It’s difficult to imagine what reproductive advantage there is to being Ray Comfort. His improbable existence in the biological continuum may well be the best case against evolution we have.
Of course, Ray doesn’t believe in Darwin’s claptrap anyway, so this poses little problem for him or his boy ward. Rather, it is Ray’s representation of himself as a tool of God that’s far more troubling.
This is the instrument that God, in all His wisdom, sends to us to explain His holy plan?
We ask for Jesus and God sends us Ray Comfort? Either God’s not particularly bright or He’s not very neighborly at all. It’s like asking Him if you might borrow a cup of milk and getting a whoopee cushion in return.
But then, God’s ways are famously mysterious. As are Ray’s when he is confronting an argument for the evolution of sexual gender positing that such a ‘[l]arge-scale adaptive change is simply the accumulation of small-scale adaptive change’:
Your belief is truly nebulous and may cloud the thinking of the simple, but not those who think a little deeper. You are saying that they just ‘were’. There were male and female animals, male and female birds, male and female insects, male and female fish, and male and female human beings.
Your belief is in a childlike fairy tale for grownups. That would be okay with me if you didn’t deceive others with your meaningless eloquence, and at the same time poison them against the truth.
Game, set, banana — Ray Comfort! And once more for emphasis:
It doesn’t bother me that Elena Kagan might be a lesbian. Instead, what upsets me about her is that she would almost certainly be opposed to laws that discriminate against lesbians.
Hateful liberals call me self-hating for identifying with a political party and ideology that doesn’t think I deserve equal legal rights. But I don’t hate myself. In fact, I once walked down Sunset Boulevard holding another guy’s hand. So, libs, prove to me why I’m self-hating. I dare you.2
1 I know that this is three posts in a row by me on America’s Dumbest Homosexual™. But, honestly, ridiculing him is, like those plums, “delicious/so sweet and so cold.” Or like watching a train wreck or Sandra Lee on the Food Network.
2 I would take up the challenge, even given its inherent futility, but I have been banned from GP’s comment section. For those who want to pick up the gauntlet that BlattMan just threw down and haven’t yet been banned, here is some ammunition from prior Sadly, No! posts:
Dan The Magic Homo (In order to show his solidarity with the owner, Dan has brunch at a restaurant that gave money to the campaign to oppose gay marriage in California.)
It has long been my position that those who repeat the old line about the pun being the lowest form of humor are not only incorrect, for the pun is not a form of humor but a mode of reasoning, but are creating a perfect setup for a fish down the pants or a donking with a mallet.
Above (top, bottom): Ben-Der, A Tale of the Christ
‘Ben Caught Stealing’ was the title of our first Domenech post during that affair, in 2006, and it inaugurated a long and artistically rewarding period of titles that blink cleverly atop quantities of hick wap all wadded up and thrown into a post, as continues to the present moment. So it’s a shame that something almost identical to the following title was used awhile back in celebration of the other, less fired-in-disgrace Ben, because it’s really kind of beautiful to contemplate:
Ben: “Gay”
A secession1 of Domenech post titles based on pop songs is banked for future need:
“…President Obama would “please” much of his base by picking the “first openly gay justice.” An administration official, who asked not to be identified discussing personal matters, said Kagan is not a lesbian.
An attempt to stir up gossip in the press about somebody’s sexual orientation, which is what this has been,2 is pretty much the definitive occasion on which to roll out a neither-confirm-nor-deny statement. So pardon me, but WTF?
CBS initially refused to pull the posting, prompting Anita Dunn, a former White House communications director who is working with the administration on the high court vacancy, to say: “The fact that they’ve chosen to become enablers of people posting lies on their site tells us where the journalistic standards of CBS are in 2010. She said the network was giving a platform to a blogger “with a history of plagiarism” who was “applying old stereotypes to single women with successful careers.”
Anita Dunn, meet your new fiancé, Phineas Toldem. You will marry and hyphenate.
Hoo-boy. Chom-chom, eatin’ the Chex Mix. Say, what’s that coming through that break in the trees?
