As you may well know, dear reader, George W. Bush is still president of these here United States of America. And letÂ’s be honest: To many, many people all across this great land of ours, thatÂ’s unfortunate.

Few are more upset about current political vicissitudes, dear reader, than those with a nasty case of Anti-Bush Mania. You know the sort of folks we mean: The kind of people who vote for Dennis Kucinich, wear lots of hemp, and believe in all kinds of diversity—except for a diversity of opinion.

Yep, to those folks—who have many a prominent perch on Al Gore’s Internet—the ongoing presidency of George W. Bush is nothing short of an Orwellian nightmare. Thanks to the current administration, all sorts of horrors are being unleashed on us all: Little Navaho children are being needlessly tortured; the government is spying on all third-graders; Twinkies are now forbidden; &c.

To make matters worse, there have been a few glimmers of promise for the Bush administration in recent weeks. Although the jury is most assuredly not out, the situation in Iraq is steadily improving, as the surge begins to work. Even such obvious Bush-haters as The New York Times editorial page and Katie Couric are begrudgingly admitting the recent success.

Further, no terrorist attacks have taken place on American soil post-9/11 (knock on wood). In fact, our government has even stopped a plot here or there—none of which appears to have been in a particularly advanced stage.

All of this quite naturally leads to the following quandary: WhatÂ’s a Bush-hating nutter to do about this unfortunate good news for the US? How can one manage to pump out the same message about a neo-fascist cabal currently destroying America if things keep on getting rosier?

Well, that’s where we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” come in. Our Official Great Ideas Department has—mirabile dictu—come up with a great idea, one that will aid our rabid left-wing pal.

We call it “The Foolproof Guide to Anti-Bush Mania” and we think it’ll be a real lifesaver. If we know anything about our hardcore left-wing pals, we know that they don’t much care for thinking. It’s far easier, after all, to brandish bromidic placards than to bother with all that messy cogitation.

So we do all your thinking for you. We provide the unfortunate circumstance, and we provide your sophomoric response as well. HereÂ’s a little sample of the genius:

1) What do you say whenÂ…the US government catches a terrorist?

A) Inform your friends that this merely proves that law enforcement—not military solutions—is the true way to stop extremism.
2) What do you do whenÂ…the US government fails to catch a terrorist?

A) Blame the Bush administration for gross negligence. Is this the reason we handed over all our freedoms to the Bush junta?

3) What do you do whenÂ…violence in Iraq decreases?

A) Inform your buddies that this proves that American forces are not needed in Iraq and should head home posthaste.

4) What do you do whenÂ…violence in Iraq increases?

A) Inform you buddies that this proves that American forces are not needed in Iraq and should head home poasthaste.

What, friends, could be easier than our “Foolproof Guide to Anti-Bush Mania”? It’s a veritable start-up kit for the aspiring Mike Gravel supporter!

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As any literate human being well knows, The New York Times bills itself as “the Paper of Record.” Accordingly, the editorial eminences at this storied newspaper consider themselves the most important political and cultural arbiters in these here United States.

It is a matter of course, then, that folks turn to the arts section of said paper in order to take stock of the latest odds and ends in the world of high culture. After all, this is the Gray Lady—a newspaper for serious folks, not the halfwits who read The New York Post.

And what sort of high culture concerns the self-possessed media elites who run the Times? Well, on Thursday, September 13, the answer to that question appeared to be Britney Spears. But of course.

You see, dear reader, in this particular issue of the Paper of Record, an article concerning Ms. Spears graces page one, above the fold. Of all the events in the cultural universe, Britney Spears’ recent appearance at something called the MTV “Video Music Awards “ struck the snooty highbrows at the Times as the most crucial.

Well, consider us behind the times. Until we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” had read this deeply important article in the Times, we thought Britney Spears was some teeny-bop moron known more for her white-trash antics than any sort of worthwhile contribution to American music.

But that’s not how the Times sees it. Rather, “Spears’s Awards Fiasco Stirs Speculation about her Future,” a hand-wringing report by one Jeff Leeds (re-printed in The International Herald Tribune), seems almost comically serious about the pop singer’s banal antics.

You see, dear reader, Ms. Spears has performed poorly of late, leading some of her dimwitted fans to worry desperately about the erstwhile pop sensation. The TimesÂ’s Mr. Leeds reports:

With her first studio album in four years scheduled for release on Nov. 13, the music industry is debating whether Ms. SpearsÂ’s career can recover.

“Is she going to be the next Michael Jackson?” wondered Jay Marose, a former publicist for teen-pop acts like the Backstreet Boys.

Oooh, what a good question. We take it that Mr. Marose wonders if Ms. Spears, like Michael Jackson, will wind up as a homosexual pedophile. Who knows, who knows?

And hereÂ’s another good question: How can anyone tell when Britney SpearsÂ’ concerts are good? If you ask us, theyÂ’re all infantile garbage.

For a newspaper rather quick to chastise Rupert MurdochÂ’s tabloidization of national and international news, this strikes us as pathetically hypocritical. Why doesnÂ’t the Paper of Record buck the trends and spend most of its energies on real music?

After all, if BritneyÂ’s career goes bust, it wonÂ’t exactly be a landmark moment in American music history. YouÂ’d think that the stuffed shirts at The New York Times would recognize this.

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Oh, it was bound to happen. Perhaps you have heard, dear reader, that a volume called The Dangerous Book for Boys is all the rage. It seems as if everyone with a male child—and more than a few without, we’d wager—simply must get their hands on this neo-Victorian activity book.

As sure as death and taxes, moreover, feminists complained that this tome was disgracefully sexist. After all, itÂ’s explicitly aimed at the stronger sex. How retardataire! (Apparently, our feminist friends arenÂ’t too worried about womenÂ’s gyms and womenÂ’s colleges, the existence of which never seem to earn their ire.)

