A correspondent from our Danvers (MA) office recently sent us an interesting story from the November 10 number of the inimitable Boston Globe. Instead of offering the usual anti-Bush, anti-Romney carping, said piece presents a curious report on pre-history.

The article is question bears the intriguing title “Stone Age Feminism?” To which the proper response is: Gee, is there any other kind?

But never mind our (rather unfunny) high jinks. Here are the key points in the article:

The Neanderthal extinction some 30,000 years ago remains one of the great riddles of evolution, with rival theories blaming everything from genocide committed by “real” humans to prehistoric climate change.

But a recent study introduces another explanation: Stone Age feminism. Among Neanderthals, hunting big beasts was women’s work as well as men’s, so it’s a safe bet that female hunters got stomped, gored, and worse with appalling frequency. And a high casualty rate among fertile women—the vital “reproductive core” of a tiny population—could well have meant demographic disaster for a species already struggling to survive among monster bears, yellow-fanged hyenas, and cunning Homo sapiens newcomers.

Curious, is it not? Let us leave to one side the question of whether there is something “worse” than being “gored” (quayled?), and get to the matter at hand. As far as Colin Nickerson, the Globe staff member who wrote this story, reports, pre-historic feminism may have done in the Neanderthal.

Naturally, we must take this journalistÂ’s report of academic work with a grain of salt. Our friends in newspaper land love to sensationalize, and thus Mr. Nickerson likely did a number to the real story about Neanderthal decline.

Still, we must say that it is rather delicious to contemplate a Neanderthal extinction caused by feminism. Just picture it: An irascible, bra-burning Neanderthal gal eagerly taking in a dog-eared copy of a Mary Daly book. As she puts the screed down atop a work by the Neanderthal Marilyn French, she angrily shouts to her husband: “I should be able to join the hunt, you sexist bastard. What kind of Neanderthal are you?”

To be sure, many will doubt the Neanderthal feminism theory. But we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” think it makes perfect sense.

After all, radical feminism is aiding our own civilizationÂ’s eclipse. Why shouldnÂ’t it have been the same in pre-history? (Excuse us: Pre-herstory.)

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Another year, another embarrassing defeat. We’re starting to seem a bit like the New York Yankees—only no one on our staff answers to the ridiculous moniker “A-Rod.” (Thank goodness.)

As you may well know, dear reader, for the third straight year, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” were finalists for the “Funniest Blog” prize in the 2007 Weblog Awards. And, for the third straight year, we got beaten like Robin Givens.

Perhaps our obscure references to former wives of Mike Tyson donÂ’t really go over well with the general public? We wouldnÂ’t have guessed that this would be the case, but you never know.

Anyway, as a result of our unenviable status as thrice defeated, we have decided to offer another in our grand series of gracious concession speeches. We hope that this particular one shows the sort of pseudo-maturity that one comes to expect from the typical non-heart-felt oration.

“An Officially Gracious Concession Speech” by the Crack Young Staff, Perennial Big-Time Losers of the Weblog Awards

Unfortunately, dear friends, tonight was not our night. Neither, we hasten to add, was a night around this time one year ago, nor two years ago, for that matter. Although we gave it our level best, we went down in flames—like parts of California, or Richard Simmons.

To be more specific, we wound up in penultimate place, a mere four votes away from the ante-penultimate slot. This means, of course, that we are officially funnier than one “weblog” on Al Gore’s Internet. And, boy, that doesn’t feel very good.

Before we begin our recriminations, we ought to praise “Sadly, No!,” the winner of the “Funniest Blog” award. Apparently, tendentious left-wing mis-readings of conservative columnists are hysterical, and thus their “Michael Medved is a crank” humor deserves heartfelt huzzahs.

We mean, come on: How do these guys come up with such uproarious yuks? ItÂ’s not like Ann Coulter says something ridiculous all the time, now is it?

In addition, we feel the need to praise the runner-up, “DUmmie FUnnies.” As you may not know, the folks at this charming “weblog” decided to use all sorts of dirty tricks to garner votes, including rousing dimwitted right-wingers to plump for them by claiming their loss would be some sort of disaster in the culture war. So, congrats, guys: Not only are you runners-up, you also stayed classy.

We would be remiss, furthermore, if we failed to thank all those thousands of people who failed to vote for our humble “weblog.” There are, of course, many of you, but that doesn’t lessen our enthusiasm for each and every one of you one bit.

In fact, we firmly believe that everyone who did not cast his ballot for the crack young staff is, for lack of a better word, retarded. Severely retarded, in fact. Although we had an inkling that numerous Americans were a bit off, we didnÂ’t recognize how many honest-to-goodness helmet-clad US citizens were out there.

But it’s true. So, fine: Vote for some other crappy “weblog”; forsake the crack young staff in its time of e-need.

We pledge to keep on trucking anyway. And we aim to be as mercilessly unfunny as weÂ’ve been these past three years. With a little luck, weÂ’ll be writing another such graceless concession speech after another Weblog Awards trouncing next year.

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[Note: The following “post” will appear atop this humble “weblog” for the duration of the 2007 Weblog Awards voting. To cast your ballot for our storied Internet outfit, go here. Remember: You can vote once a day for the duration of the contest. For more recent knee-slapping material, scroll down below.]

Oh, dear: It’s happened again. For the third straight year, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” have become finalists in the Weblog Awards. Although the powers-that-be at Wizbang have renamed our category this time around, we are essentially competing for the very same award as we have in years past: Best Humor Blog.

Longtime reader(s) of this humble “weblog” undoubtedly recognize that this is the cause of much consternation for us crack young staffers. And no wonder: In the voting for the last two Weblog Awards, we were heartily trounced. To empathize with our plight, you’d have to be a member of the Kansas City Royals, for crying out loud.

