June 23, 2005 by s.z.

Better to Light a Novelty Candle Than to Curse the Coulter Ann is still going on about how the detainees at Gitmo were served lemon chicken.  Won't somebody please feed the woman so she can stop obsessing about this? And here's her latest contribution to the raising the level of discourse: more torture humor! In the interests of helping my country, I have devised a compact set of torture guidelines for Guantanamo. It's not torture if: The same acts performed on a live stage have been favorably reviewed by Frank Rich of the New York Times;  Andrew Sullivan has ever solicited it from total strangers on the Internet; You can pay someone in New York to do it to you; Karen Finley ever got a federal grant to do it; It's comparable to the treatment U.S. troops received in basic training; It's no worse than the way airlines treat little girls in pigtails flying to see Grandma. We could point out some examples of documented prisoner abuse, and ask which airlines have done that kind of stuff to pigtailed girls, but we don't think that it would be good for our blood pressure (and it sure won't cause Ann to see the error of her ways, and admit that she's a vile, loathsome, despicable twit).  So, instead we'll merely point out how amazing we find it that Ann and her ilk keep missing the fundamental difference between consensual and nonconsensual acts -- and yet, how irate they get when somebody tosses a bakery item at them.  Therefore, in the interests of helping Ann, we have devised a compact set of guidelines. It's not assault if: There are fetish sites dedicated to it on the internet. You can't threaten to have your bodyguard shoot somebody for doing it if: If it happened to Mabel Normand, and she didn't get to kill anybody. You haven't been "physically attacked" if: Most people consider such acts funny.  (And you weren't even hit.) You can't claim that liberals tried to "sucker punch" you if: It's comparable to what happened to Laurel and Hardy and the Three Stooges hundreds of times. You can't whine about how the D.A. dropped the case against your assailants if: A.  You didn't show up to be a complaining witness at the trial; and B.  Nobody arrested Mary Ann and Ginger for doing something similar on "The Real Gilligan's Island."  I hope Ann finds this helpful. 6:39:02 AM

Deep Thoughts, by Peggy Noonan This week, Peggy's column is about Ed Klein's Hillary book, and how, while it tells the familiar story of deceit, lust, and lesbianism we've come to expect, it's not by a highly respected author "whose sourcing standards are high and unimpeachable."  Yes, it seems that Klein isn't Peggy, who, as you will recall, wrote her own book about Hillary, which you can still purchase from the WSJ bookstore. Anyway, on with Peggy's totally disinterested review of Klein's book.  As usual, my comments are in black, Peggy's are in maroon, and the real Deep Thoughts by Jack Handey (who, unlike Peggy, is funny on purpose) are in blue. Peggy starts by saying that Klein's book has been understandably been dumped on by conservatives like Dick Morris (understandably, because Dick has his own anti-Hillary book coming out this Fall, and is the author of two other anti-Clinton books that came out last year).  Plus, Klein's book is trashy. The book is poorly written, poorly thought, poorly sourced and full of the kind of loaded language that is appropriate to a polemic but not an investigative work. Whenever you read a good book, it's like the author is right there, in the room talking to you, which is why I don't like to read good books. Peggy explains "some significant" things about Klein, such as he's not a conservative, so you can't blame the conservatives for this trash.  No, you should blame the MSM    This is an anti-Hillary book by the MSM. It has been heavily promoted not by a conservative publication but by Vanity Fair magazine, which published a big fat juicy chapter in its famous "Deep Throat" issue. Graydon Carter, Vanity Fair's editor, is the author of an anti-Bush book, passionately opposed to Iraq, and no one's idea of a wing-nut. Laurie got offended that I used the word "puke." But to me, that's what her dinner tasted like. Klein's book looks like it will be a big success in terms of sales, but it won't be a success d'estime, because Klein made the mistake of assuming that conservatives would be the ones who would buy a Hillary-bashing book, and then he assumed that conservatives are stupid.  (And they aren't -- remember that Debbie Schlussel is a long-time member of Mensa.) Mr. Klein's problem is that he assumes the market is conservative and conservatives are stupid. They're not, actually. The wise man can pick up a grain of sand and envision a whole universe.  But the stupid man will just lay down on some seaweed and roll around until he's completely draped in it. Then he'll stand up and go: Hey, I'm Vine Man. But, as Peggy's mom always told her (probably), there's something good about every book, if you will just look hard enough. Here is something good about the book. Klein treats Hillary as if she were a man. Thus, all the insinuations about Hillary being a lesbian. But what is Klein's book about?  