Accordingly, dear reader, we were thoroughly unsurprised to learn about The Daring Book for Girls, which is clearly an attempt to make some extra cash off of this whole fusty tomes for the young ‘uns craze. We’re sure that the Andrea Dworkins of the world can rest a little easier, knowing that a distaff answer to that misogynist volume for lads has appeared. (Although we’d bet that our feminist pals would like to see “killing of men” as an activity in The Daring Book for Girls. Now that’s daring.)

Still, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” do not think that publishers have made all the money one can from this sudden interest in turning children into dignified Edwardian tykes. A few years in American higher education has led us to propose another in the Daring and Dangerous Books series.

We call our creation The Darling Book for Hermaphrodites and we think it’ll sell like hotcakes—especially on college campuses with an LGBTQ center (that is to say, all campuses but Hillsdale and Baylor). Doesn’t it sound simply grand? After all, why can’t your little hermaphrodite read about the sort of activities that will make him/her into a fine Victorian man and/or woman?

We canÂ’t think of a reason either.

Just think of the fun activities the book could promote. Given the origin of the word hermaphrodite, clearly a little Greek mythology is in order.

But why stop there? The tome could teach the budding he/she about some of the worldÂ’s most storied hermaphrodites in history.

You know: Like Andy Dick.

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As you well know, dear reader, George W. Bush is a fascist. Sure, he pretended to care about so-called terrorism, but he really used 9/11 as a pretext to begin his radical assault on our nation: Killing children; wire-tapping fuzzy bunnies; &c.

Or so you would believe from reading any number of left-wing “weblogs” here on Al Gore’s World-Wide Web. To the fevered lefty mind, George W. Bush is pretty much Mussolini—without the deep regard for archaeology or sartorial splendor.

And, naturally, given the evils of George W. Bush, many of our pals on the radical Left enjoy cheerleading for a world leader who virulently opposes our current Totalitarian-in-Chief. You know, the sort of fellow who champions free speech and dissent, and demonstrates how responsible world leaders ought to act.

Their man? VenezuelaÂ’s Hugo Chavez, naturally.

What a great choice, eh? Our left-wing buddies, exasperated by the purported secrecy of the dissent-crushing Bush junta, love saddling up to Saint Hugo, whose desire to stay in power for life only serves as another demonstration of his deep regard for democracy.

We mention this, dear reader, because the media have just reported yet another example of Saint HugoÂ’s charming open-mindedness. Those Bush-bashing radicals ought to have a great time apologizing for it. In its September 9 number, the editorial page at The Boston Globe reports:

As if Hugo Chavez doesn’t have enough ways to repress his countrymen, a new parliamentary edict has been introduced to prohibit Venezuelan parents from naming their newborns anything other than 100 officially sanctioned Spanish names. Fed up with whimsical, hard-to-pronounce, or politically incorrect monikers such as Haynhecht, Yornaichel, Hochminh, or (horrores!) Kennedy, officials want to go back to basics, according to The New York Times. Supporters of the legislation say it will protect children from ridicule. But efforts to purify cultures have not gone well historically. And what’s next? Venezuela itself is said to have been named by an Italian, Amerigo Vespucci, who in 1399 christened it “Little Venice.” Could “Chavezuala” be far behind?

Ah, Hugo Chavez: Unimpeachable multiculturalist. No wonder our friends on the far Left esteem him so much.

Just imagine if President Bush introduced legislation limiting Americans to 100 acceptably WASPy names for newborns. TheyÂ’d sure love that, wouldnÂ’t they?

So, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” can’t wait to hear how the pro-Chavez goons will spin this one.

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Longtime readers of this humble “weblog” may recognize that “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly” is a humor “website.” Sure, on occasion it’s hard to tell. If by “on occasion” you mean “pretty much every day.” After all, we’re not exactly “Family Circus.”

As a “weblog” dedicated to the mirthful arts (if you will), “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly” tends toward the silly and inconsequential. It is possible, for instance, that we have made more references to Phil Collins than can be found in any other corner of Al Gore’s Internet, save some wretched Phil Collins fan site.

ThatÂ’s the sort of fluff that keeps this operation going. The more nugatory, the better. (IsnÂ’t that the Milky Way barÂ’s slogan?)

Ah, but not today. Although some folks may wish to forget, this day marks the sixth anniversary of the horrific, dastardly attacks of 9/11. Accordingly, weÂ’re dropping our usual studied frivolity in order to wax morose on that dark day in history.

According to lots of people, the perfect word to describe 9/11 is “tragedy.” If you ask us, you couldn’t be more wrong. A tsunami is a tragedy. A hurricane is a tragedy. Oedipus Rex is a tragedy (and a darn good one).

9/11 was not a tragedy. It was an act of pure evil. ThatÂ’s right, postmodernists: Pure evil.

We, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” can already hear the clucks of the John Pilger-Noam Chomsky-Tariq Ali crowd. “9/11 was payback for Western imperialism!” Blah, blah, blah.

Frankly, dear reader, we find this sort of reflexive exoneration of non-Westerners disgusting—and racist. The same folks who hold up the US, Israel, and—more generally—the West to unrealistic moral expectations are the fools who refuse to make non-Westerners accountable for anything.

Did a few Palestinian thugs kill innocent civilians? Well, what else can you expect, cries the moronic leftist. As if it’s so terrible to expect moral behavior from the supposedly “oppressed.”

But enough of this blather. It is far more important on this day to remember the victims of Islamofascism and pray that they rest in peace. We shall never forget.

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Why, oh, why do we do it? As we have mentioned oft in this space, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” simply despise bumper stickers. These vehicular eyesores inevitably ruin our collective days.

