The World O' Crap Archive

Welcome to the Collected World O' Crap, a comprehensive library of posts from the original Salon Blog, and our successor site, world-o-crap.com (2006 to 2010).

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Saturday, January 22, 2011

Druids

Movie Monday
Before we begin the screening, we’d like to remind everyone to please vote in the thread below for the 2006 Write Like a Wingnut Contest, because after wading through Christopher Lambert in Druids you’re going to want to kill yourself, and we are legally enjoined from tabulating any ballots cast by dead people outside the limits of Cook County, Illinois.

And now, in honor of Springtime we present:

Druids (2001)
Directed by: Jacques Dorfmann
Written by: Jacques Dorfmann

Tagline: His people made him a leader. The empire made him a renegade. History made him a hero.
Facts made him a loser. This film is better known in Europe, were it was a huge hit, as Vercingétorix, the name of an ancient Gallic leader who is apparently much revered in France for getting his ass kicked by Caesar. And according to Christian Spotlight on the Movies, Jacques Dorfmann is actually not a filmmaker (quelle surprise) but a historian who dramatized the Gallic Wars with a scrupulous attention to period detail.

So, the story you are about to see is true. The names have been changed, because they?re all really stupid (Vercingétorix? Dumnorix? Why not Archaeoptyrix? Or Aviatrix? Or Trixareforkids?)
As with all films about First Century pagans, we begin in space, where a spermatozoa the size of a Schwan’s truck is attempting to fertilize the moon. This goes on for awhile, with the jizz rebuffed by each object in near earth orbit (although it does manage to get to second base with the Hubble) until it finally mistakes the Sun for an ovum and dives into the corona screaming “Yeeeeee-HA!”

The viewer may well wonder about the relevance of giant orbital sperm to a film about Caesar’s campaigns in Gaul, but the significant becomes clear when auteur Jacques Dorfmann appends the words, “For my Father” to the credits, and we realize this sequence is actually his family’s earliest home movies. (“I had a happy blastocythood. As a zygote, I idolized my father, but was tormented by doubts that I could ever be even half the man is was, since it would require growing about 8 trillion more cells?”)

Finally, the camera makes its way to Earth. It’s the year 60 B.C.; white muslin robes are all the rage, gods are plentiful, and Stonehenge still has that new henge smell. A querulous pagan buttonholes “Arch Druid Bukkake” (well, that’s what it sounded like) and says, “We?re dying! What should we do?”

Bukkake points out the space spooge passing overhead and cries, “Behold! The sign of the coming of the king!”  Because even though all men (except Ben Shapiro) spill their seed, only royalty can get that kind of hang time. The Arch Druid declaims: “Every people, every tribe needs its legend. And every battle needs its hero.” He doesn?t go on to specify that every party needs its pooper, but the implication hangs heavy in the air. He then says, “I must go seek him out!” and hails a passing canoe.
It’s now some years later, and we find ourselves in Gergovia, which, judging by the glazed terra cotta roofs and stucco texture coating, appears to be a Master Planned Community somewhere in the O.C. Probably off the 405 near Irvine.

12-year old Vercingétorix is showing off the barn to 10-year old Joey Potter, and assuring her that when he is king, as prophesized by Arch Druid Bukkake, all this will be hers (“What, the curtains?”). But before he can convince her to play doctor (or barber, I guess), Vercingétorix’s dad is locked in a biffy by his brother and set on fire. Father and son make eye contact as Dad gets broasted alive, and young Vercingétorix glares at his uncle and declares, “I will kill you, Gorbaniccio. I will kill you,” in the same vague, distracted way a kid playing Madden NFL 06 promises to the mow the lawn as soon as he finishes the game.

Dissolve to the adult Vercingétorix (Christopher Lambert of Highlander infamy). Chris sits staring into a fire, repeating his oath of vengeance and reliving his father’s horrible death by immolation; considering he lives in a society where open flames are omnipresent, he must relieve it about 50 times a day, which probably accounts for the utterly bored look on his face.

Chris leaves his hut, a traveling bag thrown over his shoulder, and emerges into daylight, giving us a chance to fully admire his Unfrozen Caveman Lawyer wig. Arch Druid Bukkake notices the bag, and can immediately tell from Chris’s expression that he’s overdosed on Botox.