Well, it's the old story of a feminazi socialist and her marriage of convenience to a womanizing hillbilly, and how together they enter politics, pretending to be moderates to get elected -- but if she ever becomes president, only then will they reveal that they are actually flesh-eating aliens from the planet Zornak, and that you and your country are doomed, DOOMED!.  It's the same basic story that was told in Peggy's book, but Peggy told it better, using classier words and such. Mr. Klein's central theme is not original. Hillary Rodham, committed left-wing operative and college radical, recognizes the raw talent and promise of the crude, yearning, cynical and attractive Bill Clinton. She marries him, and each receives something from the arrangement. They rise. He compulsively chases women and is politically popular if unserious; she makes money, networks and burnishes their movement credentials. She knows of his philandering and looks the other way. Love can sweep you off your feet and carry you along in a way you've never known before. But the ride always ends, and you end up feeling lonely and bitter. Wait. It's not love I'm describing. I'm thinking of a monorail.  And then "he embarrassed the country, she joined or led the coverup, they were found out," and then he continued to have affairs and run drugs out of Arkansas, while she continued to be a Communist and have her enemies killed.  It's a great story. This is, essentially, the story Mr. Klein tells. It has been told before and will be told again. As a young boy, when you get splashed by a mud puddle on the way to school, you wonder if you should go home and change, but be late for school, or go to school the way you are; dirty and soaking wet. Well, while he tried to decide, I drove by and splashed him again. But Peggy does point out one incongruity in the plot: There is a certain disconnect. Mr. Klein famously suggests again and again that Hillary is, was or will be homosexual. He dwells on this, it seems, to further bolster the charge that the Clinton marriage was from day one a political deal and not a serious and traditional emotional bond. But he also seems to suggest a serious romantic relationship with Vince Foster. At first I thought, if I were Superman, a perfect secret identity would be "Clark Kent, Dentist," because you could save money on tooth X-rays. But then I thought, if a patient said, "How's my back tooth?" and you just looked at it with your X-ray vision and said, "Oh it's okay," then the patient would probably say, "Aren't you going to take an X-ray, stupid?" and you'd say, "Aw fuck you, get outta here," and then he probably wouldn't even pay his bill. But the real problem with Klein's book is not that it's poorly written trash aimed at moronic conservatives (and they AREN'T stupid!) -- no, the real problem is that Hillary is so evil that nobody believes it when biographers tell the truth about her. The real problem with Hillary biographies is that the picture they paint, if it is true, is difficult for a normal person to believe. No one could be that bad. No one who has risen so high in American politics could possibly be that bad. To believe is to go to a dark place. And the charges seem so at odds--so utterly at odds--with the nice, smiling woman who calls abortion a tragedy and enjoys speaking of how much she prays. This is the problem all Hillary biographers have: It's too grim to believe. To believe that her story as presented by the books so far is true is to believe that she has clung to a premeditated plan for 40 years, that she is ruthless in the pursuit both of her own ambitions and of a deep and intractable leftist political agenda. And that she found her equal in a partner sufficiently hardhearted to stick with the plan, and the secrecy, and the weirdness. It's too over the top. It seems hard to believe, not because it isn't true but because it isn't likely, usual, expected. It isn't the kind of biography we are used to in our leaders. That is her great advantage. I think a good horror movie would  be about a demonic windmill that goes crazy and pumps way more water than it normally would. In conclusion, Peggy says that this isn't the Hillary book we've been looking for. What is needed is a big and serious book by respected reporters who can dig, think and type, and whose sourcing standards are high and unimpeachable. Will that happen? It would be big if it did. This book is not that book. Yes, if only we had respected reporters who could type -- THEN we'd get the Hillary book that would drive the stake through her heart.  But until then, enjoy this warm, life-affirming, instructive, Peggy-like reminiscence from Jack Handey: I'll never forget the first Playboy magazine I ever got.  I was so young.  I was too embarrassed to buy it.  So I shoplifted it.  On the way out, the store guy saw me and yelled for me to stop, but I ran out.  He ran after me, and started chasing me through the parking lot.  I saw a car with the keys left in it, so I jumped behind the wheel and took off, even though I didn't know how to drive.  A couple of blocks away, I crashed the car into a parked car.  I hit my head, and it was bleeding a little bit, but I was okay.  A guy came out of his house and started yelling at me, but I grabbed my Playboy and jumped over a fence, and got away.  I think it was a pretty good issue of Playboy.  I think there was an interview with Ralph Nader. 5:23:17 AM