And yet, for some unknown reason, upon spying the merest outline of another bumper sticker, we always do our level best to take a peek at it up-close. Although we ineluctably find them obtuse, weÂ’ll go to great lengths to check out bumper stickers. Annoying, is it not?

Well, it certainly was the other day, when one of our senior editors—let’s just call him “Chip”—took a glance at an automobile brimming with bumper stickers. You know the type, dear reader: A compact car filled with more slogans than a peace rally.

What are the chances that “Chip” would enjoy any bumper sticker on such a vehicle? Just about nil, we’d wager. But this didn’t stop “Chip” from getting his gray Honda Civic good and close to this car, in an attempt to glance at sundry examples of liberal fatuity.

Oh, and it certainly paid off. Prominently placed on the automobile in question was the following slogan, which “Chip” had yet to see on other back bumpers:

Pro-Life and Pro-War? IÂ’m Anti-Hypocrite, Thanks

Even judged amongst all the obnoxious and nonsensical bumper stickers weÂ’ve seen, surely this sticks out as notably horrid.

First, we suppose we ought to mention that this bumper sticker offers rather twisted logic. In short, it charges those who oppose abortion yet support wars (any wars, we guess) with rank hypocrisy. Yet there are plenty of ways to describe this purported discrepancy without recourse to the word “hypocrisy.”

Certainly the taking of a life in a just war is different from performing an abortion. We, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” happen to be pro-choice, but we don’t for a moment believe that pro-lifers must be ardent pacifists. It’s more than a bit ridiculous to assert that you can’t be pro-life because, say, you supported America’s defeat of Nazi Germany on the battlefield.

Ah, but the bumper sticker gets even more fatuous. For, if the owner of this sticker believes that being pro-life and pro-war is hypocritical, this of necessity makes being pro-choice and anti-war hypocritical as well.

Now, we guess that itÂ’s within the realm of possibility that the person who stuck this slogan on his or her car is either pro-life and anti-war or pro-choice and pro-war, and hence would not be considered a hypocrite by the dubious illogic of this bumper sticker. But the other stickers on this car made it crystal clear that the automobileÂ’s owner is ardently pro-choice and anti-war.

Gosh, this moron is calling himself or herself a hypocrite, and doesnÂ’t even realize it. Boy, thatÂ’s really, really dumb.

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As you might well imagine, dear reader, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” receive all manner of e-mails. In fact, one of our crack young interns—let’s just call her “Chip”—spends her entire workdays sorting through and dealing with our voluminous correspondence.

For some reason, we get our share of interesting business deals from Nigerians. Go figure. Who would have guessed that Nigeria is home to such an impressive entrepreneurial spirit? Not us, not us.

We would be remiss if we failed to mention the fact that we also receive lots of fan mail. You know, the sort of stuff that reads: “Oh, crack young staff, I wish you were my daughters.” Or words to that general effect.

Every once in a great while, however, some yahoo or other sends us a fetching exemplum of hate mail. These folks don’t like our e-antics very much, and have taken it upon themselves to hammer us. If you ask us, it’s entirely reasonable to complain about the delicate arguments appearing on a “website” called “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly.” With a name like that, wouldn’t you expect intellectual care and seriousness? We would, we would.

A few days ago, dear reader, an even more interesting piece of e-mail flew its way into our e-mail pile. WeÂ’re not exactly sure how, but someone with the name of Regina Whitlock tracked us down and decidedÂ…to offer us a job. HereÂ’s her full missive in question:

Hello.

Dating company wants to offer you the job with the profitable conditions.

We are looking for the trustworthy persons with excellent organizational and communicative skills. These skills will help you and us to earn money. This is the part-time job, which can be combined with any permanent or other part-time job. No special experience is necessary.

There are different kinds of a part time job that our company offers. If you are interested with our suggestion write on datingjob@aol.com
Thank you, good bye.

P.S. in your reply could please note the country you live in.

We know what you are thinking, dear reader: This sounds like a fantastic opportunity. Although you might heartily disagree, we strongly believe that the best job opportunities are those “with the profitable conditions.”

No wonder this esteemed dating company (?) hopes to employ people with superior “communicative skills.” It seems as if Ms. Whitlock has a bit of trouble with English. Perhaps she too is a Nigerian businessman?

Sadly, though, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” already have “permanent or other part-time job[s],” and haven’t any extra hours to spend with a dating company. But we magnanimously pass on the job notice to you, in case you’re interested.

Just tell Ms. Whitlock that the crack young staff sent you.

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Everyone on God’s green earth (which is, we might add, heating up at an alarming rate) seems to despise rich little Paris Hilton. (A few people despise Rich Little, but that’s the topic for another “post.”) It appears as if one simply can’t turn anywhere without taking in some vitriolic response to the pampered heiress’s shenanigans. In many circles, Ms. Hilton is less popular than herpes—or Rob Schneider.

Now, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” consider this all well and good—up to a point. Clearly, Ms. Hilton is on the vapid, sluttish side of the visible spectrum, and so it’s nice to see that her drink-addled antics have ruffled some American feathers.

All the same, we couldn’t help but notice that this orgy of Hilton-bashing (Paris Hilton, not Hilton Kramer) is a bit facile, a bit easy. We can all point to Ms. Hilton as the veritable Goddess of Wealthy Classlessness, but how many of us would—if we possessed Ms. Hilton’s riches—act in a similarly unflattering manner?

We mention this, dear reader, as the result of our noticing something that figuratively tends to fly past our figurative radar screens. A handful of perambulations round any major city will demonstrate that young gals—and some not so young gals—are taken with a style of sunglasses one could best describe as Martian.

You know the sort of thing we mean: Big, bug-eyed glasses. The type of eyewear that may seem hip nowadays, but, a few years hence, will look like spectacles’ answer to bell bottoms and wide ties. Mark our collective words: People will soon laugh at such glasses with disbelief. Wiping the tears of joy from their eyes, they’ll ask themselves: “How could girls want to look so stupid?”