“It?s time for me to do what I must,” declares Chris. But Bukkake says, “You’re not ready.” Considering that Chris is 44 years old, and Vercingétorix was 26 when he died, he may actually be a little bit past his shelf life. But since the movie started in 60 B.C., and it’s now 45 B.C., they probably figured they could just wait while he aged backwards far enough.

Anyway, the “you’re not ready to face your destiny” speech leads to the inevitable training montage, as Bukkake takes Chris to meet Yoda (at this performance, the role of Yoda will be played by a tall, rangy French MILF). Naturally Chris gets his ass kicked, as the Amazonian warrior skillfully out-edits him. (The alternating use of speeded up and slow motion footage during the duel makes the film look like a combination of Kenneth Branagh’s Henry V and The Benny Hill Show.)

Chris decides that getting his ass kicked in 30 seconds by a girl means he’s ready to take on the Roman Empire. Bukkake sighs, “Just don’t abandon the path of knowledge when you take the road of action.” Chris is deeply moved by this admonition, and swears that no matter what the cost, he will get his G.E.D.

Chris thumbs a ride with Caesar, and they have one of those “We’re going to be mortal enemies one day so let’s be BFFs now so it’s totally poignant when I kill you” conversations. After a discussion of public works (Caesar points out that all roads lead to Rome. Also aqueducts. Also roads. And uh — roads), Chris thanks the big guy for the horse and takes the next off-ramp to Gergovia, where his destiny lies.

This is the moment he has trained and studied for all his life.  The ultimate test of his manly honor and warrior’s prowess as he confronts his uncle — the man who killed his father – and decides the fate of their people in a titanic struggle to the death.

Turns out, Vengeance is a breeze. Chris rides his horse into the Cheiftain’s Hall, borrows a spear from one of the guards, approaches his uncle’s throne with the air of a guy delivering a bouquet of carnations and a Mylar birthday balloon, and basically says, “Hi! I’ve come to stick this thing in you. Is that okay?” His uncle sits there with a mildly perplexed expression that seems to say, “Really? Stick me with a spear? What could he mean by that? Is that even a sentence? And shouldn’t the horse be outside?” Then Chris listlessly jams the spear into the old man’s shoulder, while the other nobles seated at high table exchange vague looks (“Um…Was that Vengeance? Or has the floor show started? And where’s our mozzarella sticks?”).

Meanwhile, all the tribal chieftains of Gaul are gathered in Boulogne, where Caesar is hosting a Britain Invading Seminar, and selling his self-motivational scrolls. Chris shows up, having acquired an army of followers and Hulk Hogan’s mustache. Caesar invites him over for potluck, where Chris is reunited with the now grownup Joey Potter, who has been taken prisoner by the Romans and brutally and repeatedly dubbed.

Then a bunch of First Century B.C. politics goes on, which manages to be both Byzantine before there was a Byzantium, and incredibly boring, sort of like sitting through a Druidic Zoning Commission meeting (“Next on the agenda is item #417, an amendment to Section VIII-A of the Building Code requiring that all new henge construction (defined as any work for which a county permit was issued between Lughnasadh-3 and Dublachd-5) will meet the attached standards mandating a minimum vertical clearance of 13 rods…”) The upshot is, Chris finds out that the Romans were responsible for his father’s slow-roasted, fire-brewed taste, and he retaliates by sending Caesar’s horse back to him, saying, “Return to Caesar that which is Caesar’s.” (So!  Considering that this is roughly the year 45 B.C., it seems that Christ stole that line from him.)

Chris returns to his birthplace of Gergovia, but the villagers close the gates and pretend they’re not home. Bereft, Chris goes to see Yoda, who tells him that Arch Druid Bukkake has gone to that Great Japanese Fetish Website in the Sky, even though he’s standing right there and insisting that he’s not dead. Ignoring him, Yoda says, “Brother and sister of the sword!” This is a signal for she and Chris to stab their own hands, take a sip of blood, and start to make out.