1 This authentic typo resolves to ‘succession,’ and suggests that Confederate History Month is sweeping us up, after all, in a Tarantella of enthusiasm. Seriously, if Sherman had his March, these Confederates should have their April.
2 Ambinder’s thesis is one of those asky ones made of questions that are respectable among academics, but that suggest of a top journalist, and especially a top political journalist — and capping that in a small, apical cone, a journalist of high overall Ambinderishness — that he is eager to write about something, yet not eager to leave jammy handprints on it. “Why is [Kagan] the subject of these rumors?” Ambinder explains. “Who’s behind them? And what do they tell us about politics?”
Well, as folks say in the 300-level seminars and the baccalaureate thesis papers, rumors are a story we tell ourselves about ourselves, Marc, and which in turn interrogate and inform our telling of them — for what indeed, we must ask ourselves, are the questions for whom these rumors themselves act as the questioners, and where within this act of acting do our them answers tell of kaboom head explode uh, jouissance, insert citation.
Yesterday we called America’s Dumbest Homosexual™, the illustrious B. Daniel Blatt, a “wretched, illiterate prick.” It appears that the “illiterate” jab must have hit home because Dan felt compelled to prove his literacy by posting an item “correcting” an AP headline with, it almost goes without saying, hilarious results. Here’s a screen capture, which I have partially annotated for Mr. Blatt’s enlightenment when he drops by Sadly, No! (And you know he will.)
So, not only is Dan’s own post riddled with errors, but also his central premise — that there can be no superlative of two — is a myth, as this highly informative entry in Merriam-Webster’s Dictionary of English Usage makes crystal clear.
The way I learned it, you’re supposed to put dirty laundry in the wash, and letters in the post. Then I found out about the letters section in the Washington Post. And now the paper’s full of dirty laundry!
Complains? But surely millions of them are! Consider Mo Rocca. This possible Supreme Court nominee is vanishingly unlikely to be nominated to the Supreme Court, yet seems certainly gay to me, at least in terms of studied flamboyance and a snappy, ribald wit reminiscent of Tallulah Bankhead, albeit as impersonated by Jerry Lewis.
Consider Ted Allen. Less flambé, but someone whom you’d actually want to introduce to the late Ms. Bankhead, Allen will not be nominated to the Supreme Court in a scheme to float “Fat Tony” Scalia out an emergency exit on a raft of deep-fried bacon, for this would be too rulingly awesome. Yet he is securely confirmed as gay, at least publicly.
Here’s a story that might put things in perspective. There were three little puppies named Everybody, Nobody, and Somebody.
One day, Somebody got all upset, and Everybody started barking! Now, Nobody knew what the trouble was, but Everybody thought that Somebody had a…
…sexual orientation of Solicitor General Elena Kagan, widely viewed as a leading candidate for the Supreme Court.
Or I could just sit down here in this chair instead.
Ben Domenech, a former Bush administration aide and Republican Senate staffer, wrote that…
Wait, when did, or more to the point, how did Domenech, the serial plagiarist, get hired at CBS News?
Yep, I’ll just take this 1.75-liter bottle of Absolut Berri Açaí1 from the freezer and put these glasses down on the table and sit back down here in this chair, first putting this large bowl of Chex Mix on the table, and then these liter bottles of club soda, tonic water, and Hawaiian Punch Açaí Blast.
[Next: Astronomech Domenech]
Notes:
Title cf.: Replacements – “Knocking on Heaven’s Door” “Here Comes a Regular” (4:46)
1 We must have missed Absolut Lykopene and Absolut Öt Bran.
I’ve been sashaying around the right-wing Internutz looking for one of its loonier denizens to get all riled up about how the Negro-in-Chief had the gall to force hospitals to let dykes and fags visit their so-called families. I mean certainly there would be someone out there who couldn’t resist saying, à la John Cornyn, that the order meant that people could have box turtles visit them on their deathbeds and make critical choices for them about their end-of-life care.
