This is a good week for me.
My favorite Townhall columnist is back. And by “favorite,” I mean “would you look at the incoherent frothings-at-the-mouth that have come pouring out of Mary Grabar this time.”
I have to let you know that I’ve read this Grabar column about fifteen times already, and I’m still not sure I know what the hell she’s talking about. This is world-class wingnuttery, folks; I put this column next to a Kaye Grogan piece and the next thing I knew, Grogan’s writing started looking like an essay by Isaiah Berlin. But we’ll see if we can make it through this romp down sanity’s back forty intact, shall we?
Osama bin Laden was cornered by U.S. forces in his cave. He was reported to have been surrounded by 17 virgins whom he blew up along with himself, while shouting “Allahu, Akbar!”
In response, massive rallies were held in Washington.
In front of the Capitol, Cindy Sheehan addressed the crowd through a megaphone: “Did we really need over 3,000 deaths to make this happen? We could have sent cupcakes with sprinkles over to show our goodwill. Who knows? Osama could still be alive. We know that bullies are bullies because they haven’t been shown enough love. WAR IS NOT THE ANSWER!”
The ACLU sent a statement about the U.S. government’s lack of due process.
Oh, goody. We are ten sentences in, and I’ve already got enough strawmen to fill a barn.
I keep going back to that last sentence, though….it’s such a masterpiece of legal WTFery that I can’t stop thinking about it. What does she think the Fifth Amendment to the Constitution has to do with suicide? Or the Fourteenth? How would it even apply to a non-citizen not on U.S. soil? They let this woman grade Freshman composition papers? Is this supposed to be satire? How can I move on with my life, after having been exposed to the truly horrifying inner workings of another person’s mind? Seriously….the Fifth Amendment? WTF?
Luckily, the rest of the column is even more freakishly insane, so I can get myself to stop thinking about this just by moving on to the next few paragraphs:
Ward Churchill, penning a book under contract with Beaufort Books, “If I Could Do It,” in a tower in the redwood forest of California, began leaking out a draft. A cable tower had been set up for him, for an office, and he received special tree-sitting privileges accorded to a little-known Native American tribe, recently discovered by a leading scholar at an ethnic studies department at the University of California, Santa Cruz. His missive in manuscript began, “The chickens have already come home to roost. Now the chicken hawks believe that they have captured the enemy? But who is the real enemy? The contractors and mercenaries of an imperialist government. . .” The statement was read to the crowd of graduate students by an English professor.
Remember, guys: this woman has a degree in English.
I keep reading that bit, praying that whatever it is she did to the English language there, someone will finally come along and put it out of its misery. It hasn’t happened yet. The book is under a contract? It’s under a contract with other books? In a forest? There are books under a contract in a forest? Ward Churchill lives in a tower? Does it hurt when you leak out a draft? You need to have privileges to sit in a tree? They’ve discovered another Native American culture? Missives come in manuscript? What graduate students? Where did they come from? Why is there an English professor and a crowd of graduate students in a forest under a contract with books?
I know this is supposed to be satire (I think), but help me out here: you wacky youngfolks with your drugs and stuff – is this what you mean by a “bad trip”? Because right now, the floor and walls are being all tilty around me, and my grasp on what I once considered “reality” is starting to slip away.
An effigy of General Petreaus was burned by protestors [sic] who wore Islamic garb and prisoner garb in sympathy with their brethren while singing, “We are the world.”
One young woman carrying a sign that read, “Bombs can kill terrorists, but only love can kill terrorism,” said, “Well, so what? They’ve captured one man. So does this mean the end to terrorism?”
“ Yeah,” said her companion, a young man in dreadlocks, “I mean, this is only one guy. So he’s made some bad choices. Is that any reason to put his body on national television? I mean, he has a right to privacy too, man.”
A bearded man in a purple sequined tutu then jumped in: “Yeah, and at what expense? We’ve lost all our civil liberties. Bob and I can’t even get married.”