Chris musters an army of peasants with twigs and demonstrates his military genius by conquering Gergovia in a swift, bloody assault while still somehow managing to avoid an action sequence. (Except for a shot of Chris wanly hacking through a succession of whisper-thin chorus boys from the Gergovia Light Opera production of “Dames at Sea.”)

The raped and wounded villagers are so grateful to Chris for sacking them, that they immediately declare him king by waving cleft sticks in the air, which was apparently the First Century B.C. equivalent of those giant foam fingers. Personally, I can’t get that worked up about it, but they seem excited so — okay. Fine. That’s our big finish. Enjoy your gumboils and cholera. Now where’s that Netflix envelope?

Oh crap. Apparently being the king of Loserville isn’t enough, and now the bewigged, Botox-faced nitwit wants to go get all up in Caesar’s grill. Great.

Chris decides to drive the Romans back across the Alps. In order to win the trust and loyalty of the other tribes, and inspire all of Gaul to rally ’round him, he burns down their homes and destroys all their crops. (In 2003, President George W. Bush was seen boarding Air Force One with a copy of Vercingétorix’s seminal treatise on War, “Love Me or I’ll Tell My Army to Set You on Fire.” Now a Major Motion Picture!)

Chris shows up at Avaricum (Latin for “Bird Sperm”) and tells the residents to evacuate before he burns the place down. A young woman with a baby in her arms says, “A life for a city.” She tosses a knife to Chris and invites him to stab her son, which makes no sense because killing the kid isn’t going to keep the Romans from conquering the place and destroying it anyway. Unfortunately, Chris caught the knife by the blade, and he’s concentrating so hard on not screaming and bursting into tears that he’s having a hard time doing the math.

The predictable happens: Chris spares the town and Caesar kills every man, woman, and child living there, so enraging the Gauls that they dispatch the Oak Ridge Boys to tell Chris he’s a moron.

Even worse, the Romans besiege Gergovia, but the valiant defenders strike back by dropping chickens on them, and the battlefield is reduced to a nightmarish cacophony of screams and clucks.

The Romans regroup, but the woman of the town pull up their shirts and flash their boobs at the attackers, and suddenly it’s Gauls Gone Wild! The charge fails, as distracted Centurions scramble around looking for more quarters, or pause to shout, “Put ‘em on the glass!”

Chris wins, but later his closest friends and advisors are massacred by Teutons, who are apparently cheesed off because their tribal henna rinse turned out way too carroty and left them looking less like fierce northern warriors, and more like the late 60′s-era Lucille Ball.

Reeling from grief, Chris enters a room where his surviving retainers are engaged in a theological discussion of the local deities. He stares at everyone for a moment, and then says, “You crack yourself up, Fancy Helmet?”

I’ve watched this scene about five times now, and I still have absolutely no idea what this sentence means. But you know what? I don’t want to know.  It’s perfect just as it is.

Trapped by the encircling legions, Chris sends word for his troops to rush to his aid and meet the Romans on the field of honor, and at last secure freedom and dignity for all of Gaul, but they’re washing their hair. Desperate, Chris hatches a last-ditch plan for victory; it’s crazy, but it just…might…work! Except it doesn’t and the Gauls suffer a team wipe.

By this point the movie has been grinding on for over two hours, and simple logic suggests that they wouldn’t put us through all this if the story of Vercingétorix didn’t ultimately lead to an uplifting conclusion. And finally it does, when Chris surrenders to Caesar (I mean really grovels — face in the dirt, ass in the air) and Caesar has him killed.

We now return to space, where giant orbital sperm will think twice about forecasting the coming of a king with Tor Johnson’s range of facial expressions, Donald Rumsfeld’s grasp of military tactics, and Ron Perlman’s hair from Quest for Fire.

I was so-oo just about to get this movie and now you’ve ruined it for me!

But riddle me this!–WorldOCrapMan! Do you think Chris Lambert, fresh from his seminal performance as a tightly packed meat-bag in “Greystoke, Lord of The Bungle” or whatever it was is expanding his acting repertoire in this obviously indie film to pursue his dream of being more than just scenery, or are we seeing his nascent development as an auteur behind the camera, or behind the food truck even?

