we suppose, a backlash of the Death-To-Those-Who-Suggest-Muslims-Are-Violent caliber, but a backlash nonetheless. It is with much trepidation, then, that we embark on todayÂ’s humble musings.

In our defense, may we only say that approximately 47 percent of the crack young staff is made up of distaff staffers, and these ladies werenÂ’t horribly troubled by the contents of what you are about to read? Of course, they also dig Andrew Dice Clay, so they could very well be gluttons for punishment. As well as very bad judges of humor.

Okay, okay, okay: Let the secular blasphemy begin. WeÂ’ll start by making a rather bold and generalistic claim, and then weÂ’ll offer a few important caveats, none of which will soothe our wounded readership.

Our claim—happened upon from countless painstaking years of experience in the graduate school grind—is the following: Women go to graduate school because they are ugly. Not because they care deeply about the “transcendental signifier” or quantum physics. No, it’s because they’re miserable eyesores.

Oh, we told you we were going to cause a few heart attacks. But thatÂ’s our claim, and weÂ’re standing by it. If you ask us, beautiful women donÂ’t yearn to get PhDs because they can already attract copious male attention without troubling themselves to become experts in, say, soil patterns or, say, Tibetan literature. If you can marry some rich bastard just by batting your eyelashes, do you really need to write a dissertation on the uses of irony in Michel de Certau? We collectively think not.

Now, before you get all hot and bothered about our militant sexism, dear reader, ask yourself this question: Did any of the most beautiful women you knew of in college get PhDs? Aha! WeÂ’re willing to wager that the number of you answering in the affirmative is strikingly low.

As we stated above, we must present a few important caveats, if only to lower the number of death threats weÂ’ll receive. First, we arenÂ’t counting MBAs, JDs, and MDs, for the simple reason that we donÂ’t consider those real graduate school degrees. ThereÂ’s ample reason for anyone to go to one of these programs: Money; prestige; money; and also money. As such, lots of sexy females may very well head to, say, law school.

Second, we feel compeled to offer one slight wrinkle: Any attractive female PhD student is ineluctably married or seriously committed to a relationship upon entering her program. So, perhaps we should alter our claim to read “single girls go to graduate school because they’re ugly.” Ah, heck: We like the former locution better; it’s far more offensive.

Naturally, this begs the question: Why do guys get PhDs? If you ask us, the answer is clear: With all those ugly chicks around, they must enter graduate school because theyÂ’re stupid.

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Boy, the vast right-wing conspiracy is really pissing us off. As if it werenÂ’t enough for this insidious cabal to lie about Bill ClintonÂ’s purported sexual acts with a husky intern, now it has the gall to up the ante even more. ThatÂ’s right, dear reader: As you may have heard around Al GoreÂ’s World-Wide Web, the evil forces of conservatism have now scored a double whammy on former President Clinton byÂ…asking him a question.

Gosh, Karl Rove and his minions are a really horrid bunch, aren’t they? Can you believe the nerve of these people: Compelling Fox News’ Chris Wallace—surely a Rupert Murdoch puppet—to offer the former philanderer-in-chief a perfectly reasonable query? It’s simply abominable.

Mark these words, dear reader. When the evil forces of reaction forced Chris Wallace to ask the following question, our great nation must have plunged to some hitherto unfathomable nadir: “Why didn’t you do more to put bin Laden and al Qaeda out of business when you were president?” Oh, the horror!

We mean, come on: Just because Mr. Clinton was sufficiently foolish during his presidency to treat Islamist terrorism as a policing matter instead of an act of war is no reason to ask him one tough question about his 8-year term in office. Okay, okay: Islamo-fascist terrorists grew increasingly brazen in their anti-Western activity under President Clinton’s watch—so what? There’s no reason to get all bent out of shape and ask him about this.

ArenÂ’t some things simply off limits? ArenÂ’t some things beyond the pale? Surely crucial issues of security and foreign policy are such things?

Thankfully, dear reader, our pals at The Nation have leapt to the defense of poor Bill Clinton. More specifically, one John Nichols, a nutter who appears to possess one of the worst toupees in American history, has composed a rousing screed for the magazine that takes aim at those disgraceful Zionazis at Fox News.

To this end, Mr. Nichols informs us that, as the result of one question, Bill Clinton was “a target of our drive-by media.” Thus does an orange-haired buffoon offer a tip of the cap to Rush Limbaugh in order to defend the beleaguered former president. It seems as if one must treat Bubba with some kid gloves, doesn’t it?