To be more specific, in the 2005 fiasco, we were beaten like a red-headed step-child. You can count all the “weblogs” we beat on no fingers. Though we performed a mite better in the following year’s contest, we still wound up in the middle of the pack.

It is with much excitement and trepidation, then, that we aim for three straight years of utter futility. If we manage to pull off another stunning defeat, we may be the Lyndon LaRouche of the “weblogosphere”—perennial candidates, perennial losers, perennial lunatics.

And what can you, dear reader, do to ameliorate our vexing situation? Well, we’re glad you asked. All you must do is vote for us in typical Mayor Daley fashion—early, often, and even when deceased. With your help, we may improve upon our ghastly performances in previous contests.

Instead of being the Mike Gravel of the Internet, we may even reach the storied level of, say, Dennis Kucinich. Or even Joe Biden—though you can rest assured that, unlike Sen. Biden, all our material and hair are our own.

In order to prove what e-worthies we are, we forthwith bestow upon you a veritable cornucopia of awe-inspiring “posts” from this year’s bumper crop of goodness. Before you plump for one of our rivals, check out some of this brilliance:

Please Tase Him, Bro

The Agnostic's Revenge

Ask Dr. Death

PC Reading for the Kiddies

Mike Nifong: Rapist

Un-Mugged by Un-Reality

Change the Channel Like Beckham

Take My Babies One More Time

Celebrate Sameness

Ah, yes: What striking e-genius, if we must say so ourselves. So vote for us, please. If you donÂ’t, rest assured that the terrorists win.

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Like many of our fellow citizens, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” are largely products of the American suburbs. You know the suburbs, dear reader: Those milquetoast communities home to the local branch of Restoration Hardware, Barnes & Noble, and all the white people as far as the eye can see.

To be honest, when we think about the suburbs (which we do as little as possible), a frightening array of images pop into our minds: Soccer moms; Dukakis voters; NPR; Baby Gap; &c. You know: The typical ennui-inspiring soullessness you have come to expect from a town called Danvers.

We would be remiss, however, if we failed to mention one particular aspect of the suburban life (!) that never fails to vex us. As you can tell from the title of todayÂ’s animadversion, weÂ’re talking about the odious young ones we have taken to calling suburban street toughs.

Now, don’t get us wrong: Street toughs are—on their own—pretty bad. No one likes to walk into these shady customers during the dark hours.

But suburban street toughs are even more irksome than their urban compatriots, in large part because they arenÂ’t nearly as frightening as they are pathetic. At least in the big city the neÂ’er-do-wells know how to car jack you, for crying out loud.

And what do suburban street toughs do? Well, as far as we can intuit, they spend lots of time on outdated BMX bicycles hanging outside the local Dunkin’ Doughnuts or strip mall. With their ‘do rags and baggy vestments, they attempt to put forth an unsavory demeanor, but they wind up looking like a bunch of guys named Nigel in desperate need of a tailor.

We mean, come on: Can you really come across as menacing when youÂ’re within a few feet of a Starbucks? Nothing rankles as much as ersatz toughness.

In fact, weÂ’d love to force these extra-urban goofs into a big van, and then leave them off in the big city. We donÂ’t think their whole IÂ’m-Foreboding-Outside-of-Borders-Books routine will impress too many folks in the red light district of your local city.

A couple of hours mixing it up with pimps, drug dealers, and toothless derelicts should cure lilÂ’ Johnny and Hunter of their perverse need to terrorize their upper-middle class brethren.

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As the French say, “What a surprise.” We, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” currently find ourselves in a dogfight for “Funniest Blog” in the 2007 Weblog Awards. Unfortunately, however, our dog is severely retarded and moribund. Also, for those of you interested in such things, it’s a pug.

You see, dear reader, this humble “weblog” is—for the third straight year—fairing rather poorly in the Weblog Awards. In this particular iteration, in fact, we currently poll in penultimate place. Which, for our vocabulary-challenged readers, is second-to-last.

Now, we suppose we could prattle on about the idiocy of the American public. We guess we could complain that the likely winner of said contest offers nothing but tendentious misreadings of conservative columnists and calls the dubious result humor. And we figure we could mention that the current runner-up is so painfully unfunny that it makes us cringe.

But this, you surely understand, is nothing but spilled milk. Or, as the British would have it, spilt milk. As honest men and ladies, we simply have to own up: WeÂ’re getting completely trounced. WeÂ’re getting beaten like Ike TurnerÂ’s girlfriends. ItÂ’s sad, but itÂ’s true.

And, to be downright honest, dear reader, it hurts. Badly, in fact. Actually, if you want to know how it feels, youÂ’ll have to sit firmly on your testicles for a solid hour or two. If you lack testicles, well, then, weÂ’re sorry: YouÂ’ll never know how it feels. Unless you own any Phil Collins records.

We mean, come on: Second-to-last place? Man, we know our e-outfit is a bit dilapidated, but we didnÂ’t realize that itÂ’s that bad. Pretty soon, out of shame, weÂ’ll take up Yak farming in Peru, for crying out loud.

So what happened? How did a “weblog” so brimming with promise become an inveterate Weblog Awards loser? Sure, we got nominated for an award a few times. Yet even Pat Morita received a few nominations in his lifetime—and he appeared in The Karate Kid movies, for Christ’s sake.

Now, if we were loyal Nation readers, we might suspect foul play. Perhaps some evil cabal of Jews has rigged the “Funniest Blog” contest in favor of ultra-Zionist “weblogs”?

That doesnÂ’t sound terribly reasonable to us, but such a notion might land us column space in Mother Jones. And, heck: If the Mossad took down the twin towers on 9/11, surely it can steal the rug out from under the crack young staff. Just ask those famed foreign policy experts Messrs. Walt and Mearsheimer.