A sixty-ish grizzled man in a tie-dye t-shirt waved his fists and shouted, “We ended the Vietnam War and we will end this one too!”
I’m beginning to wonder if this wackjob has ever met any other human beings before in her life, or if she is one of those unfortunate souls who must live in a hermetically sealed bubble to compensate for a malfunctioning immune system. It’s like watching a crazy person having a conversation with themselves on a streetcorner; she really thinks that she is seriously engaging with the ideas of her opponents, but none of these people exist anywhere outside of her own sad little mind. For all we joke about being gay feminist abortionist vegan communists, she apparently thinks that anyone opposed to the war actually is a gay feminist abortionist vegan communist.
But across the globe, even bigger news was hitting. A man was said to be walking in sandals and speaking about “beating swords into plowshares.” He has also been luring young Palestinian children who had been chanting anti-Christian slogans away from their family televisions. He has invited them to him, saying, “Come unto me all ye children.” Amazingly, hardened children stopped mid-chant and skipped toward this man who held out his arms to them. They listened to his gentle words and ran off to play in peace and harmony, even approaching Israeli playmates.
Forgiveness, reconciliation, and kindness are reported on a massive, diplomatic scale. World leaders are dropping private ambitions and have confessed their bribe-taking and corruption. They have repented. Families have come together. Husbands are in love their wives and have no desire to hook up with Paris Hilton wannabe’s. Young women have become modest and young men have become gentlemen. All respect their elders and each other, and honor their parents.
I don’t even know what to say to this. It’s like she was writing next week’s column in one window on her computer and editing this week’s column in another window, and somehow the text from the two got smashed up together. She got her evilaborto-hippie-scum on her Jesu-suffer-the-little-children while simultaneously getting her Jesu-suffer-the-little-children in her evil aborto-hippie-scum. We therefore get treated to two great tastes that make absolutely no sense whatsoever together.
And I’m not even going to touch the apostrophe abuse or the bit about families coming together. And every one of you should be ashamed for having even thought it.
When asked about this worldwide development, a member of Moveon.org, an extremely tattooed young man (with “Peace” and “Love” imprinted in gothic script up and down each arm and the word “godly” similarly inscribed around his neck) said, “What the f*&%! It’s got to be some kind of conspiracy, man. You know Cheney’s pulling the puppet strings on the dude preaching peace and love. Yeah, he comes in and wants to take credit for all the work we’ve done. It’s just like the Civil Rights movement. Just like they put Condoleezza Rice out there. But we know she’s just the kitchen slave for the Republican party.”
At that point a large woman with short, spiked hair and beefy arms came up to the young man and grabbed him by the throat, right where the word “godly” was tattooed.
“Down with the patriarchy!” she shouted into his face like a drill sergeant. “What the f*&% makes you think you’re godly? It’s the goddess that rules! Don’t you know that Earth is the mother of us all?”
At that point a contingent of females clad in bright pink charged a group of dreadlocked young men in black. Eight casualties were reported. The spiky haired woman was reported to have said, “We don’t need the men anyways. Our sisters in science will learn to clone.”
I think I feel bad for her at this point. This reads less and less like an angry screed, and more and more like a desperate cry for help. I don’t think I have ever encountered another human being who oozed so much terror at the thought of being confronted by people who think differently. I still feel all floaty andtilty, though, and not in a good way, so my sympathy is limited.
In fact, I propose a new verb be entered into common usage:
Grabar (vi): To ramble incoherently on a topic about which you know nothing, esp. in a manner possibly offensive to listeners, most often while in a state of extreme intoxication or other cognitive impairment. “Dude, you so totally grabared at the party yesterday that my girlfriend doesn’t want me hanging out with you anymore.”
The column isn’t finished yet, but I think I’ll let you discover the joys of Grabaring for yourself. I’m going to go sit over here in the corner and watch my hand….if I move it fast enough, I can see lots of hands, all following each other, and it’s pretty cool….