As even casual book-readers know by now, atheism has recently caught on fire. (Pun on hellfire and damnation largely not intended.) Books denying His existence are selling like hotcakes. Perhaps the damned are more voracious readers?

Hence the visitor to his neighborhood bookstore sees umpteen copies of the following tomes: God Is Not As Great As Christopher Hitchens by Christopher Hitchens; The God Delusion: How the “Selfish Gene” Makes Perfect Sense But Yahweh Is an Obvious Fraud by Richard Dawkins; and The Denial of God and the Curse of “Family Feud” by Richard Dawson.

As far as we can intuit, if you’re willing to risk eternity in hell, you can make a really quick buck these days by ripping on organized religion. And this, according to some, is worth it—even if you’re compelled to stand next to Satan whilst listening to Billy Joel records forever. A high price indeed.

Naturally, these anti-God volumes serve as a corollary to the numerous titles in defense of particular faiths. You know, like Mere Christianity by C.S. Lewis, Orthodoxy by G.K. Chesterton, and How to Build a Bomb by K. S. Mohammed. WeÂ’d wager that thereÂ’s still a heck of a market for such pious monographs.

Even so, dear reader, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” have recognized that a gap remains in the field of religious titles. Sure, there are oodles of anti-theist books and sundry theist books. But what about agnostics?

If you ask us, a rip-roaring polemic urging agnosticism on the part of its readership could even outsell that drink-sodden ex-Trotskyite popinjay Christopher Hitchens. All one must compose is a biting, mordant tome demonstrating why agnosticism is the only sensible route.

But thereÂ’s a bit of a problem with this. After all, as the sales figures show, only scabrous screeds on religion sell lots of copies. No one wants to read a careful, dry academic study that fails to simplify religion to the point of absurdity. And one might think that agnosticism, by its very nature, rebels from the spirit of polemic.

Ah, yet that’s where we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” come in. Below we’ve offered a variety of potential titles to agnostic jeremiads (if you will). These titles should stir up the blood and get an author’s creative juices flowing.

An Official List of Rip-Roaring Titles for Agnostic Polemics:

1) God May or May Not Be Great: ItÂ’s Difficult to Tell

2) We Cannot Determine for Certain Whether God Exists, Though, Sadly, We Know That Richard Dawkins Is Real

3) If God Exists, He Drinks a Lot Less Than Christopher Hitchens

4) If God Exists, Why Does Phil Collins?

5) Agnosticism: The Only Sort-of True Sort-of Non-Faith

6) Just in Case: Agnosticism, or Atheism for Wusses

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Recently, dear reader, we had opportunity to recall the late Philip Rieff. Mr. Rieff, a brilliant sociologist and public intellectual who taught at the University of Pennsylvania, seems to have made only two mistakes in his life: Writing ponderously and (briefly) marrying Susan Sontag.

Other than that, however, in our book Mr. Rieff could do no wrong. His sartorial tastes—which were just this side of Tom Wolfe—were pretty impressive as well. More importantly, Mr. Rieff penned brilliant tracts bemoaning the eclipse of traditional morality at the hands of Freudian psychobabble.

In his landmark work The Triumph of the Therapeutic (1966), Mr. Rieff documented, among other things, the baleful effects that the replacement of a religious understanding with Freudianism would visit us all. The book rightly launched Mr. Rieff into the public intellectual stratosphere.

We had reason to reflect anew on Mr. Rieff’s oeuvre as the result of a less-than-delightful cause. Perambulating down a busy street the other day, one of the senior editors of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly”—let’s just call him “Chip”—bumped into a gaggle of children around (he would guess) 12 years of age.

This is not, admittedly, the sort of thing that usually brings to mind Philip Rieff. But wait; thereÂ’s a reason behind our connection after all.

Amongst this gaggle of kiddies—supervised by what looked like a few harried camp counselors—were two children engaged in some verbal fireworks. For some reason, a boy and a girl were (figuratively) at one another’s throats, ready to pull out all the oratorical stops in their polemical arsenal.

Whilst “Chip” passed this unsavory scene, he heard the boy screech a line he’d never heard uttered by so young a creature. Aiming for a rhetorical knockout punch, the lad said to the lass: “You have issues.”

“You have issues”? Yes, “You have issues.”

Not “Your mother wears combat boots.” Or “You’re fat.” Or even “You’re a slut.” But “You have issues.” Where the heck did this kid learn his taunts?

The Triumph of the Therapeutic, indeed! Somehow, it seems, useless psychobabble has even corrupted the youngest amongst us.

For what is more pseudo-Freudian than the phrase “You have issues”? That such armchair psychologizing has infected the world of playground epithets speaks to the power Sigmund Freud wields over us all.

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As devotees of this humble “website” well recognize, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” fancy ourselves as humorists. We may be preternaturally inept humorists or even humorists manqué, but we’re humorists nonetheless.

Yes, seldom does a day go by on our collective calendar during which we do not attempt to make you smile. Unless, of course, you count Saturday, our one day off for the week. Which, if you think really hard about it, comes around quite often.

Anyway, we mention our aim to please for one particular reason. It has compelled many of our readers to ask us what humor “websites” we particularly esteem. As heavy-hitting professionals in the world of World-Wide Web yuks, we certainly have our own opinions on what’s side-splittingly funny.

In today’s humble “post,” dear reader, we aim to answer this fine question.

It would be great if we had a simple retort. But, to be honest, there are lots of funny “weblogs” out there on Al Gore’s Internet, and we’ve lost to pretty much all of them in back-to-back installments of the annual Weblog Awards.

Still, we must say that you can never go wrong with a fellow who calls his “weblog” (in its most recent iteration) The American Fez. Naturally, we have lots of e-favorites amongst the humor “weblogs,” but we simply must highlight Boston’s Stephen Baldwin as a particular delight.

In fact, we have long believed that Mr. Baldwin consistently composes crafty and cleverly cerebral “posts” that deserve a wide readership. If you don’t like his “weblog,” congratulations: You’re dumb. And you have bad taste to boot.

But we would be remiss if we failed to mention another primo source of comedy—albeit in this case comedy of an unintentional variety. We refer, dear reader, to the Maoist Internationalist Movement (MIM), a kooky collection of Mao Zedong enthusiasts who yearn for a Communist utopia…and write knee-slapping film reviews.