So far, you might notice, we have yet to make our eyewear-Paris Hilton connection. But the astute reader will see it coming all along. More than any other celebrity (or faux celebrity), these bug sunglasses are associated in the popular imagination with Paris Hilton. Sure, Nicole Ritchie too, but primarily with Ms. Hilton. For some reason, the heiress just canÂ’t get enough of these ugly things.

Why, one might reasonably wonder, would gals pine to look like a woman so thoroughly despised in the popular press? What makes them excoriate Ms. HiltonÂ’s antics one moment and hunt for Paris-like eyewear the next?

Oh, the hypocrisy! Although few would admit it, we have the hunch that many women feel a twinge of Paris Envy. And, sadly enough, itÂ’s sufficiently bad to compel them to wear Marvin the MartianÂ’s sunglasses.

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Is Katie Couric Jewish? We, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” sure didn’t think so. After all, she looks about as Jewish as Conan O’Brien. Or, for that matter, Conan the Barbarian.

And yet, to the Daily Kossacks and other purveyors of zany Internet leftism, Katie Couric simply must be Jewish. The reason? She thinks things are looking far, far better in Iraq.

As some Jew named Matt Drudge reports on his obscure pro-Zionist “website,” Ms. Couric has recently used her (mini-)bully pulpit at CBS News to report from Baghdad. And, as far as Ms. Couric is concerned, the improvements in the country are dramatic.

In fact, a CBS affiliate reports the following:

We hear so much about things going bad, but real progress has been made there in terms of security and stability," Couric said Tuesday. "I mean, obviously, infrastructure problems abound, but Sunnis and U.S. forces are working together. They banded together because they had a common enemy: al Qaeda."Â…

"The spike in police has really been significant," Couric said. "The incidents in Iraq have gone down dramatically."

Well, well, well: Sign Ms. Couric up for a spot at the American Enterprise Institute! Give her Irving KristolÂ’s office! SheÂ’s a regular hardcore Bush patsy, isnÂ’t she?

Although of course, dear reader, itÂ’s far too early to tell, it appears as if America and its alliesÂ’ perseverance in Iraq may just pay off. Perhaps weÂ’ll establish a functioning democracy there after all.

This should be the hope of all moral human beings. A stable, powerful democratic Iraq will be a great boon for the Middle East and a great boon for the world. For this reason, this part of the world’s odious thugocracies—principally Iran and Syria—are fighting very hard to ensure our failure. Ah, but, in the inimitable words of the Beatles, things are getting better all the time.

What will the loony Left say about this mainstream media apostasy? Will they attempt to frog-march Ms. Couric from the hallowed halls of left-wing journalism?

We’re not sure. But we have the funny feeling that a few left-wing “webloggers” will pontificate on Ms. Couric’s purported Jewishness and her nefarious ties to Israel. After all, isn’t that what a serious political movement does?

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About fifteen minutes into watching John Tucker Must Die on the Home Box Office channel, an obvious thought occurred to “Chip”: What in God’s name are you doing? “Chip”—a senior editor here at “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly”—was viewing a movie aimed at retarded tween girls, after all. How much lower can one sink?

We mean, come on. For those of you blissfully unaware of this John Tucker picture, allow us to inform you that it is even beneath the dignity of the average 20-year-old girl. Its lame high school high jinks would make a subscriber to Teen Vogue call for the sick bag. The writers of “Saved by the Bell” are veritable Prousts by comparison.

But here was “Chip,” Bachman Pretzel Rods snug in his hand, vapidly taking in a film too stupid to be labeled a “chick flick.” You couldn’t even call John Tucker Must Die a movie for women without (justly) engendering the wrath of feminists.

We know what you’re thinking, dear reader: How has “Chip” sunk so low? What makes him waste his precious time on God’s rapidly warming earth on this arrant piffle? What compels him to use words like “arrant piffle”?

Good questions, those. And if we had the answers, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” are pretty sure we’d be millionaires. If you ask us, most Americans oft find themselves magically stuck in some sort of malignant entertainment rut. Call it the postmodern bane of the bourgeoisie.

Now, this doesn’t serve to excuse “Chip” for his obviously appalling viewing habits. Even an afternoon of Nickelodeon and the Disney Channel seems highbrow in comparison with the sordid palaver he occasionally views.

Still, one wonders how “Chip”—or any other people, for that matter—finds himself in such a predicament in the first place. Poor use of leisure time is kind of like heroin and hookers: One moment—as if by magic—you suddenly come to the realization that you’re doing something awful, but you have no idea how it happened. You just regain consciousness and recognize—as if for the first time—that Bob Saget is staring you in the face.

How the heck did that happen? We don’t even like “Full House”—not even in a Susan Sontag “it’s so bad it’s good” way. Except, of course, for one of the actor’s impressive mullets. Man, that relief pitcher hair’s a real gas.

Well, we suppose it’s not so terrible. After all, it may resemble horrible addictions in some respects, but coming to the realization that you’re completely wasting your time by watching “Celebrity Fit Club” still isn’t as horrible as PCP. It’s close, of course, but it’s still not that bad.

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Longtime reader(s) of this humble “weblog” recognize that we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” despise so-called popular music. Not, we dare say, of the Tin Pan Alley days. Nope: We mean the aural detritus commonly known as rock-‘n-roll. If you ask us, the stuff should be called children’s music.

Now, donÂ’t get us wrong: We enjoy a bit of musical slumming now and again, and thus have been known to tune in to a bit of pop garbage. But we fully recognize itÂ’s worthless tripe, far from the level of, say, Bach, Beethoven, Miles Davis, Bill Evans, et al. Not to put too fine a point on it, it is, in a word, crap.