Though it seems you had plenty of material, that was the funniest movie critique I have ever read!
Didn;t someone on the old blog do “Red Dawn”? That was really funny too, but this? Priceless!
Zardoz! Do Zardoz!
You get, btw, serious points for “Gauls Gone Wild”.
Oh, yeah baby! Wonderful selection, although I really must bicker with the personae of the riding hordes near the end: they were definitely channeling a Kate Hepburn look in my book. But, yes, Gauls Gone Wild has assured your place in immor(t)ality.
That was absolutely fantastic. I officially can’t wait for the book! But in the meantime you’ve definitely made Mondays a lot better (even though it’s Tuesday).
As a companion piece to this review, might I suggest Something Awful’s review?
Hey, I was so enthralled by your review, that I immediately went to Amazon to see if I could get a copy, and lo and behold, they have quite a number at the wonderful price of $.01. I am thinking of getting all of them and giving them out as Imbolc presents this year. Thank you. s.z.
A not-so-friend had given me this DVD for my birthday. After viewing the first half hour, I decided never to speak to her again. I also decided to throw the DVD away.
I’ve heard the reason Lambert always looks like he’s overdosing on ‘ludes is because he actually wears very thick glasses and is blind as a bat. All the squinting and blank stares are due to his not being able to see the end of his own nose.
Wow. It’s kind of scary how closely this follows the plot of [i]Dagger of Kamui[/i], one of the biggest pieces of excrement I’ve ever had the pleasure to mock in my years as an animation fan. The lost father, the wandering sage and completely out-of-the-blue combat master, the main character who can’t turn around without killing a long-lost relative, the Byzantine and sleep-inducing historical politics, the refusal of the movie to END, DAMMIT…hell, both of them have, at the moment when if there was any justice in the world the credits would roll, the hero leading a rebellion against the Evil Emperor, whom Nobody In The Audience gives Two Shits about. The only question is whether the Giant Space Sperm in [i]Druids[/i] trumps DoK’s cameos by Captain Kidd and a Japanese-speaking Mark Twain. Tough call.
Christian Spotlight is hilarious. I love how they have both a “moral rating” and a “moviemaking quality” for each film. I’ll give them credit for giving Druids a high on the latter but a low on the former. Usually their moral rating trumps their judgment of cinema. They hated Mulholland Dr. so much that it got a poor moviemaking rating.
For yuks, check out their reviews of the Star Wars movies. Each review has the obligatory “of course, there is only one True Force,” for those who apparently think they’re watching documentaries.
The fellow that made this was a historian? Vercingetorix wasn’t killed after surrendering to Caesar. He was sent to Rome and imprisoned in the Tullianum, then executed about five years later. An interesting film could probably be made about the Battle of Alesia, but this sure doesn’t sound like the one.
In light of this, I hope that Hollywood or its Euro equivalent never tackles the Arminius story, which is more important historically. His attack, well ambush, succeeded in preventing the Romanization of Germany and points north and east of the Rhine.
Y’know, I think I’d rather watch the Henge planning commission meeting…
Best… movie presentation… Evar!!
Hilarious!! But now I have to clean the soda off my computer (and out of my sinuses), and my office neighbors (the few who didn’t skip out of work early today) are staring at me funny.
Love the new format on your (very own!) website! Keep up the great work -
This is funny stuff. Literally LOL.
By the way, I know the feeling, GoodOl’WhatsisFace. I had similar moments with lines from Dune:
“The kegger..”
“Ursula…”
“…sealed into sauna suits and chugging their own urine like Gatorade”
“The Fremen win, but Sting isn’t ready for the movie to be over”
or from Mesa of Lost Women
“The story of a homicidal simpleton who saves the world from evil Jazzercize instructors”
and
“Meanwhile, Captain Chincleft, Sharon Stone, and Wimpy are captured by the Bangles.”
LOL,
I remember watching this film…. it’s ingrained on my memory
“His people made him a leader. The empire made him a renegade. History made him a hero”
LMFAO
CJ