Boy, thatÂ’s a hard sentence to take in, isnÂ’t it? Yet itÂ’s true: MIM excels in crafting unintentionally hilarious movie reviews, one of which we highlighted here. The reviews are so uproariously lame that youÂ’d swear to Stalin that theyÂ’re a joke. Yet our pals pining for another Great Proletarian Cultural Revolution are as po-faced as can be.

You needn’t take our word for it, dear reader. Just take a gander at a few passages from MIM’s side-splitting take on the Disney animated feature The Incredibles, which they have ominously labeled “post-modernism turned to fascism”:

We're supposed to be impressed with all the effort that went into the animations for "Incredibles" and give it a pass for its more intellectual side. Nonetheless, "Incredibles" relies on violence and bourgeois notions of heroes to sell, so we looked all the way into this movie. For this reviewer, it took a while, but eventually we all should conclude that this movie is mostly backwards and in fact leans solidly fascist.

Just as the heroic entrepreneur of Libertarian and Republican fame finds him or herself strangled by government regulations in Amerika, this story is about the restraints of the mediocre on the meritorious superheroes known as "Incredibles." What makes this a fascist movie is precisely the alleged exposure of bureaucracy in an insurance company, which by itself would be progressive or socialist. Combined with the notion of super-heroes being better than bureaucracy, the effect is fascist, because we do not really see an economic solution for the insurance company problem. Instead, the movie bemoans the competition that led to the creation of the insurance company while supporting competition of superheroes. It does not fit together coherently, but we've learned historically that fascism does not have to be coherent for the masses to take it upÂ….

The directors of this film were probably just angry with previous MIM reviews trashing all the super-heroes as fronts for the police. So in "Incredibles" we learn that super-hero work is not politically neutral, just as MIM said all along, but "Incredibles" agrees only to ridicule the premise in typical Republican Party rhetoric.

Really takes your breath away, doesn’t it? We particularly savored the bit about the directors of The Incredibles being irate about “previous MIM reviews trashing all the super-heroes as fronts for the police.”

Yeah, we bet that was really on DisneyÂ’s mind.

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As we are so often wont, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” recently perused a copy of The New Statesman. On this side of the pond, of course, no one much talks about TNS—if, in fact, they’ve ever heard of it. Yet, for some reason, we’ve taken a shine to hating it, and thus it figures into our regular reading schedule.

For those not in the know about TNS, allow us to inform you that it’s pretty much a glossy British version of The Nation, only with a better—though still not great—grasp of argument. Oh, and it doesn’t feature the writing of Eric Alterman, which is a mammoth plus in our collective books.

Anyway, one regular feature of TNS is its so-called “From Our Archive” section, which offers a blast from the past penned by some famous contributor or other. In the July 2 number of the rag, this section features an article originally from the November 8, 1963 issue called “Beatles and Before.”

ItÂ’s (obviously) a music column, and its claim to fame is that Marxist historian Eric Hobsbawm wrote it under the pseudonym Francis Newton. Although Mr. Hobsbawm is more of a jazz enthusiast, the article allows its author to demonstrate his erstwhile take on a pop group.

The following sentences were culled from this review:

They [the Beatles] are probably just about to begin their slow descent: the moment when someone thinks of making a film with a pop idol normally marks the peak of his curve. In 29 yearsÂ’ time nothing of them will survive.

Ah, Eric Hobsbawm—prophet of the ages! Boy, he sure turned out to be right on the money. Maybe he thought Herman’s Hermits were likely to be more long-lived.

But this is just par for the course for Mr. Hobsbawm. After all, he was a longtime member of the Communist Party of Great Britain, outlasting the Hitler-Stalin pact, the Soviet invasion of Hungary, &c.

And, as befits a British intellectual, he has no regrets for his lifelong cheerleading for totalitarian mass murder. In fact, in his autobiography Interesting Times, Mr. Hobsbawm reserves his scorn for sundry anti-Communists and the administration of George W. Bush. Apparently, good ole’ Joseph Stalin isn’t as offensive as, say, Henry “Scoop” Jackson. What a buffoon!

ItÂ’s nice to see, perhaps, that Mr. HobsbawmÂ’s talent for political prognostication equals his record on pop music prognostication.

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Always remember where you were when you read this “post,” dear reader. (That probably isn’t too much of a task: You’re likely at your computer. Man, are we clairvoyant or what?) We say this because, from this moment forward, your life will invariably change—for the worse.

And it’s not just your life—life on earth will forever alter. Sad as it is, it’s true, and we must face it head-on. Make no bones about it: We are plunging toward the abyss. We are witnessing the very twilight of democracy.

Soon life on good oleÂ’ Mother Earth will degenerate into a totalitarian nightmare. Soon we shall all slave away as serfs for some evil corporation or other. You know, like Enron and Halliburton. Perhaps weÂ’ll all be forced to go hunting with Dick Cheney. Soon the Orwellian nightmare called the free market will rape us all.

These sentiments may seem histrionic to you, but weÂ’re sticking by our ominous predictions. And for a darn good reason, dear reader. As The Wall Street Journal reports, Rupert MurdochÂ’s dreaded News Corp. is in the final stages of procuring Dow Jones & Co., the owners of the WSJ and Barrons.

Aha: Now who’s calling us histrionic? We thought so. How do you like ‘dem apples?

Yep: The world may not last a mere three months with the evil Rupert Murdoch as owner of one of AmericaÂ’s most prestigious newspapers. Why, when he bought The Times of London, all heck broke loose.

As you undoubtedly recognize, since the fateful day Herr Murdoch got his deadly hands on The Times, the United Kingdom has plunged into poverty and despair. Previously Britain boasted an economy almost on par with JapanÂ’s. Nowadays, its power is roughly equivalent to NigerÂ’s. Without all the amenities.

A sad fate, indeed. But what do you expect? Herr Murdoch, after all, is the easily the most maniacal man on the planet. Well, except for Scott Baio. And unlike Charles, Rupert really is in charge. (Wow: Does a lame reference to a lame sitcom get any lamer than that? We collectively doubt it.)

Right now, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” are busy building a bomb shelter. You know, for the impending nuclear war.

What else do you expect to happen: Rupert Murdoch will soon own Barrons! Nuclear winter approaches apace!

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Now, before we begin to blather on about the topic du jour, allow us to admit up front that no member of the crack young staff has served in the American military. This has nothing to do, we need hardly add, with its strenuous “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” policy, since we have a collective penchant for not asking.