Still, short of compelling us to don a kaffiyeh, this explanation fails to make us feel any better. Yes, yes, yes: We, like countless Muslim nations, are now the victims of an insidious Hebrew plot. But even Yasir “She’s My Baby” Arafat got his hands on the Nobel Peace Prize.

And, if we recall correctly, he was responsible for the deaths of a few thousand people or so. But us? WeÂ’ve never harmed a soul.

So, as the 2007 Weblog Awards wind down, we ask you to take this extraordinarily passive-aggressive “post” to heart. Vote for us as often as you can. Perhaps, with your help, we’ll only wind up feeling largely pathetic.

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Remember Geraldine Ferraro? For those of you who donÂ’t recall this electoral eminence, she was the highly competent lass who served as the vice presidential nominee on the Democratic ticket in Walter MondaleÂ’s deeply successful 1984 campaign.

If memory serves, the impressive Mondale-Ferraro duo managed to win Minnesota and the District of Columbia alone. The other five thousand or so states went to a fellow called Ronald Reagan. Even Massachusetts plumped for the Republicans, for crying out loud.

Well, now Ms. Ferraro finds herself a die-hard Hillary Clinton supporter. And, as such, she’s mad as heck about the most recent Democratic presidential debate in Philadelphia, during which various fellow candidates—mirabile dictu—criticized Sen. Clinton for locutions one can only call Clintonian.

An article in the November 5 number of The New York Times offers Ms. FerraroÂ’s reaction:

“John Edwards, specifically, was well as the press, would never attack Barack Obama for two hours they [sic] way they attacked her,” said Geraldine Ferraro, the 1984 vice presidential candidate who supports Mrs. Clinton. “It’s O.K. in this country to be sexist,” Mrs. Ferraro said. “It’s certainly not O.K. to be racist. I think if Barack Obama had been attacked for two hours—well, I don’t think Barack Obama would have been attacked for two hours.”

Boy, oh, boy: Ferraro sure is worked up. And no wonder she considers the mainstream media irredeemably sexist—just look at how the Paper of Record incessantly refers to her as “Mrs. Ferraro,” as if her marital status mattered at all! Oh, the horror: You haven’t come a long way, sister.

Yet let’s examine Ms. Ferraro’s “thoughts” on this matter a bit more closely. According to this self-proclaimed feminist, it is sexist to treat female candidates for president according to the exact same standards as male candidates, since they are clearly more delicate. Thus John Edwards and his ilk are degenerate women-haters because they dared to offer extended criticism of a lady.

Similarly, according to this self-proclaimed liberal, it is racist to treat black candidates for president according to the exact same standards as white candidates, since they are clearly more delicate. Thus John Edwards and his ilk are not degenerate racists because they did not dare to offer extended criticism of a black man.

Can you, dear reader, feel the progressiveness? No wonder the Left considers itself the proper home for feminists and anti-racists!

Does anyone know if “Ferraro” is the Italian word for pandering? Or maybe paternalistic?

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Perhaps, dear reader, you do not realize that the United States is currently indistinguishable from Nazi Germany. To be honest, that was news to us. Yet a “weblogger” at the popular lefty “website” Daily Kos has crafted a careful essay to this effect, and, as you’ll see, it’s almost preternaturally convincing.

The “weblogger” in question, someone called “Granny Doc,” has named her lucubration “Don’t Tell Me Not to Compare it to Hitler,” and, as you would expect from such a title, it’s very, very nuanced. Here’s its charming opening:

Back in the day when the Brown Shirts and the SA were busily using mobs of thugs to terrify and intimidate German citizens...

Back in the day when an emasculated Parliment [sic] was so busy fighting inflation and trying to hold on to their personal power...

Back in the day when Jews were the designated enemy...

Back in the day when the Courts were sidelined and finally stripped of all power...

Back in the day when the citizens were sold on the idea that a "strong man" was the only thing that could save them...

Back in the day when the world arose and swore we would never let it happen again...

Well, we have. Let it happen again.

We have private mercenary forces acting as an unregulated private army.
We have isolate, unresponsive elected officials consumed with protecting corporate contributors and getting re-elected.

We have Muslims to fear, torture and kill in the name of our personal safety.
We have Courts whose decisions and orders are ignored through Executive signing statements and pronouncements about what laws they will, and will not, obey.

We have lawful subpoenas disregarded by those who are called to testify before oversight committees.

We have a Republican party that having lost the Soviet Bloc as a boogie man [sic] to control and terrify Americans, found a new club with which to beat us into submission in the form of a crazed Saudi.

The parallels are undeniable, and I see only one solution if America, The Grand Experiment, is to survive.

We know what you are thinking, dear reader: This is some thoughtful analysis from one of the greatest minds of the Left. Clearly Granny’s arguments are as perfect as her prose is beautiful. As she argues, the “parallels are undeniable”: America is clearly the second-coming of Hitler’s Germany. We can’t argue against that impeccable logic.

Oh, but wait: It gets even better. Naturally, you are dying to read GrannyÂ’s thoughtful hopes for the future of the United States. How can America rescue itself from the horrid clutches of our Nazi present? HereÂ’s GrannyÂ’s answer:

I want to stand by and watch it all blow up.

I want the dollar to plunge to worthless paper.

I want the stock market to implode.

I want the economy to plunge into chaos.

I want the Chinese to call in all the debt they hold.

I want an economic meltdown of such staggering proportion that even that idiot on Bill Moyer's Journal who does not know the difference between a State Constitution and the United States Constitution, is forced to look around in mild surprise and wonder what the hell happened.

Only total economic destruction will get the attention of the fools.