May 8, 2006 by scott


Thanks to all who contributed their doppleganger drivel. The deft evocation of right wing tropes and stylings prove that Wo’C commenters lead the world in the field of Wingnut Studies, and we are hereby awarding all contestants a Ph.D which we’re pretty sure is just slightly less legitimate than the doctorate awarded to the Scrawcrow at the end of The Wizard of Oz, and slightly more than the one awarded to Mike Adams.
The only problem is that the quality of the entries was a little too good, making it very difficult to cull the herd. So we’ve doubled the number of finalists to 6, and without further ado, we proudly present them for your delectation:
First up in the Junior Spokesmodel Competition — Tara the anti-social social worker channels Michelle Malkin:
Mr. Jose Garcia, a Mexican and therefore presumably an illegal immigrant and potential terrorist, was spotted at the Quaker party to celebrate the deaths of American soldiers. To prove they were celebrating the deaths of Amercian soldiers, here’s a picture of Mr. Garcia smiling.
Mr. Garcia lives at 123 NotAWingnut Street in Podunk, Idaho. His phone number is 555-5555. His email is SaveMeFromWingnuts @Heeelp.com. He started wearing a bulletproof vest after seeing me, but there’s a gun shop at 225 KillEmAll Street that sells armor-piercing ammo.
I do not condone death threats.
Next up: John of What Culture War also feels the Maglalang Magic!
I’d like to try my hand at a Malkin blog entry, except please try and imagine where the links go yourselves. It isn’t tough.
MOONBAT ILLEGALS MARCH
More unhinged moonbats:
(pasted text about one specific illegal immigrant who said something unsavory)
Don’t forget about this. Or that guy who said this.
Allah Pundit gets it:
Holy fuck, do I hate these illegal aliens.
More here. BigJim has posted some pics of illegals. LaShawn Barber agrees, and gets it.
More here.
Wonder if the MSM will cover this? I’m not holding my breath.
By the way, click here to see those Muslim cartoon from a few months ago.
LaShawn Barber still gets it.
WaPo. Reuters. Sports Illustrated. CNN. Pottery Barn.
Reader Janet is fed up:

I advocate the killing of all illegals, and I’m not kidding.
Let’s see if the MSM advocates the killing of all illegals. I’m not holding my breath.
PREVIOUS
Moonbats on parade
Look at these moonbats
Illegal moonbats
Illegals: “We exist”
Look at me make a big show about disagreeing with President Bush
Goodnight, Moonbat
I’m not holding my breath
Our third contestant Mark feels his E.D. has reached the point where he can take on a Ph.D. I think it would go a little something�like this:
Dear Dr. Mike
Why do you hate women so much?
Dolores
First of all, Dolores, did you ever realize your name rhymes with clitoris? When you become a prostitute, you could probably work that.
Second, since you obviously hate men, what kind of hooker are you going to be? Are there that many lesbians willing to pay you to perform the "vagina monologues" on them?
THis reminds me of the time I tried to poison one of my colleagues--I mean--when one of my leftist colleagues accused me of trying to poison her. She was one of those man hating feminazis who never shaved (she could grow a better mustache than me!) who, though she was "supposedly married," was undoubtedly really a butch lesbian who regularly had her lesbian students over and they would eat each other's pussies and strap on enormous dildos and
Oh, I'm sorry, where was I? Oh, be sure to get Ben Shapiro's Porn Generation, where he disects how porn ruins peoples' lives, especially that lesbian porn, with that hot, hot, lesbian sex, which drives me so fucking crazy that I can't take
[Townhall editor: Please submit your non-vagina related questions to askdrmike@townhall.com. Questions should be brief and to the point and contain no references to any parts of the female anatomy.]
And speaking of Dr. Professor Mike's BFF, the Bishop of Best Western, Doug Piles pulls the 4×4 around, tosses in the doe estrus, .30-.06, and the styling mousse, and sets off to bag hisself a ten-point metaphor:
Would Jesus, if the Big Guy could hop into a gyroscope or other kick-ass space vehicle and pop down to ther green 'n' blue to �check out� the state of the world and not get a faceful of lesbo-feminist armpit hair for his troubles, like Liberals? No. He�d make like Vanilla Ice and exit stage left, pausing only to Christ-slap a few girly-manical, testosterone-deprived, metrosexual, mascara-laden focus-group Ted Kennedy wannabes mano-a-mano and maybe pick up a pound or two of antelope jerky for the return trip. It�s like I said to Ted �the Nuge� Nuggent when we were punching hammerhead sharks in the cojones before chapel, JC never mentions socialist healthcare or Brokeback Mountaineering once during the Old Testament. It�s enough to make you rip the head off a bear to hear the furry buttock�d WHY-men of the bra-burning left jabber like a flock of costive hyenas about peace and love when you know the chances of them giving you a �piece� of �love� is about the same as Archie Bunker giving Paula Abdul a hickey. And that�s my clash point, as I haven�t said for a while.
Belatedly informed that the fancy-schmancy-Nancy Boy poodles running this contest are trying to emasculate his clash point with a cat�s cradle of red tape, Doug remarks:
Oh, there were rules, eh? Well Jesus kicking liberal ass is always news as my friend Kathy Ireland said after we gutted thirty marmosets yesterday. Nude!
And what would a compendium of Wingnut greats be without the owl droppings of Fox News hooter Neil Cavuto. Simon Waugh tells us how many licks it takes to get to the Tootsie center:
�You might think that what brought my Irish mother and my Italian father together was the fact that they were both immigrants and that they were both Catholics, but there was something else that made them stick to each other.
And that something else was oil.
Whether it was holy oil or olive oil it was sacred to them both.
Oil was life.
It softened the pasta and fried to a crisp the potatoes and unidentifiable animal parts that fed us
And if it hadn�t been for the oil, I probably would never have been born.
Today millions of immigrants claim that they are the oil that lubricates the US economy. And in the past few days they have tried to stop that flow of �oil� just like OPEC did in the 70�s.
Jimmy Carter of course caved to the blackmail, and restricted our freedom of choice and the country fell into recession. That�s what happens when Democrat�s try to wield executive power.
But Reagan stood up to the oil cartel and turned the crisis into a victory. His stance killed the sales of fuel efficient cars from the Europeans and the Japanese and restored jobs to American auto workers.
As the son of immigrants I think I can claim a bit more knowledge about this subject than the average Liberal whose typical lineage is communist euro-trash of the type we Americans cast off in the War of Independence.
These days we are facing another War of Independence�independence from illegal immigrants who, with their ridiculous low-riding pimpmobiles are illegally consuming the oil that legal patriotic citizens need to support the oil industry that helps pay for the War On Terror.
So when you hear these immigrants claiming that they want to be Americans, don�t believe a word of it.
If they really wanted to be Americans they should first learn English and then get a real job instead of sponging off the generosity of this great nation and siphoning billions of dollars back to their Stalinist leaders like Hugo Chavez.
But how do we fight this illegal immigrant army?
We remove the reason they come here in the first place which is of course welfare and all the other social programs that the liberals won�t let George Bush reform.
Then we round up the illegals and force them to compensate for all the money and oil they�ve stolen by making them build a 300 foot high border wall supervised by Halliburton/Bechtel.
Then we form a new agency called The Illegal Agency which will mandate that all the liberals who let the illegal immigrants cross the border escort them back, supervised by experienced contractors such as BlackWater and Custer-Battles.
Once we�ve secured our borders and are safe behind their walls America will no longer be exploited by foreigners and we can return to the real business of America�the business of freedom.
And that�s just common sense.”
And finally, David E. brings us perilously close to uncovering the origins of Pastor Swank�s Muppety syntax. Can we handle the truth? Let�s find out:
HOMO NUPS LEAD TO SUFFERING
Readers of papers such as the New York Times learned today that competing ballots measures conflict with voters in Colorado on whether to allow the homo nups. I say unto them that they must vote to prevent it. No one can claim they cannot do their part to defeat the homosexual agendaists: do or do not � there is no try.
Named must your fear be before banish it you can. We have no reason to fear God, except when he is wroth, and believe me that wroth he is at the thought of sweaty, crusty mansex. I know that the homo agenda can be tempting, with its musical comedies and high-quality fabrics, but resist it you must. Once you start down the dark path, forever will it dominate your destiny, consume you it will.
Size matters not. That is, the size of your commitment to fight the homo nups. If you do not, that is why you fail. We cannot allow homo nups to happen, for then the dark side clouds everything. Impossible to see the future is. Already know that which you need, to shove the hot throbbing truth down the throats of the homo. Always in motion is the future. This fight we can win. Must win. Bad feeling I have about this.
The nups have even appearing on the Sopranos, with a homo mobster and they said they would �pay for therapy� instead of killing him. So in summaration, you must confront Colorado. Only then, a Christian will you be.
And those are our finalists. Now it’s up to you, the gimlet-eyed Wo’C reader to crown the winner of the First Annual Write Like a Wingnut Competition (made possible by a grant from the Mobil Corporation). Please vote for your favorite mock screed in the comments, and we’ll announce the winner on Wednesday.
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44 Responses to “Next Up — Geechy Guy!”