Naturally, in some circles discussion of any military topic on the part of those without military experience is cause for deep suspicion. As we discussed in our latest Sunday essay for Wizbang, our left-wing friends greatly esteem labeling non-veteran supporters of certain conflicts “chickenhawks.”

This unsavory epithet, as we mentioned, curiously doesn’t stick to those who support “good” conflicts: Afghanistan (unless you write for Counterpunch); Darfur; World War II. But this doesn’t stop our left-wing pals from hurling it at all non-military Iraq War supporters. Go figure.

It is with great aplomb, then, that we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” officially deem ourselves “chickenhawks.” Sure, it’s a ridiculous charge—one exuding a mephitic air of machismo supposedly despised by our liberal pals. Even so, perhaps we can turn the “chickenhawk” charge into something positive.

You know, dear reader: Like homosexuals have championed “queer” and Stalinoid academics have championed “tenured radical.” Perhaps we’ll even fashion a hip glossy magazine called Chickenhawk, which features interviews with Bill Kristol along with advertisements for ironic T-shirts. If these dolts can do it, why can’t we?

Okay, okay, okay—we’re chickenhawks. In fact, not only are we chickenhawks, we’re chickenhawks of the worst variety: We blithely start conflicts and then ineluctably hide behind furniture whilst others get hurt. Although we talk a good game, we excel in nothing more than cowering. And we’re pretty decent cringers too.

With that in mind, allow us to approach our topic for today: The American Way of War. Though we are by no means military historians, we have the sneaking suspicion that vast improvements in military technology combined with 24-hour news coverage have ushered in a new American spirit in martial matters.

Simply put, contemporary Americans appear to want a few things out of their wars:

1) No casualties
2) No setbacks of any kind
3) No use of any troops
4) No mistakes
5) No waiting

May we humbly suggest that these desiderata—desirable as they undoubtedly are—render warfare impossible? Although we’ve certainly seen our fair share of problems in Iraq and Afghanistan, it seems obvious to us that contemporary critics of the Bush administration would have urged us to pull out of virtually any previous war, given their ridiculously unrealistic expectations.

After all, World War II was rather bloody, and the Allies most assuredly made tactical blunders. And the bombing of Dresden? How inhumane! Perhaps we ought to have let the Nazis take over Europe.

But, hey, you neednÂ’t listen to us. WeÂ’ll just be cowering behind a couch.

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Call it a moment of weakness. One of our junior editors—let’s just call him “Chip”—found himself waiting for some mediocre Japanese take-out the other day.

But, no, that wasn’t the moment of weakness. Rather, good ole’ “Chip” had neglected to bring with him any reading material. Since this particular Japanese establishment was a mite on the slow side, “Chip” usually made his way through numerous pages of a good book before his order appeared.

On this occasion, however, “Chip” was without a trusty read. Here, dear reader, is where the moment of weakness occurred. “Chip,” lacking literary sustenance, turned his attention to the freebee bins at the entrance to this particular eatery.

You know the sort of drivel one typically finds in such nooks: The Carrboro Communist Monthly; Revolutionary WorkersÂ’ World; &c. Basically, these free rags merely offer their readership the chance to take in some left-wing agitprop and a few advertisements for the local strip clubs.

“Chip,” however, picked up another magazine entirely: The Onion. Although he seldom reads it, “Chip” finds The Onion generally quite funny.

Unbeknownst to “Chip,” however, The Onion features a non-humor section that offers its readership the chance to take in some left-wing agitprop and a few advertisements for the local strip clubs. You know, for a change of pace.

And in this dubious section of the paper “Chip” found it: The dumbest review imaginable of Michael Moore’s documentary Sicko. Penned by a fellow called Scott Tobias, it was so obtuse that “Chip” yearned to chuck it at anyone within throwing distance. (Which, given “Chip’s” former life as a high school shot put star, is pretty far indeed.)

Now, before some of our reader(s) roll their eyes at our mention of Michael Moore, allow us to inform you that we are not dead-set (if that is the mot juste) against national healthcare. Call us a passel of mephitic hippies (if you will), but we’re somewhat drawn to the idea—albeit, like most, it leaves us with some trepidation.

In regard to Mr. Moore, moreover, we must say we don’t watch his films. Not, we must add, out of any scorn for listening to the “other side.” As regular reader(s) of our humble musings well know, we check out our fair share of arguments from ideological opponents.

Rather, we don’t find propaganda-filled documentaries interesting. We esteem films that make you think—not agitprop-laden simplifications crafted for simpletons. In addition, from what we’ve read about his previous efforts, we have little reason to believe Mr. Moore doesn’t regularly bend the truth, to put it mildly.

But back to the subject of the Neanderthal review. Although “Chip” subsequently happened upon a longer—and less ridiculous—version of this review on Al Gore’s World-Wide Web, below he has reproduced the shorter version that appeared before his eyes on the printed page:

There's no good argument to be made for the current system of privatized health care in the United States, so the latest documentary by professional rabble-rouser Michael Moore stands to be the closest he'll ever come to broad consensus. Though Moore remains a polarizing figure—as much to leftists ambivalent about his tactics as rightists who object to him for more obvious reasons—he has a gift (yes, it's a gift) for reducing complex issues to bite-sized ideological nuggets. And the ones Sicko offers are, by and large, pretty tasty.

As you might imagine, dear reader, it’s the first sentence of this review that especially appalls. “There’s no good argument to be made for the current system of privatized health care in the United States”? None at all?

Now, as we mentioned above, weÂ’re not knee-jerk defenders of privatized health care. But only a dolt would argue that no good arguments in its favor exist. And thus, as it seems, Scott Tobias is a dolt.

For how do the following arguments strike you? The USÂ’s privatized health care has led it to be the number one source of medical breakthroughs. It routinely offers the newest and best experimental treatments, as it offers the best incentive to researchers to find cures.

Socialized medicine can often lead to horrible service, ridiculous and often dangerously long waits for treatment, and politicized corruption. As a result of such depredations, Canadians routinely head to America to receive better medical care; you donÂ’t see Americans heading north, now do you?

Now, we don’t think our arguments necessarily gainsay national healthcare as a bad idea. But they obviously pose serious concerns. Not, however, to Scott Tobias, who praises Michael Moore for “reducing complex issues into bite-sized ideological nuggets.”

If Mr. Tobias thinks no good arguments in favor of privatized medicine exist, how can he perceive that medical care in the US is a “complex issue”?