But I wasn’t coming up with much. Even at Ace O’Play-Doh and Bacon’s place, one of his substitute blogging minions had to admit that he was “glad” that the President was ending a “bad thing.” I was about to abandon the whole enterprise, head home and curl up with a nice tumbler of 60-year-old MacCutcheon whisky when, lo and behold, B. Daniel Blatt, The World’s Dumbest Homosexual™ (aka The Only Gay Man in Los Angeles Who Hasn’t Had Sex Since He Blew His Best Friend In the Basement In Sixth Grade™ aka The Gay Neville Chamberlain™) brings it home with a post in which he laments Obama’s order as a violation of the right of private hospitals to make their own policies (and, apparently, take gobs of federal funding at the same time.)
First, I believe any individual should be able to designate people who can visit him when he’s been hospitalized. I also believe private hospitals should be free to set their own policies. And I question whether the president has the authority to do so. And if he does, wonder what kind of precedent would this set. [Does anyone proofread Dan’s shit? – Ed.] Will a future president impose other such mandates on hospitals?
Like, you know, forcing them to treat gay people or requiring their care-givers to wash their hands before treating patients. I mean, next thing you know, the nanny state will be telling hospitals that they can’t permit surgeons to operate while drunk, thereby destroying the very basis of our free market economy and leading to the end of the United States as we know it.
Permit me to stop joking around for a moment and to say something directly for a change. Dan Blatt is a loathsome piece of shit who will sell out other gay people in order to curry the favor of straight Republicans who pat him on the head every now but then call him a cock-sucking heels-in-the-air fudge-packed girlie-boy behind his back (even though only the girlie-boy part is actually true). Dan says all this stuff because the probability that any gay man would ever give enough of a shit about Dan to visit him in a hospital, much less to have a relationship with him, is remote — as remote as the possibility that Dan will ever have sex with anyone other than a blind leper in a darkened truck stop in rural Alabama, and even then the leper will have to down a fifth of Jack Daniel’s before he can bring himself to do it. Fuck you, Dan, you wretched, illiterate prick.
There. I said it. I feel better. We now return to our originally scheduled snark.
Look what K-Lo found on teh Internetz! The bestest Barbie evah:
Except, well, there are some problems . . .
Fixed.
CREDIT: The Teabagger Barbie that we fixed was originally ripped off by Op-Toons, a conservative “humor” site specializing in amateurish photoshops, from Atheist Barbie, the creation of Jen at her marvelous blog Blag Hag.
If you’re like me, the last thing you want to be confronted with over coffee and a bowl of Kaboom is Erick Erickson padding through the kitchen with a case of Morning Briefs.
Especially when the set, ‘briefs,’ intersects on any non-zero particular with the set, ‘soiling.’
It’s amazing, in a strict sense of the word1, how casually Erick and other such type specimens of Wingnuttius spp have begun to blend the concepts of ‘is’ and ‘ought’ in their writing, and evidently in their thinking, where present. He writes:
Behind the subscriber firewall at the Wall Street Journal, Ed Feulner and Michael Needham2 just launched a major assault against the left that has many on the left soiling their collectivist selves today.
And yet, it’s plainly apparent to those of us on the left who are boogieing through these past few days with a hey-nonny-nonny and a hot-cha-cha, that are today walking on sunshine or tripping on moonshine as the case may be, equipped as the case may be with a song on our face and a smile in our heart, that Erickson is expressing a deeper reality than the merely objective one in which we exist autonomously of Erickson. What he means is:
[The Heritage Foundation] launched a major assault against the left that hasme go blaaar-haaar-haaar! waving a flaming Gadsden flag atop a pile of gay and Muslim skulls, and this is all happening in my mind, plus Eagle Publishing told me to go wide with this Heritage press release, and they don’t mean maybe, and I’m thinking…oh hey, what’s that, a bowl of Kaboom? ‘Scuse me, squeezin’ through, gettin’ pants from the dryer…to go blaaar-haaar-haaar! with an Atchisson AA-12 in each metal tentacle of my Gadsden-flag Doc Ock suit, climbing up on Solsbury Hill and being like, [boom-boom-boom] “Son, grab your things, I’ve come to take you home,” moo-hoo-ha-ha, and that would certainly havemany on the left soiling their collectivist selves.3
A canny4 observer of the right might detect a familiar radiation emitting from this title, most signally from the phrase, ‘exposes the truth.’ It is a beacon of cluons — the quantum unit, as the photon is the quantum unit of the phenomenon of light, of incredulity.