Now, as delighted as we were that The Nation rushed to hide Bill Clinton from the slings and arrows of one question, we couldnÂ’t help but notice the lefty ragÂ’s blatant hypocrisy. After all, this is a magazine that gave accolades and column space to Helen Thomas, whose entire claim to fame is offering ranting, partisan potshots at the Bush administration during its press conferences.

How in the Good LordÂ’s name can The Nation champion Helen ThomasÂ’ incessant propagandistic nonsense and denounce one entirely legitimate query from Chris Wallace? It seems, dear reader, to speak to a level of intellectual dishonesty that one might think even as sordid an outfit as The Nation would avoid.

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As longtime readers of this humble “weblog” well know, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” are big fans of The New Republic, America’s political and cultural journal for the sensible Left. To be sure, we have absolutely no idea what this magazine’s publishing schedule is, for the understandable reason that it appears with appalling irregularity in our mailbox. All the same, the folks at TNR routinely present thoughtful articles that shriller left-wing magazines eschew.

In fact, dear reader, we’ll go to some lengths to defend The New Republic. For instance, we didn’t think Lee Seigel’s “sock-puppet” antics on the TNR “website” were that big of a deal. We mean, come on: So Lee Seigel thinks that Lee Seigel is brilliant: Wow, alert the media. He must be the only public intellectual with a big ego.

Still, we would be remiss if we did not mention that the staff of TNR occasionally makes some real gaffes. The magazineÂ’s principled support for aggressive intervention in Darfur, for example, is somewhat compromised by its hasty turn-about regarding the liberation of Iraq. If American soldiers start dying in Darfur, how do we know that TNR wonÂ’t change its mind again?

Sometimes the missteps of TNR staffers seem particularly troubling, since they sully authors’ otherwise good work. Take, for instance, Peter Beinart, a youngish bigwig at the magazine, who writes its weekly (?) “TRB” column. The quality of these pieces, dear reader, is infuriatingly various: One fortnight we’re praising Mr. Beinart’s acumen to the hilt; another we’re chucking his column across the room with disgust.

Nor are Mr. Beinart’s quizzical lapses confined to his columns. The September 24 number of The New York Times contains a boring article by one Sheryl Gay Stolberg, “ ‘Islamo-Fascism’ Has Its Moment.”

In this humdrum piece, Ms. Stolberg dips into the history of the term “Islamo-fascism,” informing us that both Christopher Hitchens and Muslim convert Stephen Schwartz claim the neologism as their invention. Then Ms. Stolberg, who notes the president’s previous use of the term, discusses various problems associated with it.

Naturally, Islamo-fascism is an imprecise—though delightfully pejorative—way to describe the enemies of Western civilization. Although it admirably sets the stakes high in the War on Terrorism, its reference to Fascism leaves a bit to be desired. (Why this should trouble our pals on the Left, however, who, taking much greater liberties, like to refer to the Bush administration as “fascistic,” is beyond us.)

But have no fear, dear reader: Ms. Stolberg reports that Peter Beinart has come up with far more apt nomenclature for our Islamist enemies. No longer must we play the dubious “Islamo-fascist” card. Mr. Beinart has solved the problem.

His idea? Well, itÂ’s so rich that weÂ’ll let Ms. Stolberg inform you:

Peter Beinart, the editor at large of The New Republic, has his own solution: “jihadi salafi,” which loosely translates to “someone who would use violence, and ultimately state violence, to bring about a utopian vision of Islam.” So what if no one knows what it means.

“If Bush had been using it all these years,” Mr. Beinart said, “people would know it like the back of their hand.”

Forgive us for our candor, but Mr. Beinart’s “solution” is dumb. “Jihadi salafi” is meaningless to a non-Muslim audience and its “loose translation”—if fully accurate—is cumbersome. Exactly how much fun would Bush-bashers from Middle Eastern Studies (Juan Cole and his minions) have with the president’s use of “jihadi salafi”? We can already see the columns now: “Bush doesn’t know what a ‘salafi’ really is,” &c.

Thanks for the attempt, Mr. Beinart, but we must say we prefer “Islamo-fascist” as our term of choice for Islamist terrorists. In fact, in comparison with your moronic idea, we’d even prefer “New York Giants” or “Phyllis Diller.”