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Although we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” have yet to offer our proverbial two cents on the upcoming presidential election and tell the world for whom we aim to plump, we suppose our coming clean won’t be too much of a shock. Devoted reader(s) of this humble “weblog” undoubtedly will be surprised to learn that we do not, in fact, aim to support either Mike Gravel (D-Crazy Tundra) or Ron Paul (R-Libertarian Nut-Job).

Ah, who would have guessed it? As it turns out, weÂ’re pretty much John McCain fans. (Except for the few creeping royalists among us. And, truth be told, they seem more interested in haberdashery than politics.)

Yes, we know, we know, we know: Senator McCainÂ’s campaign is supposedly in Full Implosion Mode. HeÂ’s supposedly sinking faster than Rosie OÂ’Donnell in a vat of quicksand. WhatÂ’s more, lots of conservatives distrust him, given his maverick stances on the environment, taxes, immigration, &c.

Still, we think heÂ’s peachy keen. Though we donÂ’t agree with him on everything, we find his consistently hawkish stance on Islamofascism music to our ears. HeÂ’s also a man of principle, whoÂ’s willing to take the heat for standing up for unpopular causes. (Ever heard of the Iraq War?)

Now, we must stress that we have positive impressions of a few other presidential candidates. On the Democratic side, Joe Biden knows quite a lot about foreign policy. It’s too bad he’s a veritable gaffe machine. In the absence of a strong moderate Democratic contender—Ben Nelson, Joe Lieberman, or Evan Bayh, for example—we think Biden is as good as it gets on the Democrat side.

Amongst the Republicans, we must admit that we’ve taken a shine to Mayor Rudy. He’s good and moderate on many social issues—as are most of us crack young staffers. (Except for the aforementioned royalists.) And he has a good sense of what the West faces in the War on Terrorism.

All the same, we have to say that Mayor Giuliani makes us a bit nervous. Sure, he can run the sordid world of Big Apple politics, but is he ready for the nitty-gritty of the national scene? His unfortunate trumpeting of Bernard Kerik may just suggest heÂ’s not.

But some good folks find themselves in RudyÂ’s camp. The intelligent and thoughtful moderate Fred Siegel has composed a paean for Giuliani; obviously, heÂ’s a believer.

In addition, we learn from Joshua Micah Marshall’s “weblog” that Norman Podhoretz has signed on as a key foreign policy advisor for the Rudy camp. To Mr. Marshall, this is a portent of doom: How dare Rudy saddle up with a major voice in American conservatism?

To the normally grounded Mr. Marshall, Mr. Podhoretz is a “crackpot.” (Mr. Podhoretz thinks we may just have to attack Iran; how ghastly! The real solution is to sit by and watch the Jewish genocide, of course.)

To which we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” reply: Yeah, whatever. We’d be more likely to take Josh Micah Marshall seriously if he recognized that “thusly” is a non-word. (“Thus” is a perfectly good adverb, dummy.)

So, Mr. Marshall, we say shut your trap, you crackpot. To us, Mr. Podhoretz’s presence on Rudy’s team makes the former mayor of New York only that much more intriguing. We still greatly esteem Senator McCain, but if things go badly for him, perhaps we’ll plump for Rudy faster than you can say “thusly.”

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Like clockwork, dear reader, we make our quotidian perambulations round the left-wing “weblogosphere.” To be honest, it’s one of our very favorite times of the day: The Huffy Po; the Daily Kos; Atrios. It’s a veritable sick bag of lefty opinion; what’s not to love?

Given our predilection for poking our noses in the world of so-called “moonbattery,” it should come as no surprise that we’ve taken in our fair share of blathering on about impeaching President Bush. In fact, if we recall correctly, Cindy Sheehan has recently made headlines by asserting she’ll run against Nancy Pelosi if the Speaker refuses to instigate impeachment proceedings.

(DidnÂ’t Ms. Sheehan histrionically announce her official retirement from matters political? Gee, her moral authority may be absolute, but her knowledge of when to exit the stage seems to leave a lot to be desired.)

Naturally, like all sensible people, we think the bleating about impeachment is completely foolish. There exist, we must say, plenty of reasons why lots of Americans would despise George W. BushÂ’s policies. Although he ran as a moderate in 2000, he has become a firebrand, making a number of extremely controversial decisions. Perhaps this was inevitable after 9/11, but itÂ’s true all the same.

Still, our impeachment-crazy lefty friends appear not to understand the definition of the word “impeachment.” They appear to think it means “forcing a president from office because you strongly disagree with his performance.” This is about as foolish as it gets; anyone who fails to see how this moronic view of impeachment could wind up biting lefties on the behind is officially lacking in the intelligence department.

Sure, sure, sure: Our lefty pals will say that George W. Bush deserves to be successfully impeached because he supposedly “lied the country into war.” But this, of course, is a highly dubious and partisan proposition. They would also add that he has destroyed civil liberties in this country, or some such. Yet this is equally tendentious muckraking.

Obviously, it all boils down to this: Our left-wing friends want to oust George W. Bush through impeachment proceedings because they strongly disagree with him. And this is, not to put too fine a point on it, stupid.

We, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” strongly disagreed with the policies of Jimmy Carter. We think he was a disastrously bad president. His foreign policy was horrid and he bestowed upon us the evils of “stagflation.” But we wouldn’t support impeaching him on the basis of our political disagreements.

ItÂ’s funny how people who claim to care so much about the Bush administrationÂ’s supposed assault on the proper functioning of our representative democracy seem to care so little about ensuring the proper functioning of our representative democracy.

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We’ve taken a gander at a couple of reviews of The Cult of the Amateur, a new screed by a fellow called Andrew Keen. According to these assessments, Mr. Keen is scared to death of Al Gore’s Internet—and remains particularly exercised about the power of sundry “webloggers” and YouTube. Such democratizing, he thinks, is ruining everything.

Now we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” certainly understand Mr. Keen’s concerns about the world of “webloggery,” if you will. After all, we well know that many “webloggers” are nothing but partisan hacks, and their writing appears about as trustworthy as a liquored-up Kennedy. (Gee: Did that prove our partisanship?)

Any medium that serves as a launching pad for someone as mind-bogglingly obtuse and offensive as Wonkette deserves its share of scorn.

Still, we find much of this alarmism over the “weblogging” community rather humorous. Lots of it, we think, stems from the fact that traditional journalists don’t like to be criticized, and the “webloggers”—left, right, and center—pour on all sorts of opprobrium on the mainstream media.