I want every single idiot who doesn't think politics is any of their concern to be gob smacked by the terror of losing it all. I want a wake up call of such stunning proportion that a generation will slip from the stage before any American citizen votes on the basis of looks, or, charm, or cant - before any claim of "Free Trade" is accepted as uninteresting. Before any citizen thinks it's cute, or hep, or stylish, to be distainful [sic] of politics.

I want every politician who places getting elected ahead of protecting the Constitution to find their corporate masters have lost interest in their little fiefdom as economic collapse makes their petty posturing even more pathetic.

I want a culture war against greed to emerge from the rubble, and the blyth [sic] acceptance of what is, in favor of the hard work of what could be to become so passe [sic] that our grandchildren will forever wonder what we were thinking.

I want every bamboozled, bubble headed, super-star chasing, reality show afficianado [sic] thrown off the island, and forced to swim in the shark infested waters of what their indifference has wrought.

And I want it now, before this inept, self-serving Congress allows the Facists [sic] one more opportunity to fully convert this from the United States of America, into the 4th Reich.

Gee: That all sounds pretty reasonable. Pining for America’s complete economic collapse—what could be more helpful than that?

Frankly, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” have great difficulty understanding how folks could claim that a major organ of Democratic Party thought such as the Daily Kos is anti-American. How can you call great Americans such as Granny Doc, who clearly hope for the best for our Nazi nation, unpatriotic? It makes no sense to us.

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As has been reported in the media with depressing regularity, newspapers have been taking something of a tumble. In recent years, their readerships have steadily declined. Even as highfalutin and classy a paper as, say, The New York Post has to worry about its continued financial success.

It turns out that Al GoreÂ’s Internet has presented a major obstacle to the newspaper industry, since most people would rather watch a Youtube video of female flatulence than trouble themselves to keep abreast of current events. Further, thanks to the great success of our No Child Left Behind Gestapo, most American children are functionally illiterate, and therefore incapable of turning to, say, The Boston Globe in the first place.

Now we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” must admit that we generally resemble Luddites, and thus we enjoy curling up to a good newspaper each morning. Up until recently, our choice of news source was none other than the self-proclaimed Paper of Record, The New York Times.

But no longer. We have just experienced the proverbial straw that proverbially broke the proverbial camelÂ’s proverbial back. Although we used to take in the Gray Lady with aplomb, we cannot in good conscience do so in the future.

What, you may reasonably wonder, happened? What compelled the crack young staff to abandon “Pinch” Sulzburger’s delightful orgy of upper-middle class sanctimony? Did we finally peruse a Maureen Dowd column? Did Thomas Friedman’s intellectual preening compel us to implode?

No: Nothing as dramatic as that. Rather, we spied the following correction in the all-important style section of the November 1 number of the Times:

An article last Thursday about lingerie designed to be shown off in public misidentified the woman shown in the October issue of Harper’s Bazaar wearing satin briefs beneath a transparent frock. She is the actress Mary-Kate Olsen—not Ashley Olsen, her twin.

Awful, is it not? How can you trust the Gray Lady anymore, if its staff would make such an odious error? We most certainly cannot.

We mean, come on: How in good conscience can you misidentify a woman “wearing satin briefs beneath a transparent frock”? To our knowledge, our humble e-outfit has never made such a ghastly mistake, even though we don’t have anything close to the fact-checking resources of The New York Times.

Actually, we have a very strict woman-wearing-satin-briefs-beneath-a-transparent-frock-correct-identification policy. Those who fail to live up to its rigorous standards need not apply for work at “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly.”

Furthermore, if the Gray Lady canÂ’t get Mary-Kate and Ashley straight, what other egregious journalistic violations can we expect of them? Why, if you ask us, a paper that would make that boneheaded play is likely, say, to lie us into a war in Iraq. Or, say, to publish leaked national security secrets that render us all less safe.

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It is an unfortunate truism that nothing makes you appreciate the aural detritus of American popular music quite as much as the even more noxious cacophony of international pop tunes. Yes, even though you (justly) despise, say, the Backstreet Boys and Billy Joel, the horrors of other countries’ hit songs almost—almost!—force you to appreciate American pop stars.

And no wonder: Have you ever heard, for example, Indian popular music? Oh, what palaver! And to think that these are the people who have bestowed us with the delicious sounds of Indian classical music!

What about, say, Italian pop songs? Nothing quite says “downward spiral” as much as a culture that previously gave us Virgil and now presents us with that utter garbage.

As usual, however, the Middle East is home to the worst crap you can find. Or so we read in The Daily Telegraph, Britain’s staunchly pro-Tory newspaper. Under the peculiar title “Hamas Boy Band to Bring Harmony to Gaza,” journalist Tim Butcher writes the following:

Hamas militants have launched a new weapon in their struggle with Israel: a troupe of honey-voiced singers known as Protectors of the Homeland.
Wearing crisply pressed fatigues in urban camouflage blue, the six band members gather each day to practise in an old office within the Gaza City police headquarters.
The small room throbbed with energy as their dusty 12-track amplifier screeched with feedback before being tamed by an engineer.
To the accompaniment of a backing track from a laptop computer, the men then started polishing their routine of songs, almost all of which have strong Islamic and militaristic content and titles like Change and Reform. Such uplifting lyrics as "By the shrouds of the dead we are inspired" are typical.
"It is our job to inspire the foot soldiers," said Maj Hosam Abu Abdu, a 40-year-old former police officer who now fronts the band. "We want to urge the soldiers and officers to push on, to make the effort needed in the struggle to end the occupation [of Palestinian land by Israel]."
Formed in the summer as part of the arts department of Hamas's domestic security service, the Executive Force, the group has performed for police units around Gaza City.