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Well, it’s been quite a week for us here at “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly.” On Monday, the delightful John Podhoretz—political and cultural critic extraordinaire—was nice enough to speak well of our humble “weblog” over at National Review Online. If memory serves—and we believe it does—he called this “website” “one of the most interesting and amusing right-of-center blogs I’ve ever read.” This, need we remind you, came from the keyboard of neoconservative royalty. Not too shabby, eh?

As if this werenÂ’t suitably exciting, soon after Andrew Sullivan honored us with an official Yglesias Award Nomination. In short, this former editor of The New Republic and esteemed pundit lauded us for our integrity, or some such. Again, pretty nice, is it not?

For those of you counting at home (and that should be all of you), that’s two giant “links” in one week—all scored without so much as an obsequious e-mail begging for mention. Regular reader(s) of this humble “weblog” undoubtedly recognize that “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly” is about as popular as a “Connie Chung Sings the Blues” LP, and so they must imagine we’re elated to reach a readership that you can count on more than no fingers.

So, for the benefit of those new to our operation, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” figured we’d fill you in a little bit. In this humble space, dear reader, we “post” every weekday, major holidays and Arbor Day excluded.

But those who require a weekend fix from the crack young staff, fear not: We also “post” a weekly essay on the wonderful “weblog” Wizbang every Sunday.

ThatÂ’s six days of coruscating genius, all for the low price of no money at all. Wow: That is quite a deal. Maybe Messrs. Podhoretz and Sullivan were on to something?

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Of all the pleasures Al Gore bestowed upon us by creating the World-Wide Web, surely The Huffington Post ranks among the most delightful. Right below free underage bestiality flicks, weÂ’d say.

As a result, dear reader, it was with great enthusiasm that we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” took a gander at “The Importance of Being Ahmadinejad & Chavez,” a Huffington Post column by someone called Nathan Gardels. We must admit that the title really drew us in: Is Mr. Gardles, by invoking Oscar Wilde, claiming that the unhinged loons in control of Iran and Venezuela are, to quote Gore Vidal, homosexualists? We certainly wanted to find out.

But, in fact, it turns out that Mr. GardlesÂ’ piece was far more mundane than its zippy title suggests. To be downright honest, it was pretty much the typical lefty boilerplate youÂ’d expect from AriannaÂ’s minions.

Although Mr. Gardels was suitably honest to label Ahmadinejad an anti-Semite, he has a curious view of the Iranian leaderÂ’s bizarre speech to the UN. Ditto ChavezÂ’s unhinged rant to that same august body.

You see, to Mr. Gardels “It would be a big mistake to dismiss their comments as the ravings of madmen when they are only saying what the rest of the world—China, Russia and France on the Security Council as well as countries from Brazil to South Korea—actually thinks.”

This, we think, is an odd test to determine views that should and should not be dismissed. Since when does popularity alone determine the justness of ideas? After all, large swaths of Muslims—and others besides, we’d wager—believe that either the US or Israel masterminded the 9/11 attacks. Are such fantasies not worth dismissal merely due to the number of cranks who hold them dear?

Further, weÂ’re not exactly certain what Mr. Gardels means when he exhorts us not to dismiss the rebarbative rhetoric of the odious Ahmadinejad and Chavez. Does he believe we should merely listen? If so, weÂ’ll be happy to tell him we complied. Or does he hope that their foolish prattle will compel us to alter our foreign policy? If thatÂ’s what he wants, well, weÂ’re sorry to say that we think heÂ’s bonkers.

Yet certainly the most exquisite joy to be savored from The Huffington Post comes not from the columnists themselves but from sundry readers who leave comments on their work. And, sure enough, this is true in regard to Mr. Gardels latest opus.

You see, one of Mr. Gardels’ readers—someone named “AndrewW” to be precise—took great offense. Not, we must say, because Mr. Gardels presents a naïve, rosy view of Messrs. Ahmadinejad and Chavez. No, no, no—that would be sane.

On the contrary, something else entirely got his dander up:

The evidence I have seen of Ahmadinejad's anti-Semitism is like that of Saddam's WMD: a well-known "fact" based on distorted evidence. He certainly is anti-Zionist and anti-Israel, but that does not make one anti-Semitic. If someone can point out actual anti-Semitic statements by him, I'd appreciate knowing about it. Otherwise, can we dispense with making another Middle Eastern leader into one of what JQ Adams called "monsters to destroy."

Ah, thatÂ’s lovely, isnÂ’t it? A diligent intellectual over at the Huff isnÂ’t sure that the Iranian nutter is actually an anti-Semite. Rather, he thinks this is merely an unfair charge hurled at this delightful chap, probably by unsavory Jews.