To our buddies at, say, The New York Times, the professional journalist’s job is to criticize others—not to be criticized. Hence they routinely lash out at the “pajama brigades.”

But there remain other reasons why alarmism over the Internet seems to us misplaced. Sure, we’ll agree that lots of “weblogging” pundits are unintelligent ideologues. Even some of the very biggest offer little but inept hackery.

And the comments on most “weblogs”? Puh-lease: They seem to us nothing more than the illiterate dribblings of poorly educated buffoons. And that, we think, is being generous.

Before you ridicule the amateur e-pundits, however, just check out the top sellers amongst the “professional” hacks. Ann Coulter; Michael Moore; Michael Savage; Maureen Dowd—the more dimwitted and nakedly partisan the pundit, the more popular he or she is.

In fact, it seems as if our very partisan present chiefly rewards the most extreme and unreflective amongst us. And this has essentially nothing to do with the Internet; people simply hunger for Neanderthal simplicity. ItÂ’s sad but itÂ’s true.

Accordingly, folks seldom get into fistfights over the thoughtful work of Michael Walzer or Roger Scruton. Nope: ItÂ’s dimwitted shills such as Eric Alterman and Dinesh DÂ’Souza who enrage.

Let’s not blame the “webloggers” for what is chiefly a problem of taste. (Or, to be more specific, a lack of taste.)

Most people like to be fed the news in black and white—there’s no room for shades of gray. When crappy tabloids and celebrity gossip rags routinely outsell serious news sources, you can be pretty sure that the “webloggers” aren’t at fault.

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We know precisely how to ensure that you’ll lose our support for any given cause. It’s simple, actually. All you need to do is sponsor a massive multi-city rock-‘n-roll concert on its behalf. And, presto: You can now color us dubious.

Such was the case, dear reader, with Live Earth, Al Gore’s supposedly eco-friendly worldwide pop music extravaganza, which featured many of the bands old Tipper would have criticized for using foul language. Live Earth allowed its viewers—in person or on television—to take in two extremely irksome phenomena: Crappy rock music and sanctimonious sermonettes about the horrors of global warming.

Now, before we continue with this delightful animadversion, allow us to inform you that we consider ourselves environmentalists. We arenÂ’t scientists, but weÂ’d wager that thereÂ’s at least a bit of truth to the global warming hysteria.

In fact, in order to do our part for the environment, we happily recycle. Oh, and we also donÂ’t own a ridiculously large heated pool in Tennessee that wastes energy like Courtney Love wastes methadone. That ought to help Mother Earth a bit.

As such, dear reader, you can rest assured that we arenÂ’t a passel of curmudgeonly global warming nay-sayers. Actually, we firmly believe that Al Gore deserves kudos for advocating for self-reliance in the realm of American energy consumption. You neednÂ’t be a diehard tree-hugger to recognize the downsides of living at the beck and call of those OPECers.

But, come on: A lame bunch of rock concerts interspersed with pedantic messages about global warming? It strikes us as a 21st-century version of Reefer Madness. ItÂ’s a pathetic infomercial starring Madonna and Crowded House.

For some time, dear reader, we’ve taken hits for our uncompromising views on rock-‘n-roll music. If you ask us—and, technically speaking, you did not—rock-‘n-roll is pretty much witless anti-music. It might be enjoyable for a bit of slumming, but Bach it assuredly ain’t.

Most importantly, we think it crucial that rock music be vapid and fun. It’s not serious stuff—and that’s why rock music critics tend to come across like ridiculous windbags.

Hence the inherent irritation in a bunch of drugged-out rock stars preaching about the coming apocalypse. We mean, come on: Just sing your repetitious calls to the dance floor and leave the environmental crises to folks with a little more gravitas.

You know, like Tim Conway.

UPDATE: Check out Mr. Baldwin's uproarious musings on global warming here. We couldn't agree more.

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By now, everyone has heard of the withering epithet “limousine liberal.” You know the type: The Ben & Jerry’s sort of “progressive” who earns a mid-range six-figure salary but still considers himself a hippie at heart and proves it by voting for Kucinich. He’s a kind of feel-good capitalist—who won’t admit he’s a capitalist at all.

As annoying as the “limousine liberal” is, however, we’re pretty sure that he pales in comparison to the “cruise Communist.” And what, you may be asking yourself, is a cruise Communist?

We’re glad that you asked. Whilst checking out the inspiringly common un-wisdom from the “website” of The Nation, we happened upon an advertisement for an official Nation cruise (July 28 to August 4—there’s still time to sign up). It offers a whole week on the poop deck with such rabidly left-wing personalities as Ralph Nader, Victor Navasky, Katrina vanden Heuvel, and Robert Scheer.

Ah, a seven-day cruise—what could be more “progressive” than that? You can play shuffleboard in your Sperry topsiders with Patricia “Diary of a Mad Law Professor Who Can’t Argue Her Way out of a Wet Paper Bag” Williams. Presumably the cruise liner will feature John Edwards’ barber on board, so the ultra-rich Nation-readers can get a quick $1,235 haircut in between bleating on about the horrors of the free market.

Are we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” the only ones who find this sort of fancy-pants lefty fete a mite ridiculous? It’s kind of like a National Review-sponsored orgy. (Okay: A National Review-sponsored orgy might be equally hypocritical, but it’s also a lot creepier. Already we can’t get visions of Jonah Goldberg out of our heads.)

At the current moment, the Nation cruise does not feature its itinerary, as it has not yet been set in stone. (Maybe Hugo Chavez will turn up this year. Yet maybe heÂ’s too busy shutting down all opposition voices to his tyranny to make an appearance.) But this led us to think of a few choice events the cruise must offer its high-paying participants:

Friday, 1:00pm: “Keith Olbermann on Economic Inequality”
Champagne Will Be Served; Bring Your Squash Racquet

Friday, 2:00pm: “The Evils of America/Karaoke Contest with Tariq Ali”
Until You’ve Heard Tariq’s Version of “Girls Just Wanna’ Have Fun,” You Haven’t Lived

Friday, 4:00pm: “Ralph Nader on the Twilight of America”
On the Tanning Deck; DonÂ’t Forget to Bring Your Sun Lotion

Friday, 5:00pm: “Katrina vanden Heuvel Discusses How Not to Be a Complete Left-Wing Hypocrite”

Ah, the Nation’s cruise—Marx on your starboard and Engels on your port. A truly revolutionary event.