Sounds pretty good, eh? As you can tell from the charming picture that accompanies the article, these mellifluous fellahs remind one very much of 98 Degrees, except for the fact that everyone in the band (Allah be praised) sports a beard. And those military fatigues are awfully fetching.

Further, unlike those saccharine American boy-bands, who warble tunes of the “I Want it That Way” ilk, the Protectors of the Homeland offer delightful four-part harmony and incitements to genocide. Take that, Justin Timberlake.

Until you’ve heard their “Kill the Jews Rap,” you haven’t heard anything. Move over, George Michael.

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Oh, this simply has got to be one of our very favorite stories thus far from the 2008 presidential campaign. It may not be as delicious as the ongoing antics of the Mike Gravel candidacy, but it still packs a wallop.

As noted on a little “website” called the Drudge Report, Dennis Kucinich (D-The Nation magazine) questioned President Bush’s sanity in an interview with The Philadelphia Inquirer. More specifically, Rep. Kucinich reflected earnestly on the President’s mental health, given his pugnacious rhetoric on Iran’s potential acquisition of a nuclear weapon.

To the charmingly obtuse Rep. Kucinich, President BushÂ’s concern about IranÂ’s nuclear intentions are so inflammatory as to raise serious questions about the need to send him to a room with padded wallpaper.

And, as you might well imagine, dear reader, we think this is simply marvelous. What isnÂ’t to love? After all, the fellow making mental health recommendations is Dennis Kucinich, the half-pint, elfin left-wing extremist who has a better shot of marrying a unicorn than becoming our next commander-in-chief.

We mean, come on: Dennis Kucinich is questioning anyoneÂ’s mental soundness? This is the fellow who thinks he has a reasonable shot of winning the Democratic primary, even though his numbers poll lower than Joe BidenÂ’s, for crying out loud. Ivan Drago has a better chance of being elected, and heÂ’s both Russian and a fictional character.

This is the guy, we hardly need remind you, who aims to establish a Secretary of Peace in his cabinet. Why not add a Secretary of Love, an Assistant Secretary of Veganism, and a Secretary of Unrealistic Leftism whilst youÂ’re at it?

Further, for all his concern about President Bush’s supposed bellicose rhetoric vis-à-vis the Iranian regime, he seems interestingly calm about Ahmadinejad’s blisteringly militaristic statements. For some reason, the US must speak of nothing but bunnies and rainbows, and Middle Eastern despots can wax anti-Semitic about the destruction of Israel and America.

So, take it easy, President Bush: Dennis Kucinich calling you nuts is about as good a sign of your clean bill of mental health as anyone can muster.

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The other day, dear reader, our humble “website” was doing rather well for itself. Not, we dare say, in the Instapundit or Daily Kos league, but pretty well nevertheless. In fact, a quick glance at our day’s “hits” demonstrated that we easily topped our usual numbers.

And what, pray tell, had we done to deserve this charming up-tick? Had the folks at Black Hair Care magazine finally noticed our efforts? Did Ed Begley Jr. excoriate us for our typically withering references to his off-screen shenanigans?

Hardly. On the contrary, the secret to our success is surprisingly—and depressingly—simple. On this particular day, thanks to massive problems with our Internet service, we “posted” far later in the day.

Yep: You read that right. Thanks to our complete lack of timeliness, we wound up with markedly more “hits” than usual. Not thousands more, but a hefty sum more, to be sure.

How do you think this makes us feel? Not too darned good, if you’ll believe us. Clearly, if aim to become big-time “webloggers,” all we must do is…never “weblog” again. Fans will come a-screamin’ for more. Or is that less?

According to the delightful and charming Sadie—who runs a far more respectable Web effort than we muster—most “webloggers” like to write far more than they enjoy reading. Further, we might add, those who don’t write “weblogs” are too busy sniffing through a bout of Internet pornography to trouble themselves with some light reading.

So it stands to reason that folks would most esteem a “weblog” that offers absolutely no commentary on anything. If you want to get all artsy-craftsy, you could say that such a “weblog” would be the Internet equivalent of Robert Rauschenberg’s white paintings, or John Cage’s 4’33”.

Yeah: That was rather highfalutin of us. Perhaps you can see now why our humble “weblog” appears far more popular on the days we don’t “post” a thing.

Still, those few of you who actually read this garbage neednÂ’t fear. In our undying quest to remain as popular as leprosy and the LA Clippers, weÂ’ll continue to write our uninspired e-yuks each weekday.

It may not be as good as nothing, but weÂ’re willing to do our part.

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A lot of folks in America, dear reader, are sick and tired of listening to the political bleating of various actors and actresses. Whether itÂ’s Tim Robbins pontificating about the Iraq War or Sally Field pontificating about the Iraq War or Susan Sarandon pontificating about the Iraq War, many people just canÂ’t tolerate it.

Actors, after all, are not exactly world famous for their smarts. With, we suppose, a few exceptions: Gary Coleman has always struck us as extremely bright.

Yet we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” must admit that we don’t feel the same way about the political proclivities of various thespians. Call us masochists (really: Call us masochists), but we actually quite esteem the moronic diatribes of the Hollywood set.

In fact, we feel about Rosie O’Donnell’s stint on “The View” much as average Joes purportedly feel about Milwaukee’s Best: Life just doesn’t get any better than this. We mean, come on: An outlandishly execrable women’s talk show laced with the moronic blather of an overweight left-wing clown. Can you think of anything superior? The fifth season of “Night Court,” perhaps?

So you’ll pardon us, dear reader, if we—unlike so many Americans—pine to learn more about our actors’ ideological bents. Sure, we know the basics: Alec Baldwin is a raging leftist and a great father; Jon Voight is rather conservative; Tom Cruise is gay; &c. But we want more.

