Wednesday, February 07, 2007


Stooge of the Right

Thank the gods someone has finally figured it out--the reasons for the 9/11 attacks, I mean.

In The Enemy at Home, Dinesh D'Souza has figured it all out-- it's our sick, liberal selves. Our "aggressive global campaign to undermine the traditional patriarchal family" has brought us to this un-pretty pass.

D'Souza is especially drawn to Eve Ensler's The Vagina Monologues and the campaign for gay marriage, which he sees as epitomes of irreligiosity and antifamily liberal culture, anathema to the observant Muslim, he says, and rationale enough for the current terror campaign. (Actually, just the use of the word in the title of anything is probably all that he can take of that mysterious organ. That's why we need the word sublimation.)

Back to that Higher Plane. D'Souza blames the left for fostering a "decadent and depraved American culture that angers and repulses other societies--especially traditional and religious ones-- and by promoting, at home and abroad, an anti-American attitude that blames America for all the problems of the world."
He's convinced that the left is now in cahoots with Islamic radicals to defeat Dubya's war on terror.

It's interesting to read that D'Souza is the Rishwain Research Scholar at the Hoover Institution at Stanford University. It's as if the Hoover was paying him not to do any research, so fatuous are his "insights." You can tell that he has no idea of our country's history in the Middle East, or much of anywhere else, for that matter. There's only his discomfort translated into moral outrage for the moral issues he hasn't bothered to understand.

Hmmm... this sounds familiar. Let's give him his own version of 72 virgins... adapted to those upright, all-American sensibilities.

Okay... let's give this guy what he must desire most: a Moral Date with Ann Coulter, during which he breaks out a bottle of Clairol and tenderly, delicately, touches up those dark roots of hers.

Those two deserve each other!
I get so hot when you write at a level beyond my comprehension.
This reminds me of the 70's when you gave me a copy of "100 Years of Solitude" by Gabriel Garcia Marquez.
It was too complicated for me to read, but I was thrilled you thought I was intellectually gifted enough to get it.
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