For some reason, our opinion on rock music is perhaps the most controversial stance we’ve taken on Al Gore’s World-Wide Web. We can natter on about the horrors of a particular political candidate; we can ramble on about the evils of mulitculturalism; we can laugh at the inanities of political correctness—and few readers trouble us with angry e-mails. But rip on Phil Collins and all heck breaks loose.

Although we havenÂ’t devoted much thought to this issue, we have the sneaking suspicion that the vehement views on rock music pertain to peoplesÂ’ irritation at being labeled aesthetic Neanderthals. By ridiculing pop music, weÂ’re essentially ripping on peoplesÂ’ taste, and that deeply troubles lots of folks.

But maybe the matter relates to matters of age as well. We say this, dear reader, in part because of a recent run-in that one of our junior editors—let’s just call him “Chip”—just experienced. After a long day at the Hatemonger’s Quarterly Headquarters, “Chip” headed out to meet a friend at a local watering hole.

This friend happened to show up at said local watering hole with a few acquaintances in tow. Among the acquaintances was a female co-worker of 40—well older than young “Chip,” of course. Even so, this lady struck “Chip” as rather sophomoric.

Clad in an all-black getup, the lass sported a backpack with what looked like a hastily scrawled cartoon. The scribbles featured a little kid repeatedly shouting the word “f***” (with the letters standing in for asterisks, naturally). So here was a 40-year-old white-collar worker who dresses like an alienated high school student. Seeing her, “Chip” thought to himself, “Oh, grow up.”

But, naturally, such people don’t want to grow up. They pine to be identified as young and hip forever. Maybe that’s why they resolutely refuse to allow their tastes—musical and otherwise—to grow?

Well, thereÂ’s our two cents. Now weÂ’ll just sit back and watch the hate mail roll in.

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Rapier wit. This, dear reader, is the reason you turn each day to enjoy the humble musings on this “weblog.” After all, a few perambulations around Al Gore’s World-Wide Web more than demonstrates that the Internet—though an ingenious system of tubes—is more than a bit lacking in the rapier wit department.

But us? Heck, we’ve got rapier wit in spades. In fact, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” are so chock-a-block with rapier wit that we even have a bit to spare—which we’ll gladly sell to you for a few bucks or a handful of blonde jokes.

Ah, yes: Life is good here in the “weblogosphere.” It’s now turning to that storied time of the year: The lazy, hazy, crazy days of summer will soon be behind us and droves of you have headed back to your desks, eagerly inspecting the Internet.

Accordingly, dear reader, we here at “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly” are experiencing our typical late summer up-tick in “hits.” Whereas we used to have a few readers, now we have a few plus a couple more. Not too shabby, eh?

As you might well imagine, this sudden burst of e-popularity has kind of gone to our collective heads. Hence the whole “rapier wit” thing, which, quite frankly, would be a bit snotty if it weren’t so inept and inapt.

Still, itÂ’s hard to be humble. Take it from Donald Trump. Or, if you prefer, take it from Donald TrumpÂ’s hairdresser. Or even Don KingÂ’s hairdresser. When youÂ’re hot, youÂ’re hot.

But we would be remiss if we gave you the impression that we have made the big-time. We’re no Glenn Reynolds, Arianna Huffington, or Charles Johnson. In fact, we can’t even get celebrity “webloggers” to cover for us—thanks a lot, Alec Baldwin—unless you count this fetching fellow.

What’s more, a few moments of deep thought about Al Gore’s World-Wide Web will cure even the most obnoxious “weblogging” egotist. Just think about it: No matter how many “hits” our storied “weblog” receives, it will never come close to topping the figures for the average pornographic “website.”

In fact, our “hits” will probably go up, merely because we used the words “figures” and “pornographic” in close proximity, thus enabling rather esoteric horn-balls to Google us up in the vain hope that they’ll turn to our “weblog” and see Bette Midler naked. It’s sad, but it’s true.

We’d wager that even “websites” devoted to really obscure pornographic topics rake in more “hits” than the pathetic “Hatemonger’s Quarterly” musters. You know, like cat-on-cow action. Or Andy Dick on Ted Danson. Or a Commadore Vic-20 on Heath Ledger.

Gee, weÂ’d pay for that.

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One of the senior editors here at “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly”—let’s just call him “Chip”—recently joined a new gymnasium. As you might well imagine, dear reader, this has compelled “Chip” to endure all manner of indignities.

First and foremost, this particular “work-out” establishment prefers a brand of future “classic rock” to irritate its patrons. Or, we suppose, to irritate “Chip.” You know the sort of stuff we mean: Green Day; Oasis; Pearl Jam. In a word, crap. But crap that suits the working-class homophobes who frequent the gym in question.

We, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” would be remiss if we failed to mention another irksome phenomenon related to “Chip’s” new “work-out” facility. In the title of this humble “post,” we refer to it as the “prole stamp,” but we suppose we ought to explain it more clearly. We refer, dear reader, to the barbed wire tattoo.

You know the barbed wire tattoo. It seems as if every gym-frequenting proletarian male under the age of 55 must sport one. ItÂ’s in the handbook, we suppose.

In essence, the barbed wire tattoo serves as part of the American townie official uniform. Fake tan? Check. Backward baseball cap? Check. Barbed wire tattoo? Check. Old Ford Mustang? Check. Bad credit rating? Check.

Nothing screams “class” quite like a barbed wire tattoo, does it? As far as the females in said gymnasium are concerned, this appears to be the case. It’s as if the barbed wire tattoo acts as an Unofficial Townie Chick Magnet, luring in all the gals with teased hair and too much makeup within a given radius. “Oh my God. That’s, like, such a, like, wicked awesome tattoo!”

To be quite honest, dear reader, we find this all curious. In our book, the barbed wire tattoo signals underachievement.