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We, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” seldom discuss the embarrassing moments of politicians’ progeny. Frankly, we don’t think that children’s faux pas necessarily speak badly of their parents. Call us dimwitted, but we think it’s true.

We mean, come on: President Bush’s daughters—or one of them, at any rate—are pretty much party girls. The only thing they love more than Miller Lite is fake IDs. Who cares? John Kerry’s daughter likes to flash her chest at the Cannes film festival crowd. So what?

Unsurprisingly, then, we are loath to discuss Al Gore IIIÂ’s recent dust up with the authorities. Gore, the 24-year-old son of the morally censorious former vice president, was caught doing 100 miles an hour in a Toyota Prius. WhatÂ’s more, police found marijuana, Xanax, Valium, Vicodin, and Adderall in his car.

To make matters even worse, young Mr. Gore doesnÂ’t even possess prescriptions for any of the aforementioned drugs. Oh, dear. Not good at all.

Now, before you get worked up into a self-righteous lather, we mustn’t assume that the young Mr. Gore’s transgressions reflect poorly on Al and Tipper. So their kid made a bad mistake or nine. All kids—except for the young Ted Kennedy—make mistakes. Let’s not tire out our fingers wagging them in the direction of the former vice president.

Further, you have to admit—however begrudgingly—that Al Gore III was certainly thinking of his famous parents. After all, he got arrested on July 4th—a great day on the American calendar to bury embarrassing stories. You’re welcome, dad.

And letÂ’s not forget the good news here: It is now officially documented that a Toyota Prius can go 100 miles per hour. Not too shabby for a green-conscious vehicle, now is it?

The only reason we mentioned this brouhaha at all, dear reader, is due to the fact that it seems to speak to the curious sort of morality encouraged by our friends on the political Left. We have long since recognized that our liberal pals scoff at all kinds of moral strictures—and have placed concern for the environment in their stead.

For this reason, as weÂ’ve previously observed, one can have a child out of wedlock in this country without anyone batting an eyelash; but throw away an aluminum can and all heck breaks loose. Although we care about environmental matters too, we wouldnÂ’t pretend think theyÂ’re a replacement for all other moral concerns.

Perhaps the young Mr. GoreÂ’s drug-induced joy ride helps us recognize that owning a hybrid car isnÂ’t the summum bonum his father believes it is.

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We, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” resolutely refuse to work on holidays. And we mean pretty much any holidays: Arbor Day; Flag Day; Ramadan; Barry Manilow Appreciation Day; Awareness Week Awareness Day—you name it, we take it off.

Accordingly, we shall not be blessing you with our typically uproarious musings today, as this very day marks the birth of our glorious nation. (Or, as our lefty pals would have it, the birth of the most odious country ever to inflict the horrors of neoliberal economics and imperialistic fascism upon the globe.)

So we say Happy Fourth of July to all of our reader(s)! Without getting all Toby Keith on you, may we give thanks to all Americans who have put themselves in harms way for our nation?

Enjoy the holiday. And God bless America.

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As you may well know, dear reader, lots of things happen in this world of ours. Muslim riots; Muslim honor killings; Muslim terrorist acts—as we said, lots of stuff occurs, for which, we hardly need add, each of the earth’s cultures is equally responsible.

Sure, our Islamist friends may want to bomb us all back to their private Stone Age, but we produced Cher. Even Steven, we think.

What’s far more important, anyway, is one’s reaction to events. Sure, sure: Unexpected occurrences take place all the time—but how does one take in these quotidian twists and turns?

From our careful inspection of sundry left-wing magazines and “websites,” we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” have deduced that our radical pals have a strikingly consistent stance on almost any happenstance. All, it seems, fits into their preconceived ideological framework. And this framework is so confining (much like Al Gore’s famed “lock-box”) that one can easily anticipate lefty responses to virtually anything.

For this reason, dear reader, we have thought of a brand new product. Yep: We’re always thinking of handy-dandy items—it’s one of the things you like best about us, if we must say so ourselves.

This time, however, we’ve come up with a real doozy: The Fail-Safe Left-Wing Reaction Form. It allows the fervent leftist the opportunity to offer his “thoughts” on any occurrence with even less contemplation than he usually musters.

Hard to imagine, you say? Well, itÂ’s completely true. Our Fail-Safe Left-Wing Reaction Form incites less earnest reflection than an issue of The Nation. ItÂ’s even more knee-jerk than a copy of Mother Jones. Maureen Dowd makes you think far more deeply than our Fail-Safe Left-Wing Reaction Form.

To prove our point, weÂ’ve affixed our Form below:

The Official “Hatemonger’s Quarterly” Fail-Safe Left-Wing Reaction Form:

It is no accident that ___________ just happened. Naturally, like everything else, ________ is completely the fault of George W. Bush, the United States of America, and Israel.

We mean, come on: ItÂ’s so obvious. The CIA and the Mossad clearly had it in for _______. ________ could have been avoided, but those small-minded neocons simply had to cause trouble.

Hopefully, by impeaching President Bush, destroying Israel, and supporting the peaceable folks in Hamas, ________ will never happen again.

Now, all our angry lefty friend must do is fill in the blanks with the happenstance in question. And presto! A completely thought-free left-wing reaction!

HereÂ’s a sample:

It is no accident that an attack on the folk singer Jewel just happened. Naturally, like everything else, an attack on the folk singer Jewel is completely the fault of George W. Bush, the United States of America, and Israel.

We mean, come on: ItÂ’s so obvious. The CIA and the Mossad clearly had it in for the folk singer Jewel. An attack on the folk singer Jewel could have been avoided, but those small-minded neocons simply had to cause trouble.

Hopefully, by impeaching President Bush, destroying Israel, and supporting the peaceable folks in Hamas, an attack on the folk singer Jewel will never happen again.

ItÂ’s perfect! Just think of how much time our invention will save! Our lefty buddies will be happy: Even less time cogitating and more moments of bliss at the local Volvo dealership.

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Turn to any left-leaning “website”—whether it be a fancy mainstream media outlet or a caustic “weblog”—and you’re likely to come upon some opinion piece or other blaming the United States for all sorts of evils. You name it, it’s our fault: Global warming; Hamas’ coup in Gaza; Osama bin Laden; Vladimir Putin’s truculence. Everything, it seems, is laid at the doorstep of the good ole’ US of A. Well, everything except Loverboy.