It delivers the formidable energy of about 2 iJ, or incre-Joules per second, or an equivalent number of Watts-now. Here’s how it reads on the Watt-Fommeter, or WtF:
David Letterman Finally Exposes Watt, now? the Truth About Watt, now? Pam Stout, President of Watt, now?
The point being, and as we see with the hashed-together quotes below, it was:
A very fair and enlightening interview, showing the real face of the Tea Party to many viewers who may have only been believing the lamestream media spin (Racists! Cuckoo pants! Violent Haters!)
[Allahpundit, Hot Air:] Whatever the reason, this ends up being one of the most efficient (if possibly inadvertent) debunkings of tea-party craziness to ever hit big media.
Yup. Whatever the motives, the end result is marvelous. She could be your Mom, your Grandma, your neighbor down the road. Sure takes the wind out of the racist, crazy, angry, spitting and epithet hurling narrative, doesn’t it?
Above: Post improved by Skids video
Implicit is that if you put a nice old lady on the TV, it doesn’t just look good for your movement on the TV, but it makes critiques of your past behavior be discredited, making that behavior unhappen and be always a lie the whole time.
This is magic that never fails to impress me, because when I lie I eventually find it annoying to keep up, and overall a burden; and am in any case of a temperament that deals comfortably with truth in a loose, Rashomon sense, but that prizes facts, and finds bad faith ultimately mysterious as a policy — like a commitment to smell funny, or to cheat at yoga.
Yet there are people out there — and apparently lots of them — who can lie like a tatami mat; like a fat old savanna-blown Felidae, recumbent as well as in wait, as well as in Winter. There are rare individuals, often like skunks noticed widely, whose métier comprises the Pullman-rhythmed whopper-dopper of the Chicago sales drummer or the rap of the New York bunco — his austerity of speech, his delivery like a plank slapping water — alternating or combining this with the languid tobacco-spitting and jimmie-whittling art form of the Southern porch scoundrel, thereby attaining a syncretism of American oskafagus, a sort of Mason-Dixon lying. There are people, and apparently lots of them, who can lie like Manet’s Olympia singing the chorus of “The Boxer.”
And this is the magic trick: When their conscience if any comes around swinging its lantern, carrying its dire abacus under its arm, they just lie to it that that they didn’t lie. And their conscience is like, “Oh-kay. I’m just passin’ through. Whatcha got there, a bowl of Kaboom?”
Although sometimes at that point their conscience is like, “Hey, wait a second. Did you just lie to me?”
“No,” they say. “I just said I didn’t lie. How could that be a lie?”
And their conscience is like, “Oh, it could be a lie if you didn’t lie. It could be one then.”
And it walks away like, “Jesus, I dunno. One of these days, I tell ya. OKAY, I’LL BE WATCHING YOU, PAL. Christ in a Messerschmitt,5 this freakin’ place is starting to get to me.”
That’s apparently how they do it.
As it happens, and relatedly, the spitting and epithet-hurling that Ziganto mentions refers to the Tea Toddler gantlet outside the Capitol building that was walked by Representatives John Lewis (D-Blax0r), Emanuel Cleaver (D-Blax0r), and Barney Frank (D-Fagg0rt), and others. The account that Lewis gave of the incident was ‘debunked’ by the Teepsters when somebody produced a 23-second video clip in which a general racket of noise and chanting6 makes it impossible to distinguish any epithets that might have been hurled during the very end of Lewis’s reportedly five-minute encounter there, as he moved past those specific Tee Ballers at that specific location.6.5
Right, sure, logical fallacy, yadda-yadda. But you don’t get it, see. The video alone wasn’t proof enough, so that’s why the liberals were soiling themselves when the nice old lady went on the TV and never spat or said ‘nigger,’ debunking the air and wind out of their lamestream Cuckoo Pants smears. Read the rest of this entry »