For instance, what does Rip Torn think about national healthcare? Does Ray Romano support a flat tax? Is, as we have long suspected, Cher an advocate for intervention in Burma?

As some highbrow publication once put it, inquiring minds want to know. And, we hasten to add, so do we. Although weÂ’ve long known that Ed Begley Jr. is a Communist whoÂ’ll drive a turkey to work if itÂ’ll save him a drop of gasoline, we yearn to know about the late Nel Carter. Was she a pinko? If you ask us, signs point to yes.

The next time you find yourself sick and tired of another B-List actor (say, George Clooney) eagerly attempting to use all three of his brain cells in an attempt to stump for a nuclear freeze, think of us. DonÂ’t just get mad at another typical Hollywood moron with typical leftist politics. Rather, ponder all the joy this boob is giving to us.

If it helps you get through the day, you're welcome.

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We, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” are nothing if not resourceful. And, since Descartes has amply demonstrated why we are not nothing, it seems as clear as day that we are, in fact, resourceful.

Whilst you mull that in your head a bit, dear reader, we must hit you with the reason for our discussion of our well nigh preternatural resourcefulness. In short, it is because our Official Ideas and Schemes Department has hit upon another glorious idea.

Yep: It’s pretty much as good as “Edward Said: The Musical” and our “Academic Superstars Calendar.” Impressive company in the world of marketing, eh? Yeah: We think so.

Right about now, you are undoubtedly asking yourselves: “What sort of hair brained genius has the crack young staff come up with now?” Or a sentiment to that general effect.

Well, let us tell you. As the title of this humble “post” reads, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” pine to inaugurate what we’ll call imposter universities.

And what, pray tell, is an imposter university? Well, itÂ’s much like an imposter fragrance, only far more related to higher education. And, unlike your lame rip-off of Drakar Noir (you inveterate townie), imposter universities may very well get you laid.

Allow us to explain. Lots and lots of folks hope to attend Stanford University, the chi-chi institution of higher drinking found somewhere in God-forsaken California. As it turns out, however, not everyone can get in to that school. Unless youÂ’re an African-American transgendered Navaho who served in Vietnam (or legacy), you actually donÂ’t stand much of a shot.

ThatÂ’s where our imposter university kicks in. Sometime in the near future, weÂ’ll set up a college in Stamford, Connecticut. Its name? Why, Stamford University, natch.

Thanks to us, only the most nitpicky employer will recognize that you didnÂ’t study English literature at an overrated campus on the West coast, but got a degree in dog grooming from some pathetic hole-in-the-wall. Oh, and you minored in mail fraud.

Call us bleeding heart egalitarians. We donÂ’t care. WeÂ’ve been called a lot worse, in fact. Like warthogs.

Still, we pine to allow everyone the opportunity to sniff at the stuff of academic achievement. Just because you wore a helmet when you attended high school (and weren’t on the team), that’s no reason to stop you from earning a BA from “Cornel University,” “Amerst College,” and “Amory University.”

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We hope, dear reader, that you are sitting down. And we do not only pray for this because it suggests that you have pretty good posture. Nope: What weÂ’re about to tell you may shock the living daylights out of you.

Here goes: We, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” spied an obtuse letter to the editor in the October 18 number of The New York Times. We know, we know: Alert the press. This must be the only stupid missive the Gray Lady has ever printed.

And here it is:

To the Editor:

Re “Gingerly, Romney Seeks Ties to the Christian Right” (Political Memo, front page, Oct. 16):

The fact that Mitt Romney, or any presidential candidate, should find it necessary to appease the Christian right is a sad commentary on our times. It is clear that a broad segment of the American people, and the feckless politicians who pander to them, have rejected the constitutional prohibition against religious tests for public office and believe that only “people of faith” are qualified to be leaders.

In such an environment, even the most outstanding atheist or agnostic could never aspire to public service.

Dennis Middlebrooks
Brooklyn, Oct. 16, 2007

We know what youÂ’re thinking, dear reader: We donÂ’t have a clue what Mr. Middlebrooks does for a living, but he probably doesnÂ’t pay his bills via constitutional law. After all, his whole How-Dare-an-Overwhelmingly-Christian-Nation-Desires-a-Religious-President routine isnÂ’t exactly the sort of legal zinger that would inspire pride in the Founding Fathers.

We mean, come on: American Christians aiming to plump for someone who shares their views on moral matters isn’t exactly a grave threat to the Republic, now is it? Nor, we dare say, does it gainsay “the most outstanding atheist or agnostic” from any sort of “public service,” as Mr. Middlebrooks histrionically asserts.

Has Mr. Middlebrooks ever heard of San Fransisco? How about Berkeley? Or, for that matter, Brooklyn? We have a hunch that candidates close to the Religious Right wouldnÂ’t fare so well in those areas.

One might as well complain about politicians incessantly pandering to adults. After all, kids canÂ’t vote, and thus our suck-up candidates ignore the kiddies, thereby subverting our constitution, blah, blah, blah.

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Quite frankly, dear reader, it’s been a tough week or so for us. Allow us to elaborate. About a week ago, our Internet service—much like our cable television service—went on the fritz.

Yep, that’s right: “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly” official headquarters—workspace of the crack young staff—was bereft of access to Al Gore’s World-Wide Web. Man, we didn’t know how hooked on that thing we had become.

As you might well imagine, lack of Internet access is a bit of a problem for a storied “weblog.” Or even, if we may add, a non-storied one. It’s kind of like a coal miner without a helmet or a banker without an obnoxiously supercilious demeanor. Or Madonna without lube. We were, in a word, stuck.

So what happened? Well, first and foremost, we failed to offer our weekly Sunday essay for Wizbang. This was the only time—the only time!—we did not offer our typical weekend rumination for the big boys at Wizbang since we started our humble column over a year ago.