In fact, we have the sneaking suspicion that many lefty editorialists write their myriad screeds through the use of what can only be called Liberal Mad-Libs. And what, you may ask, are Liberal Mad-Libs? Well, they’re just like regular Mad-Libs, except they contain discussion of current events, and those filling them out are only allowed to use a few words: “Zionism”; “imperialism”; “Halliburton”; “Bush”; “poodle”; &c.

Quite frankly, dear reader, we find this whole “Blame America” infatuation extremely tiresome. Not, we hasten to add, because the United States is ineluctably a shining beacon of altruism.

Rather, we’re sick of the whole darned-if-you-do-darned-if-you-don’t character to this thoughtless “Blame the US” palaver. If we trade with Cuba, we’re shifty capitalists aiming at economic subjugation. If we don’t trade with Cuba, we’re shifty capitalists aiming at economic subjugation.

Anti-Americanism, in fact, has become the false panacea for what ails the world. It wonÂ’t really cure anybody, of course, but it does allow for fleeting moments of righteousness.

And we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” are officially sick of it. It’s high time to treat the rest of the world as new visitors to an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting: The first step is to admit that you have a problem (rather than foisting all the blame on the United States).

Naturally, in this Age of Victimology, taking responsibility for oneÂ’s actions is about as hip as a Roxette concert. (Wow: Dig that lame reference.) Accordingly, we donÂ’t exactly have high hopes that, say, the Saudis will admit their government is run by evil kleptomaniacs who use Islamist ideology as a tool to break the backs of their people. Nor are we holding our breath for the Palestinian realization that their intransigence and death-cult fanaticism lie at the root of their problems.

Okay, world: YouÂ’re going to have to blame someone else. We get it. YouÂ’re just not strong enough to accept any responsibility.

Still, for one day—one measly day—could you stop using America as your whipping boy? And could you lay off Israel too? It’s the fricken’ size of New Hampshire, for crying out loud—is it really sane to blame all Muslim pathologies on its mere existence?

DonÂ’t worry: Even though you wonÂ’t have recourse to castigating the Big and Little Satan for 24 hours, youÂ’ll still be able to deflect any criticism and avoid all introspection. ThatÂ’s because we ask you to blame New Zealand instead. Just for a day. Whatever theyÂ’ve done or havenÂ’t done in the past, weÂ’re pretty sure itÂ’s worth a dayÂ’s worth of opprobrium.

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Perhaps, dear reader, you know all about Title IX, the glorious feminist-inspired diktat that forces American colleges and universities to give equal funds and attention to women’s sports as to men’s sports. This grand Ms. magazine success story is pretty much the reason you’ll never see a men’s fencing team ever again, since college administrators chuck them—along with numerous other male sports teams—in order to keep things even between the sexes.

Depriving collegiate males the opportunity to play on athletic teams: Gosh, that is a great feminist accomplishment. Maybe it even ranks up there with feminist fawning over chronic philanderer and sex-offender Bill Clinton. You go, girl. (Excuse us: Grrrl.)

If you ask us, Title IX is a quintessential example of contemporary American feminism. It begins with a reasonable-sounding premise—to eradicate gender discrimination in collegiate athletics—and then massively ruins things by failing to take any semblance of reality into account.

Only the most muddleheaded feminist, after all, would believe that there is equal interest in sports amongst members of both sexes. Naturally, far more men aim to participate in athletics than women—and this will remain the case no matter what Gloria Steinem dreams about.

Thus forcing universities to field an equal amount of womenÂ’s as menÂ’s teams was obviously going to lead to doom for menÂ’s track and field and other under-the-radar male sports. For everyone but Andrea Dworkin, this is a no-brainer. (In fairness to Dworkin, though, sheÂ’s deceased.)

We mention Title IX, dear reader, for a very specific reason. Since it has been such an unvarnished success in the land of collegiate athletics, why not expand its reach? Like you, we canÂ’t think of a reason either.

And hereÂ’s what we have in mind. Our Democratic friends in Congress are surely scratching their heads over the defeat of a proposed reintroduction of the so-called Fairness Doctrine.

The Fairness Doctrine, in short, is unfair. (A well-named doctrine, that.) It would have compelled radio stations that broadcast right-wing talk shows to fund “The Alexander Cockburn Blames the Jews Hour” by way of ideological compensation. It would do for the private sector what PBS refuses to do for the tax-payer-funded public sector.

Even though the Fairness Doctrine is no more, why not propose a veritable E-Fairness Doctrine? And that, dear reader, is what Title E-IX is all about.

You see, it has come to our attention that there are more male than female “webloggers” out here on Al Gore’s World-Wide Web. This, we think, demonstrates the horrid sexism of the Internet—a sexism that is destroying the hopes and dreams of little girls everywhere.

With Title E-IX, however, this grave injustice will be solved: It’ll simply mandate the shutdown of sundry male-authored “weblogs” until we reach complete gender parity. Finally the insidious discrimination will be behind us.

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We, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” like to keep abreast of the inanities of academic life. Ward Churchill; the notorious Group of 88; the pea-brained Houston Baker—these are just a few delights that greet the ivory tower watchdog.

Given our veritable advanced degree in tenured radical sightings, weÂ’re seldom amazed by professorial obtuseness. WeÂ’re well aware, for instance, that the rigors of academia force the non-tenured to hope never to have an unpublished, un-refereed thought. Accordingly, more than a few examples of academic idiocy make their way to the neighborhood bookstore. (If your neighborhood bookstore carries Radical Third-World Quarterly.)

Every once in a great while, however, a study so jaw-droppingly dumb rears its head that even we chuckle with morbid delight. And such was surely the case when we spied a story from the UPI news service detailing some of the results of research undertaken at the University of Missouri-Columbia.

The report is so delicious that we think it merits reprinting in full:

COLUMBIA, Mo., June 27 (UPI) -- U.S. researchers recommend early Friday classes -- before 10 a.m. -- to help reduce excessive drinking by college students on Thursday nights.

Lead author Phillip K. Wood, of the University of Missouri-Columbia, surveyed 3,341 volunteer undergraduates at a large Midwestern public university and found significant relationships between the presence and timing of Friday classes and Thursday drinking.

"About half of the students with late or no Friday classes consumed at least one drink on Thursday, but only one-third of students did so if they had Friday classes which met at 10 a.m. or earlier," Wood said in a statement.

Approximately two-thirds of students who consumed some alcohol Thursday consumed a "binge amount" if they had late or no Friday classes, according to the study published in the July issue of Alcoholism: Clinical & Experimental Research.