Now, we’re fully willing to admit that this is a mere generalization: We’re certain that some barbed wire tattoo wearer is a heart surgeon, a dean at Yale, or secretary of state. (Perhaps all three—the resourceful goomba.) But we’d wager that the typical man sporting a barbed wire tattoo is highly likely to be the sort of uncouth low- to medium-income slob most women would choose to ignore.

Well, color us wrong. Girls, in their infinite wisdom, love the barbed wire tattoo. Just ask your friends Donna, Tiffany, and Heather.

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As regular readers of this humble “weblog” well know, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” compose a weekly essay for the big-time “website” Wizbang. This gig offers us the opportunity to pontificate to a larger group of folks than usually travel to our staid digs on Al Gore’s World-Wide Web.

It also provides readers the ability to supply something missing from our own humble “website”: Wizbang, unlike “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” allows its readers to present e-comments on its “posts.” Hence our Sunday animadversions on Wizbang receive all manner of snarky, foolish, and grammatically-challenged commentary.

Now, every once in a while, dear reader, someone or other sends us an e-mail lamenting the lack of e-comments on “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly” “website.” “You should allow us to speak our minds about your ‘posts,’” they argue (minus the inverted commas). Or words to that effect.

In response to such demands, we occasionally savor presenting our readers with particularly inane examples of reader comments from our Wizbang “posts,” which ably demonstrate what “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly” is missing due to its ruthless (we wonder where Ruth is) No Comments Policy.

And the other day we were provided with a stellar exemplum. On Sunday, dear reader, we composed a hum-drum essay for Wizbang entitled “Extreme Opinions, Extreme Ignorance.” As a result of our efforts, we were bestowed with this little bit of e-genius from a reader (ironically) calling himself “civil behavior”:

The Maliki government is falling apart.

It mimics our own.

Both are infected with religious fundamentalists both in power and waiting in the wings to substitute the role of religion for the rule of law.

Both have a tenous [sic] hold on national security and give false reasons for using war as a means of obtaining such.

And the Hatemonger's Quarterly gang thinks they have the answers to both countries by advocating for more testosterone based [sic] antics. We all can see how far that's gotten us already.

Talk about extreme opinions, extreme ignorance.

Foolish stupid [sic] Americanos.

Pretty compelling, is it not? It’s nice to know that the US government is—just like Iraq’s fledgling democracy—“falling apart.” We’ll collectively hold our breath until some totalitarian police state takes the place of our teetering republic.

It also seems entirely reasonable to argue that America’s religious fundamentalists—Christian and not Muslim, naturally—pine to destroy the rule of law in the name of theocracy. We’ll also collectively hold our breath until that winds up happening too.

For some reason, the dunderheaded “civil behavior” doesn’t realize that he just made an argument in favor of a continued American military presence in Iraq—which was the very thing for which he criticized us. After all, since religious fundamentalists pine to destroy Iraq, it seems prudent to stay there and remove this threat. That is to say, to remove the threat of al Qaeda in Iraq and kindred terrorist groups.

But, hey: Don’t listen to us. We, in the inimitable words of “civil behavior,” are “foolish stupid [sic] Americanos.” Unlike “civil behavior,” we understand how to use commas. Yet perhaps that’s just part of our idiocy.

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Ah, the happiest time of the year is upon us, dear reader. Soon our little kiddies will return to their four-year entertainment camps, which are better known as colleges and universities. CanÂ’t you just smell the academic papers on transgender Chicana bouncers? (Furthermore, canÂ’t you smell the transgender Chicana bouncers?)

Yep, the school year is about to start up afresh, and this means a return to all the inanities of academe. Dipsomania; acquaintance rape; fashionably vacuous left-wing faculty pontifications on all and sundry—these are just a few things that await your little Thomas and Jennifer in the coming semester.

But we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” particularly savor one bit of the early college experience. We refer, of course, to freshman (excuse us, freshwomyn) orientation.

If you ask us—and, technically speaking, you did not—freshperson orientation is the best example of the secular coercing of virtue that exists. Those happy leftists in charge of America’s myriad freshperson orientations tend to proselytize so wholeheartedly that they would put Pat Robertson to shame.

Now, weÂ’re prepared to admit that not all freshpeople orientations are tantamount to Green Party powwows. Further, weÂ’d wager that some administrators use their respective orientations to get across some important information, about, say, dipsomania and acquaintance rape.

Yet anecdotal evidence suggests that these sessions routinely degenerate into unpleasant political rallies, which the attendees did not aim to attend. After all, when you step foot on a college campus for the first time in your life, you normally donÂ’t pine to discuss the United StatesÂ’ horrid history of brutal oppression and the theories of Michel Foucault.

In addition, you likely also don’t pine to line up according to skin tone and make vulgar pronouncements about your own “privilege.” If we know college students at all, they’d probably prefer to go drinking instead.

But, hey: At least orientation allows students to recognize that those who call themselves liberal are actually quite interested in forcing their worldview on others. It wonÂ’t be the last time they learn that, of course, but it never hurts to notice it.

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Those hip to current arguments about the Middle East are undoubtedly aware of one of the most rancid and dubious tactics of the anti-Israel fanatics. We refer, of course, to likening Israel to Apartheid South Africa.

Although, in a reasonable universe, one might think that such disingenuousness would be confined to no-name crazies, alas it is not. After all, as great an eminence as former President Jimmy Carter has used the A-word when referring to the Jewish state. That means, of course, that both no-name crazies and named crazies have viciously bandied about the Apartheid charge.

Naturally, anyone with even the slightest semblance of gray matter recognizes how absurd and inapt is the labeling of Israel an Apartheid nation. In Israel, of course, non-Jews have the same rights as Jews—and possess far more rights than do Muslims in the countries that surround Israel. The Jewish state, for example, elects Muslim members of Knesset—something you don’t see happening in Saudi Arabia or Syria, now do you?