In addition, we have recently—to put it delicately—half-assed our “posts.” Quite frankly, we can’t help it: As the result of our Internet non-access, we were compelled to troll around in search of some poor sap willing to let us piggy-back on their computers. We’re not proud of it, but it’s true.

Accordingly, we spent a few minutes on some weirdoÂ’s laptop, attempting to ignore the dubious photographs on his desktop whilst writing some glowing animadversion or other. Not, we must admit, a harbinger of e-success.

We suppose, dear reader, that we are asking—albeit indirectly—for your e-forgiveness. Our last few days of “posts” have been rather horrid, perhaps even more lowly and uninspired than is typical for this lowly and uninspired little “weblog.”

In typical American fashion, however, we are pleased to blame other people for our shortcomings. ItÂ’s the darn Internet providerÂ’s fault, and we take absolutely no responsibility. Read at your own risk.

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The other day, dear reader, we heard about a heckler who pitched a fit at a live Bill Maher performance. For some reason, HBO broadcasts the alarmingly un-insightful, non-sagacious politico-comedic stylings of Mr. Maher, and some nutter attempted to break up the fun.

Upon reading this, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” thought: Finally, someone excoriated Mr. Maher for his lame political ruminations and his foreboding smugness. It’s about time.

Ah, but upon closer inspection, we found that we were entirely wrong. Sure, a heckler did interrupt Mr. Maher during his live television broadcast. Yet the heckler in question was another 9/11 conspiracy clown.

Now, we might be in the minority here, but we simply must say that we have officially had enough of the whole 9/11-Was-an-Inside-Job-by-the-US-and/or-Israel crowd. WeÂ’ve heard their cockamamie theories, and you can color us unimpressed.

In fact, we firmly believe that the 9/11 conspiracy racket is amongst the most fatuous of conspiracy theories ever to sully American history. And that, we hardly need add, is quite an accomplishment.

We mean, come on: How deranged do you have to be to believe that the US government was behind the most horrific terror attack in American history? Apparently, the answer is: Just as much as Rosie OÂ’Donnell is.

Even though such conspiracy-mongers aim to castigate America and/or Israel with their foolishness, they wind up offering a strikingly racist view of the Middle East. As far as they’re concerned, Muslims can never accomplish anything—even terrorist attacks for which they explicitly claim responsibility. Everything must be the result of the evil West.

Quite frankly, we consider such 9/11 conspiracy-mongering so rebarbative that weÂ’re developing our own conspiracy theory to counter it. Although we havenÂ’t fully ironed out all the details, we have a sneaking suspicion that the 9/11 conspiracy theory is itself a conspiracy.

Yep, that’s right: If you ask us (which, technically speaking, you did not), the 9/11 “Truthers” are merely right-wing stooges aiming to make the far Left look so ridiculous that another Republican gets elected. This is not, we suppose, a particularly convincing theory, but it sure beast the heck out of the We-Did-9/11 garbage, doesn’ it?

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One of the senior editors here at “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly”—let’s just call him “Chip”—saw the oddest thing the other day. It was so peculiar, in fact, that we have decided to share it with you in today’s humble “post.” We know what you’re thinking, dear reader: It must be very strange indeed.

And it sure is. A few short days ago, “Chip” found himself at the wheel of his gray Honda Civic. (Nope: That wasn’t the strange bit.) Whilst traveling down the local highway, “Chip” spied something he had never seen before.

Frankly, we have the sneaking suspicion that you won’t believe “Chip” when we tell you what it is. But we’ll inform you nevertheless. We’re kind of nice like that.

Simply put, “Chip” saw a BMW on the highway that was—get this!—driving at a normal speed. What’s more, the driver of said BMW wasn’t obnoxiously swerving into different lanes, passing his fellow motorists in supremely dangerous style. Nope: This BMW-driver wasn’t even riding in the breakdown lane or anything.

In short, “Chip” saw a BMW-driver who wasn’t a complete jerk.

Hard to believe, isn’t it? We, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” have remarked in the past on the strange character of those who own BMWs. We’re not sure if it’s a German car thing or a rich, entitled snob thing. Perhaps a bit of both.

Still, in all of our collective lives, weÂ’ve never previously laid eyes on a BMW that wasnÂ’t being driven by someone whoÂ’s clearly an obnoxious moron. And, we hasten to add, weÂ’ve seen our fair share of BMWs in the past.

Accordingly, the sight of a mild-mannered BMW-driver quite shocked “Chip.” After all, as far as he was concerned, the BMW owner’s manual begins with the following sentiments:

Thank you, complete jerk, for purchasing a BMW. Frankly, we kind of figured that youÂ’d buy a BMW anyway. When you walked into the dealership, we could tell you were a Grade-A ass.

And now, thanks to our German engineering, you can drive like a self-obsessed moron who totally lacks regard for anyoneÂ’s safety. Hey: Let people in Honda Civics and Toyotas drive with care; they canÂ’t afford to be reckless, right?

After viewing a well-driven BMW for the first time in his life, “Chip” could only think one thing: Who stole that BMW? Obviously, that wasn’t the car’s self-possessed owner.

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Are you, dear reader, anything like us? From our vantage point, it seems as if you are. Admittedly, though, our eyesight isnÂ’t very strong.

Anyway, if you are anything like us—even remotely—you can be sure as sugar that one particular thing irritates you. We refer, of course, to the mindless American celebration of so-called “diversity,” as pushed by diversity apparatchiks all throughout these here United States.

You’ve seen the bumper stickers, dear reader: “Celebrate Diversity.” These are the orders of countless bureaucratic automatons who shill for the government, various non-profits, and the for-profit “diversity” police folks. These people don’t even tell you to “Celebrate Diversity If You Want To Do So”; oh, no: They aim to force you to tow their multicultural line, whether you want to or not.