John has my vote for his Malkin screed. It is terrifying in its plausibility.
I think Ortho-Bob IS Doug Giles! Thus, he earns my vote.
“crusty mansex”????
I vote for David E, so long as he promises to never, ever write anything like that ever again. I have lost my appetite for a week.
I think everybody stepped over the line here, except me, so free-market forces and common sense says I win.
But in the true spirit of manufactured democracy AND the premise of this competition I shallin the guise of one those angry bed-wetting pro-terrorist anti family america-hating flip-flopping “progressives” like Kos or Atrios cast my votes ( I get to have more than one because I’m a finalist) for….
JOHN! who so perfectly captured Malkin’s style of writing and the depth and breadth of her “reporting”.
But if there’s any chance of a “quintessential phrase” award I’d nominate Tara for…
“To prove they were celebrating the deaths of Amercian soldiers, here�s a picture of Mr. Garcia smiling.”
Perfect Malkin!
Doug Piles for…
“And that�s my clash point, as I haven�t said for a while.” Spot on!
And David E. for just being a bit weird…
“I know that the homo agenda can be tempting, with its musical comedies and high-quality fabrics, but resist it you must.”
Too damn funny!
Fake!Swank by David E. That’s some swanky crazy going on there.
Tara, Tara, Tara! (According to my Diebold handbook, that counts as 3 votes.)
Simon’s piece is eerily realistic. And it can double as a Lou Dobbs parody.
He gets my vote, though Tara manages second in a photo-finish. (If you can get Malkin to post Simon’s phone number and address you could win this thing.)
You should all be proud, though. Or ashamed. Or adjust your medications.
I’ts me again. Sorry but I’m just needy.
Thanks D.Sidhe, for the vote. “I appreciate you”.
Actually someone named Smith who simply linked to his own site in the comments of the intial competition announcemnet does a really scary job of wingnut chanelling.
I was planning on increasing my odds by also doing John Gibson who I think is more fundamentally nutty than Cavuto, but I couldn’t afford the likely therapy afterwards.
I’d just like to mention in all sincerity I don’t know how the hell WO’C stays sane.
I cast my vote for Simon. May his oil continue to soften and crisp.
I win. Although I wasn’t among the finalists, I win. To paraphrase Dark Helmut: Evil always wins because good is dumb.
Doug Piles (“It�s like I said to Ted �the Nuge� Nuggent when we were punching hammerhead sharks in the cojones before chapel”) and Mark (“Oh, sorry, where was I?”). Both so breathless… thereby fully capturing the heavy-breathing wingnut ambiance. Actually, they’re all good!
Doug Piles and his Woozle named Peanut.
David E., that’s Swank.
I’m honored (and thoroughly frightened) to be in the company of such unhinged wingnuttery.
I vote for John’s Malkin impression. I might have voted for ‘Doug Piles’ but I think cut-n-pasting an actual Doug Giles column is against the rules.
Count my vote for Simon’s Neil Cavuto, in honor of striking that perfect note of thin-veneer-of-ordinary-crackpotism-masking-roiling-pit-of-satanic-bile. I’d have voted for Doug, but the furry buttocks part made me vomit. Great work by all the contestants, though!
Simon says: Simon wins.
It’s an honor just to be nominated. You like me, you really like me! But if you don’t vote for me, I’ll invade your homes, kill your women and baptize your pets…oh wait, are we still writing like a wingnut?
All the entries were great, but I gotta go with Simon. He had that real Faux News opening. Simon’s triple gambit of oil and immigrants and Catholic parents could have been about sending immigrants to Iraq, Cheney, gay marriage, about a father fighting in World War II, Dominos pizza stock options, school vouchers, – really anything at all – and then, in true Fox fashion, it goes further and further out there with ever more tenuous connections to sanity, and then there is the complete snap. Still, just before Cavuto’s head floats off into the upper stratosphere over wingnuttia, we get the perfect Cavuto line: “And that�s just common sense.”
I suppose it’s too late to resuscitate my feeble, albeit short, attempts at Groganesque? Well, then, lock and load and go for Doug Piles, and stop yer girly-man whining!
Doug Piles gets my vote.
I think I need help rather than prizes. It’s worryingly easy to start spouting this stuff and I’m worried I might not get to the end of this email before a horrid transformation takes place, my chin begins to cleft, my hair develops a manful oiliness and… Sweet Jesus, where did all the buffalo viscera appear from?
David E. has out-Swanked Swank. “Give him the $10,000!” /homer
David E!
Simon Waugh beats out David E. by a nose. Both were great, but David channeled the Pastor when he was obviously under the influence of Yoda…. That’s just common sense.
Simon Waugh.
Any family that realized the error of naming a boy “Evelyn” deserves a second chance.
Simon Waugh Says:
May 8th, 2006 at 7:02 pm