Wood said he was surprised that many faculty don't teach on Fridays, and instead use the day for consultation or other research; however, he suggests early undergraduates might be best served if mandatory core classes were only available early on Friday.

Boy, the folks at the University of Missouri-Columbia really have their thinking caps on, donÂ’t they? Students who donÂ’t have Friday classes tend to drink more on Thursday nights than those who do. Who would have seen that coming?

Couldn’t anyone inform Herr Doktor Wood that early-morning classes on Friday might not prove to be such a panacea? You see, lots of students with early classes—mirabile dictu—will simply skip class.

Now, maybe they wouldnÂ’t engage in such deleterious pursuits at academic powerhouses such as the University of Missouri-Columbia. From what little we can tell, to get into that stellar school, one requiresÂ…a pen. (No small feat, that.) Hence it never entered Professor WoodÂ’s mind that WomenÂ’s Studies 101 at 8:45am may not fix things after all.

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As you might imagine from the title of this humble “weblog,” we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” are a bunch of cool, cool cats. Very little, you see, gets under our skin. Call us the possessors of preternaturally sunny dispositions. In short, we seldom get irked.

Even so, every once in a great while, we find our blood pressure boiling. As we say, this happens to be an uncommonly rare occurrence. You know: Only when, say, Phil Collins comes out with a new album or, say, Rosie OÂ’Donnell opens her mouth. That is to say, seldom.

Yesterday, however, one of those mesmerizingly rare times was upon us. Or, we should say, it was upon one of our junior editors—let’s just call him “Chip.” For “Chip” was huffing and puffing his way to physical fitness at the local gymnasium, and he happened upon one of the most irksome fellows in the early history of the 21st century.

Mind you, dear reader, the gymnasium is chock-a-block with lifeÂ’s little irritants. For starters, one routinely runs into women preening like peacocks and wearing far too little. To make matters worse, one also routinely runs into men preening like peacocks and wearing far too little.

And let’s not even discuss the morons who force you to watch “Sex and the City” whilst you both sweat on the elliptical machines. Nothing quite says “uncomfortable” like taking in vivid sexual banter on the boob tube when you’re next to a sweaty stranger wearing a jog bra.

But these minor drawbacks pale in comparison with the galactic bother that “Chip” experienced. That’s because “Chip’s” entire gymnasium visit was ruined by an obnoxious, grunting buffoon.

You know the sort of chap of whom we speak, dear reader. Bedecked in clown pants and a cut-off T-shirt, this ninny seemed to want everyone in the Western hemisphere to know that he was working out.

A very accommodating person might guess that this guy had his i-Pod on stun, and thus couldnÂ’t tell that he was a-grunting and a-groaning louder than Mussolini at his death. If you werenÂ’t looking directly at this animal, youÂ’d have thought that a man was being drawn and quartered in the gym.

And was he clanking down his weights with reckless abandon? You bet he was! In fact, “Chip” had the sneaking suspicion that this chucklehead would soon tear a hole in the concrete floor.

Quite frankly, dear reader, we wonder what this ignoramus was thinking. “I’m going to the gym; I better not forget to grunt like a WWE wrestler and toss my weights around like I’m Ike Turner and those dumbbells are my bitches.”

Yeah, that seems to be his thought process. Except for the semi-colon, of course: A guy this obtuse doesnÂ’t think with semi-colons.

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Like all sentient beings, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” eagerly take in Katha Pollitt’s whiny feminist tracts in The Nation whenever we can lay our hands on them. For sheer muddleheaded obtuseness, we think Ms. Pollitt is up with the best of them. Male or female, she’d be happy to know.

With great relish—and a little dab of mustard—we read Ms. Pollitt’s latest stultum opus, “Anything Boys Can Do….” Hardcore radical that she is, Ms. Pollitt has used this column to inveigh against an obvious threat to civilization: The Dangerous Book for Boys.

If youÂ’re one of the three people on GodÂ’s green earth who has yet to hear about this tome, allow us to inform you that itÂ’s a harmless throwback to childrenÂ’s books of old, instructing its young male pledges on the delights of skipping rocks, learning grammar, and enjoying a synopsis of the Battle of Zama.

Now, it is one of the little pleasures of Ms. Pollitt’s pea-sized intellect that the astute amongst you can already imagine her objections to The Dangerous Book for Boys. In fact, you could likely guess at Ms. Pollitt’s bones-to-pick merely from hearing the work’s title. Of such stuff are feminist “intellectuals” made.

And, yes, you guessed it: Ms. Pollitt greatly dislikes the fact that this book is aimed at boys—and boys alone. What, no girls? Excuse us: No age-challenged women? To our feminist friends, women-only redoubts are a crucial desideratum. Hence we must endure the sight of women’s gyms, women’s book clubs, and—worst of all—Smith College.

But boys-only? ThatÂ’s strictly taboo for our rabid feminists.

Add to this gender issue the bookÂ’s slight whiff of Rudyard-Kipling-esque bravado, and you get a good idea why subscribers to The Nation are highly unlikely to buy a copy of The Dangerous Book for Boys.

Yet this led us to wonder: Don’t Nation readers deserve an activities workbook for their tots? Sure, it’d have to be far more gender neutral—and you can just forget about all that battles and chivalry nonsense. Still, we think that such a book could sell like hotcakes.

And that’s why we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” are prepared to produce The Ideologically-Correct Book for Enlightened and Empowered Children of Nation-Reading Parents. We think it’d really take the wind out of the sails of that Dangerous Book for Boys hokum.

Why, just take a gander at some of our bookÂ’s delightful chapters:

-“How To Protest Income Inequality without Exacerbating Global Warming”

-“Why Johnny Should Have Two Daddies”

-“Great American Patriots, Part One: Alger Hiss”

-“Drugs from A to Z with David Crosby”

-“A Ghost Story: ‘The Evil White Man’”

-“How To Trumpet ‘Diversity’ Endlessly While Living in the Suburbs”

-“Fun ‘Holocaust’ Facts with Norman Finkelstein”

-“It’s Never Too Early To Be Sexually Active”

-“A Tale of Two Religions: Christianity Is Evil; Islam Is Wondrous”

-“Make Your Own Tie-Dye ‘Death to Bush’ T-Shirt with Tom Hayden”

-“Latina LGBT Story-Time: ‘Why Does Maria Have a Penis?’”

-“Travel to Hymie-Town with Jessie Jackson”

Does anyone else smell bestseller?

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