To which we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” respond: Uh, since when did denying the Holocaust not count as anti-Semitism? We fear that “AndrewW” demonstrates such an animus toward the lone Jewish state that he can’t think like a rational human being.

Further, need we remind him that Iran’s president pines to “wipe Israel off the map”? “AndrewW” can liken this to “anti-Zionism,” but surely it’s extreme enough to make one wonder.

We mean, come on: Just imagine if a friend of yours said he harbors no hatred for the Palestinian people, but he hopes that the Palestinian territories will be “wiped off the map.” Now, one could claim that such a fellow isn’t anti-Arab—because he doesn’t want to harm the Palestinians residing in, say, Jordan—but we think that’d be a rather tough sell.

Or how about if a pal told you he felt no dislike for blacks, but he prayed for the day when sub-Saharan Africa would be “wiped off the map.” Do you really think any reasonable person would fail to label such a clown a racist, preferring a milquetoast label like “anti-pan-Africanist”?

ThatÂ’s why we perceive of self-proclaimed anti-Zionists the way Orwell thought of angels: Guilty until proven innocent.

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As well nigh every American well knows, movies about college life are a dime a dozen in Hollywood. Although such films seldom rise to the level of the merely viewable, darn near all of the big studios pump out more and more of them. Revenge of the Nerds, A Love Story, Road Trip, &c., &c.: TheyÂ’re complete crap, but the powers-that-be produce them at a quickening rate nonetheless.

We, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” figured that we might as well cash in on the popularity of this feculent filmic genre. Hey: Since the movie studios are going to hand us lemons, we might as well make money. Or something.

We mean, come on: The logic is impeccable. If the likes of Tom Green can get rich off of this detritus, why canÂ’t we?

Yet—heterodox fellows and lasses that we are—we figured we’d give the tired college flick a bit of a twist. Instead of inevitably pertaining to undergraduate love and high jinks, our picture takes on the real college student. No saccharine plots about scoring with that super-hot chick from biology class for us. Nah: We, like our friends in the rap world, “likes to keeps it real.” Word.

First, our movie is a documentary. Not, we should say, an ineluctable box-office boom, but potentially promising nevertheless. After all, Michael MooreÂ’s films do quite well, even though he never troubles himself to research them. Or tell the truth.

For no good reason, we have titled our film with an obvious tip of the cap to the movie The Unbearable Lightness of Being, based on the Milan Kundera novel of the same name. We call it The Interminable Sense of Entitlement, and we think it fits the typical college kid quite well.

Do you hate 19-year-olds who think they understand how the world works far better than those with more experience and basic literacy? If so, youÂ’ll savor our film. Do you detest the obnoxious sense of privilege that students at private colleges demonstrate on a routine basis? If so, you wonÂ’t stop loving our movie.

Just think of the possibilities: In the first scene, a sophomore fraternity member ambles to his English professor’s office, still a little bit tipsy from his raucous time of boozing and fornicating the night before. Catching the attention of the distracted pedant, he complains, “Uh, Mr. Professor or whatever, I just don’t understand why I got a B- on my paper. It was only three pages short, seven days late, and on the wrong topic. What gives? Is there anyone I can complain to about you? Man, you are such a buzz kill.”

Oh, we can see it all now: The lazy, mal-educated, stupid, cocksure, dipsomaniacal, sex-obsessed, drug-crazed college kid as he really is. This ainÂ’t gonnaÂ’ be no John Hughes picture.

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Well, itÂ’s settled then. As The New York Times gleefully reports, the thorny question of female aptitude in the hard sciences has been conclusively answered. Obviously, theyÂ’ll be no further arguments from anyone; this whole issue has finally been put to rest.

Why, just check out the opening paragraph from the Gray LadyÂ’s report, which was penned by one Cornelia Dean:

Women in science and engineering are hindered not by lack of ability but by bias and “outmoded institutional structures” in academia, an expert panel reported yesterday. The panel, convened by the National Academy of Sciences, said that in an era of global competition the nation could not afford “such underuse of precious human capital.” Among other steps, the report recommends altering procedures for hiring and evaluation, changing typical time-tables for tenure and promotion, and providing more support for working parents.

Well, gee: Who could argue with this all of this? After all, as the Paper of Record tells us, the NAS gathered “an expert panel,” and thus their findings must be unassailable.