I was planning on increasing my odds by also doing John Gibson who I think is more fundamentally nutty than Cavuto, but I couldn�t afford the likely therapy afterwards.
You know, Simon, there are some images I can live without…
Do I win something if the candidate I voted for wins?
SIMON!! SIMON!! SIMON!!
Simon! It was so creepily real.
My piles are bothering me, so I’ll have to go with Doug.
Simon!
Gosh, now I’m glad I DIDN”T enter this thing-there’s no way I could have come up with anything as good as these. Eeny, meeny, miny…the GILES PARODY.
The rest are tied for second place.
Tara has that vindictive air of Ms. Maglalang/Malkin down pat (and I don’t mean Pat Robertson). So few words needed to capture the mean-spiritedness of our flavorite would-be immigrant-slayer.
It frightens me how thoroughly we can capture the “souls” of these people (if that’s what we’re grasping here). All of the entrants are great, by the way. It’s a multi-faceted photo-montage finish!
Ed
One vote for Tara and Jesse.
Of course, now that she’ll have to move, the prize mug might get stashed in some box that won’t be opened for months…
Hmm…hard to choose, loved both Simon and Tara’s (and everyone else’s, too), but after watching Lou Dobbs tonight and reading Simon’s comments about holy pasta oil, I’m gonna have to go with… Simon!
Waugh
Oil is more slippery than blood.
These were all enjoyable, but I could just hear so clearly that nasally Neil Cavuto running out of breath at the end of every sentence in Simon’s piece I vote for it.
I especially like the sober delivery of an oxymoronic statement as if it really were “common sense”:
Once we�ve secured our borders and are safe behind their walls America will no longer be exploited by foreigners and we can return to the real business of America�the business of freedom.
Doug Giles guy! Doug Giles guy!
Tara!
3rd place? What the hell do I like to you people, Ralph Nader? This is unacceptable. I needed a SHOWER after writing that. I demand a recount, s.z.! (You’ll find more votes for me in an envelope with $100 and a MST3K DVD – no questions asked. Don’t tell the others.)
I very tardily (and tard-ly) vote for John’s Malkin impression. This is all very weird, since I just found the new site, and was just about to post my own summary of Malkin’s writing:
Moonbat unhinged tin-foil hat unhinged unhinged moonbat unhinged tin-foil hat moonbat I hate Mexicans. Moonbat unhinged unhinged moonbat tin-foil hat tin-foil hat moonbat unhinged moonbat tin-foil hat I hate Arabs. Democrats are evil and moonbat moonbat tin-foil hat unhinged moonbat tin-foil hat unhinged. Moonbat moonbat boy, I wish I were white moonbat unhinged tin-foil hat moonbat.
John does a much better job.
Tara! It was just so creepy.
Thwy’re all wonderful in a really horrible way. Great distraction from my day, but now I have to go try to scrub myself clean in the bathroom sink at work.