And we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” have officially had enough. Yep: It’s official. As much as we despise any form of bigotry, we almost equally detest the pseudo-moral preening secular religiosity that surrounds the multiculturalists.

Further, we aim to do something about it. As you well know, our fine land is chock-a-block with useless folks called “Affirmative Action Officers,” “Diversity Specialists,” and “Diversity Trainers.”

These days, one canÂ’t even attend college without being browbeaten by such multicultural true believers. TheyÂ’re so committed to their faux ideals that theyÂ’d make the average Muslim fundamentalist blush.

If you ask us, it’s high time these obnoxious people got some competition. As such, we have come up with a delicious counterpoise to the “Diversity” movement. We call it the Sameness Movement, and it cherishes everything that the Diversity-heads loathe.

Pretty soon, we aim to launch our own Sameness Training Seminars, in which we force sundry businessmen, college kids, and government employees to “Celebrate Similarity.” We shall do our best to make this land safe for utter conformity.

And why not? Legions of senseless people are attempting to compel you to “appreciate difference”; shouldn’t you learn to love similarity too? Or at least verisimilitude.

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As readers of this humble “weblog” undoubtedly recognize, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” are pretty youthful folks. Not, we dare say, as young as Philip Roth—that whippersnapper—but fairly youthful nevertheless.

Accordingly, we naturally remember much about our undergraduate experiences. And, of course, by “experiences,” we don’t mean what the typical undergrad means: I.e., recreational druggery. Rather, we refer to our hours spent prostrate to the higher mind, if we may offer an unimpressive reference to an unimpressive Indigo Girls song.

We mention this, dear reader, for a particular reason. After much careful cogitation and a few rousing rounds of gin rummy, we have happened upon a view that both pertains to our respective collegiate experiences and is utterly true. Although it is highly likely that you wonÂ’t consider our opinion on this matter life-altering, we simply must share it with you.

Our conclusion relates to the realm of the seminar (or, as our womenÂ’s studies brethren call it, ovular). You know the seminar, dear reader: A three-hour marathon designed to show how dull a particular topic can be and how borderline retarded your fellow classmates are.

Now, don’t get us wrong, dear reader. Plenty of lecture-style college courses are dullsville too. As it happens, no one ever really instructs college professors how to teach, and thus the typical undergraduate is compelled to listen to some scatterbrained oaf with his fly undone muttering inaudibly about the “transcendental signifier” or “moles.”

And that, of course, is when said professor speaks English without an accent through which you could drive a stretch Hummer. One of the delights of our globalized world is learning about, say, Indian civilization from a woman who appears incapable of making any noise save for a glottal click.

Still, we would be remiss if we failed to mention the particular abominations related to the undergraduate seminar. Its faults are legion.

Most importantly, the very nature of these seminars forces its participants to withstand hours and hours and hours of dribblingly unenlightening banter from classmates who pepper each and every phrase with the word “like.” “I, like, you know, like, love, like Lacan. He, like, totally reminds me of, like, Paris Hilton.”

Well, gee: Thanks, Megan, for that incredibly useful insight. We canÂ’t help but be impressed by the sagacious commentary of 18-year-olds who plan to major in dipsomania with a minor in acquaintance rape. Ah, the life of the mind.

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Perhaps, dear reader, you heard about the recent non-mugging of left-wing radio host Randi Rhodes in New York City. As has been spread around the oleÂ’ Internets, fellow Air America host Jon Elliot claimed that Ms. Rhodes would not be present at her radio gig because she was the victim of a brutal mugging. For good measure, he insinuated that the evil right-wing conspiracy was behind Ms. RhodesÂ’ misfortune.

Doesn’t sound good, does it? Ah, but then it turned out that Mr. Elliot was playing a little fast and loose with the truth. His story was entirely legit—except for the small matter of Ms. Rhodes’ mugging. Oh, and the evil right-wing stuff was a bogus insinuation too, since Ms. Rhodes was not in fact a crime victim. As they say in the men’s magazines produced for metrosexuals: Details, details.

Now, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” fully recognize what is surely the most vexing detail of this whole Randi-Rhodes-wasn’t-mugged storyline: Air America is still in business? We mean, come on: We thought that aural turd went belly up months ago, sometime around the time that Al Franken ceased to be funny.

But, hey, we guess this dubious radio network is the Terry Schiavo of the airwaves, if youÂ’ll permit us to make a reference that displays appallingly bad taste and has at least a whiff of moral imbecility. (And we think you will.)

Well, we suppose that there are a few other points of interest in this whole Randi Rhodes brouhaha. First: WasnÂ’t Randi Rhodes the bassist for Quiet Riot? If so, when did he become a really left-wing talk-show host? And, more to the point, when did he become a girl? Man, those rock stars sure are odd.

In addition, why did Mr. Elliot aim to make Ms. Rhodes the radio version of Crystal Gail Mangum? DidnÂ’t he recognize that his whole Mike Nifong routine might backfire a bit? Just ask William Chafe, for crying out loud.

If Mr. Elliot was going to do his best dubious Durham District Attorney impression, youÂ’d think that heÂ’d go the whole way and really play it up. Charging the evil right-wing conspiracy for the mugging? How very Hillary Clinton circa 1999! How retardataire!

No, no: Mr. Elliot has it all wrong. You donÂ’t blame the fascistic right-wing en toto; rather, you take aim at specific folks. That way your dimwitted charge has a ring of plausibility and the added bonus of ruining a few peoplesÂ’ lives.

In fact, weÂ’re willing to do Mr. ElliotÂ’s handiwork for him. Randi Rhodes was mugged, and three people on the Duke lacrosse team are responsible.

Let the lynching begin.

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