But wait. Who makes up this “expert panel”? Well, its head was Donna E. Shalala, a former secretary of health and human services in the Clinton administration and a well-known feminist.

Also on board was Elizabeth Spelke, a professor of psychology at Harvard whose views on this matter should already be crystal clear. In regard to Larry Summers’ purportedly sexist remarks on women in the hard sciences—which were surely the impetus behind this “expert panel” in the first place—Ms. Spelke said: “I disagree point for point.” Ah, so Ms. Spelke already knew the conclusions the “expert panel” would come to before she became one of its “experts.”

And let’s not forget panelist Ana Mari Cauce, a University of Washington psychologist and contributor to the tome Bringing Cultural Diversity to Feminist Psychology. Nor should we leave out Ruth J. Simmons, the president of Brown University and a board member of the radical feminist journal Meridians. Gee, can anyone say “ringers”?

Hmmm. ItÂ’s starting to sound as if the NASÂ’s study was something of a foregone conclusion.

But wait, dear reader, it gets even more pathetic. The obviously dispassionate and objective panel of “experts” dedicated its work to Denice Denton, the deceased chancellor of UC Santa Cruz who was a lesbian crusader for feminist causes. Huh: Perhaps the only thing this panel is “expert” in is fooling dimwitted journalists into spreading its propaganda.

We mean, come on: Having these folks head an investigation that pertains to feminism is like putting Charles Murray on a committee studying tax reform. Or like asking Perry Anderson to present a report on Marxism. You might as well save yourself the effort. If you donÂ’t know what youÂ’re going to get in advance, you are quite possibly brain damaged.

For some reason, though, the Paper of Record perceives that a feminist junta concluding that women require more preferential treatment in the sciences is dynamite proof of anything. ItÂ’s bad enough that the NAS set up a wretchedly partisan panel to study such an important question in the first place. ItÂ’s even worse that the Times essentially printed their press releases for them.

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As anyone with a pulse undoubtedly knows, numerous media outlets resolutely refuse to call terrorists “terrorists.” Rather, they prefer the hazier, less loaded term “militants,” which suggests a degree of potential legitimacy clearly lacking in the former appellation.

Though this strikes us, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” as willfully obtuse, media bigwigs tend to offer the same defense: “One man’s terrorist is another man’s freedom fighter.” Perhaps this pathetic canard is the postmodern Left’s most esteemed gift to our journalist pals; could it be the most oft-cited example of moral relativism to be found in American life?

Of all the media giants pushing this brand of nonsense, surely our friends at Reuters are among the most notable. Reuters, if youÂ’re not familiar with it, is a sort of unofficial cheerleader for the anti-Western jihadis; it also moonlights as a news service. As a result of their fine work, we presume that the Islamofascists have agreed to kill the folks at Reuters last.

Given its proclivities, Reuters naturally loves to call terrorists “militants.” In fact, it enjoys it about as much as paying for doctored anti-Israel photographs. That is to say, a real lot.

We had reason to reflect on this anew upon reading a Reuters report from September 17. Pertaining to worldwide protests about the situation in Darfur, the piece begins thus:

Peace advocates around the world held demonstrations on Sunday to highlight the war in Darfur, the western Sudan region where tens of thousands of people have been killed and more than two million left homeless.

Now, let us first say that we firmly support a vigorous military intervention in the Sudan to stop the ongoing genocide. Still, we found the appellation “peace advocates” a bit strange.

After all, don’t the demonstrators actually pine for an army to stop the killing in Darfur? Might that not require a bit of violence? As a result, aren’t the protestors actually the very antithesis of “peace advocates”?

No, these folks want intervention, not peace. But, curiously, our buddies at Reuters have labeled them “peace advocates” all the same.

And this takes us to our—admittedly nugatory—point. If one man’s terrorist is another man’s freedom fighter, why isn’t one man’s peace advocate another man’s useful idiot?

This is not, we hasten to add, the case regarding military intervention in Darfur, which principled people of many political persuasions support. But certainly the far-left dupes who seem hell-bent on stopping the West from fighting but appear to consider Islamist violence hunky dory deserve LeninÂ’s charming epithet. If you ask us, the Cindy Sheehans of the world, whose sense of horror at the indignities of war is curiously selective, are quintessential useful idiots.

As such, we believe that Reuters should quit using the loaded term “peace activists” to describe such folks. Surely they’d want to come up with a more objective appellation?

May we humbly suggest “militants”?

Posted by: Chip at 12:01 AM | No Comments | Add Comment
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