Further, the anti-Israel nutters who mindlessly charge that Zionism is tantamount to Apartheid routinely defend Muslim regimes that are deeply anti-Jewish and anti-Christian. One canÂ’t even bring a Bible into Saudi Arabia, for crying out loud. But you donÂ’t see the Muslim apologists discussing that.

Since hurling the charge of Apartheid state at Israel is so manifestly nonsensical, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” figured that we could help our radical anti-Zionist crazies by making a few equally stupid comparisons. Heck, if you’re willing to believe that Israel’s existence is tantamount to plumping for Apartheid, you’ll pretty much believe anything.

So, how about these delightful charges?

Apartheid Is Like… A List of Things Moronically Unlike Apartheid by the Crack Young Staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly”

1) Apartheid is like Twinkies. Both have a white creamy filling.
2) Apartheid is like Journey’s power ballad “Faithfully.” They’re both bad.
3) Apartheid is like Cynthia McKinney. Both are unfair to blacks.
4) Apartheid is like Paris Hilton. TheyÂ’re both stupid.
5) Apartheid is like Vincent van Gough. Both are of Dutch origin.

Well, thatÂ’s a pretty savory list of other ostensibly Apartheid-like things and people. We wonder when Jimmy Carter will compose his ridiculous screed entitled Twinkies: Peace Not Apartheid.

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If we recall correctly, Marge Simpson’s sisters—Selma and Thelma Bouvier—work at the local Springfield Department of Motor Vehicles. Naturally, the writers for “The Simpsons” have chosen this as the Bouvier sisters’ occupations because it well fits their unpleasant dispositions.

As a result, it will come without much surprise to anyone to learn that the Department of Motor Vehicles—or the Registry of Motor Vehicles—is a horrible, horrible place. Which DMV, you ask? Why, any of them. Any one of them in these here United States of America. And in other countries, we’d wager, though we’re merely making an educated guess.

To inform you, then, that one of the senior editors here at “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly”—let’s just call him “Chip”—recently had a bad experience at the local DMV isn’t exactly a shock. It’s par for the course.

Even so, this experience left him so scarred that he simply must discuss it. We know youÂ’ve probably heard worse DMV stories, dear reader, but this one will just add fuel to the fire. Frankly, someone needs to burn these darn DMVs to the ground. If only the Islamist terrorists would attack unoccupied DMVs, we might all be able to see eye to eye.

Anyway, on with the tale of woe. As the result of a recent offer to accept an editorial gig at “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” “Chip” found himself moving across state lines to live closer to Hatemonger’s Headquarters. Hence he required a new driver’s license for his new state.

And hence he found himself at the local DMV. It was, in essence, an aesthetic disaster: Heavily soiled carpet; heavily soiled customers; heavily soiled employees; &. If someone attempted to get a sense of the USA merely from a trip to this DMV, he would think that it was a Third-World country. Perhaps Fourth-World, if thatÂ’s possible.

Unsurprisingly, a humorously long line greeted new arrivals. At the end of this line sat a woman whose temperament seemed like a mix of the Marquis de Sade’s and Hitler’s. Whilst “Chip” came closer and closer to this wonderful specimen of humanity, he noticed that she took great delight in rejecting people’s requests.

No matter who approached her, no matter what the request, this dreadful woman simply couldnÂ’t be appeased. She came up with one reason after another why no one could get anything they wanted.

Need a new license? Well, you better have eight forms of identification, a Commodore 64 computer, Donald TrumpÂ’s haircut, and a stool sample from Dolly Parton. Oh, and a Russian spy plane.

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Airline companies are perennial punching bags for customer complaints. And for good reason: Virtually without exception, they’re all horrid—at least at times. One needn’t expect the royal treatment to be irked by the sort of paltry service these companies offer their patrons.

Accordingly, dear reader, itÂ’s more than a tad obvious to rip on Northwest Airlines. We mean, come on: ItÂ’s an airline, isnÂ’t it? You shouldnÂ’t expect it to be good. In fact, itÂ’s kind of like Ike Turner: It ainÂ’t exactly a news flash when it treats you badly.

If you ask us, excoriating an airline is about as lame as discussing the traffic in Los Angeles. We know, we know—it’s bad, right? Gee, thanks.
But, frankly, dear reader, we just can’t stop ourselves. Having recently embarked on a few Northwest flights, we simply must discuss the horrors we’ve encountered. Think of it as a kind of e-therapy—“weblogging” that may keep us sane.

What, you may reasonably be asking yourself, makes Northwest a cut below the rest in the world of air travel?

Well, we suppose there are many answers to that fine query, but weÂ’ll manage to mention a few. Simply put, Northwest does just about everything wrong.
Here’s an example: Whereas other airlines offer you a paltry snack—say, a miniscule bag of ultra-salty peanuts—Northwest offers food for sale. Two bucks for a mini-can of Pringles, for crying out loud. And, naturally, the flight attendants never have change, which invariably means that you must bring exactly two single dollar bills with you to get your hands on those wretched Pringles.

To make matters worse, Northwest offers you too much to drink: A full can of soda or juice. YouÂ’ve got to spend three hours on a flight to Dubuque, you havenÂ’t been served any food, and they thrust a full can of Mountain Dew at you. All this accomplishes is the establishment of an extremely long line to the bathroom at the back of the plane.

Then thereÂ’s the trifling matter of flight delays. Sure, darn near every airline is king of aviary postponement. But Northwest seems to go that extra mile (if you will) to ensure that your trip is later than it should be.

But thatÂ’s not all. Not only is your flight ineluctably late; the folks at Northwest also routinely lie to you about the time involved in a given delay. When your 4:00 pm flight is delayed to 4:30, thereÂ’s a darn good chance that you wonÂ’t take off until somewhere around 6:30. After three gate changes, naturally.

For these and many other reasons, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” solemnly believe that Northwest is amongst the very worst in a solidly disappointing field of competition. As far as we can intuit, the only benefit of Northwest is the name of its “website”: To old-school folks like ourselves, nwa.com conjures up images of a rather foul-mouthed rap group.

And the idea of flying with NiggasÂ’ With Attitude Airlines is pretty funny to us.

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Oh, thereÂ’s big trouble amongst the Massachusetts Diversity-crats. The inimitable Boston Globe explains:

More than half the black and Hispanic applicants for teaching jobs in Massachusetts fail a state licensing exam, a trend that has created a major obstacle to greater diversity among public school faculty and stirred controversy over the fairness of the test.

The minority failure rate has been demonstrably higher than among whites since the test's inception nearly a decade ago, according to state statistics, which show that 52 percent of Hispanic applicants and 54 percent of black applicants fail the writing portion of the exam. By comparison, 23 percent of whites fail. Black and Hispanic teachers also lag behind white teachers in major subject tests such as English, history, and math.

Well, gee: What are we going to offer our kids—competent teachers or an array of incompetent but differently-hued teachers? As you might well imagine, the Diversity-crats are hoping for the latter. After all, educating children well isn’t exactly important; it can certainly be sacrificed at the Altar of Diversity.

As The Boston Globe goes on to mention, the Diversity-crats are crying foul about the “cultural bias” of the teaching exams. They do so even though Asians perform almost as well as whites on the tests. Perhaps it’s that white male math that’s tripping up people. The Globe informs us:

Some minority teachers have criticized the test for containing culturally biased questions such as readings about investing in the stock market and ancient literature that white, middle-class applicants and those with liberal arts college backgrounds more readily identify with.

Ah, yes: If thereÂ’s anything that aspiring white teachers know, itÂ’s the stock market. In our humble experience, pretty much all Caucasian elementary school instructors moonlight as venture capitalists.

And we’re delighted to learn that many minorities with college degrees believe that “ancient literature” is inherently white. Homer; Hesiod; Virgil; the Bhagvad Gita; the Bible—you know, that white-boy stuff. Boy, these complaining minorities already seem to be experts in the Diversity Racket.

In its unimpeachable wisdom, the Globe bestows its readers with an example of a potentially culturally biased question from the exam:

If sentence 4 contains an error in spelling, capitalization, or punctuation, select the type of error. If there is no error, select D, “sentence correct.”

For more conservative investors who want to minimize risk, companies listed on the dow jones industrial average may be of interest.

A. spelling error B. punctuation error C. capitalization error D. sentence correct

We, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” believe that we speak for all of you when we declare such queries abominably biased in favor of whites and Asians. In fact, if we controlled the Massachusetts state teaching exam, our questions would look like the following:

Yo, this is how we do it. If thiz next sentence got a problem, yo, tell us the motha-f****** problem, yo. Word.

Tyrone, Juan, Jiyoon, and Nigel just gone up to daÂ’ club and sh**. Where dereÂ’ women at?

A. Yo, that sentence is whack B. You forgot to mention Snoop C. Is they hos? D. Bitch, that sentence is fine.

Finally, a fair-minded question!

It is an insult to minorities, of course, to assert that “ancient literature” is inherently beyond their grasp—or that routine sentences on state exams must reflect their own cultural experience for them to pass. Obviously, our stupid—and largely inept—parody of street slang does little to prove our point. But children—including, of course, minority children—deserve the best educators we can find, and we should be very careful before we potentially sacrifice teacher quality to the fashionable and paternalistic Diversity-crats.

UPDATE: For another take on this matter, see the Colossus of Rhodey.

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We, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” write a marginally popular “weblog” here on Al Gore’s World-Wide Web. As you assuredly know, dear reader, we’re no Internet bigwigs. But we pride ourselves on reaching more than a handful of readers each day.

If “weblogs” were states, we suppose that ours would be Idaho. Not too miniscule, but not California either. Oh, and no potatoes. (Man, we just depressed ourselves.)

Recently, in fact, we actually noticed a slight up-tick in the number of “hits” our humble “weblog” receives. Although no avalanche (or Instalanche), it amounted to a noticeable increase in e-traffic.

Finally, we thought to ourselves, our efforts are paying off. Finally our savory brand of “Family Circus”-esque e-humor is attracting gaggles of devotees. Finally we, like Peter Gabriel, are on our way, we’re making it Big Time.

Oh, how silly we collectively were. How shockingly silly. To be downright honest, our e-naïvete is simply breathtaking.

You see, upon closer inspection, we discovered that our sudden burst of e-popularity had more sordid roots than we had imagined. ItÂ’s a mite embarrassing to tell you this, but we guess we ought to own up.

As it turns out, one particular “post” remains responsible for our comparatively impressive e-traffic. Some short time ago, we offered a rib-tickling “post” entitled “Lindsey Lohan-Bush.” Its premise was pure genius: It argued that the shenanigans of Lindsey Lohan, Nichole Richie, and Paris Hilton demonstrated that the three ladies are actually shills for the Bush administration. Every time President Bush finds himself in hot water, one of these three skanks it up and/or lands in jail, thus taking the heat off of the Commander-in-Chief.

If you ask us, this was pure comic gold—the very sort of thing that should win us loads and loads of fans. It just doesn’t get more inspired than this.

But it seems as if our brilliant “post” proved popular for an entirely different reason. It appears as if sundry e-strollers, when on Al Gore’s Internet, search for “Lindsey Lohan bush.” And, given the title of our humble “post,” oodles of them headed straight for “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly.” Hence the up-tick.

Ah, they must have been delighted by what they saw. Who needs scandalous pictures of some actress/whore when you can enjoy a few knee-slapping gags?

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