More and more it's becoming clear that Andrew Sullivan must have been abused as a child by some woman in his life at the time. Following that I guess it was open season on the young and unfortunate lad. Still, the child is father to what passes for the man in Andrew's case, and I guess he has to get his six of the best sans safeword daily or he doesn't feel "normal."

The Atlantic's star-class misogynist reveals his bad craziness today in Palin's Triumph. By any measure, it's a masterpiece of psycho-sexual projection. See if you can even begin to comprehend the diseased brain that can blurt out:

She can electrify a crowd. She has the kind of charisma that appeals to the sub-rational. and she has crafted a Peronist identity - utterly fraudulent, of course - that is political dynamite in a recession with populism roiling everyone and everything. She is Coughlin with boobs - except with a foreign policy agenda to expand Israel and unite with it in a war against Islam.

Do not under-estimate the appeal of a beautiful, big breasted, divinely chosen warrior-mother as a military leader in a global religious war.[Emphasis added]

Not content to try and get a hand on something with which he's had limited experience, Sullivan stumbles more deeply into the morass of his own mind with a completely phoned-in meditation on Ms. Palin's endowments. I hate to break it to the inexperienced eternal British boy within whom Mr. Sullivan is trapped, but Ms. Palin is simply a normally and pleasantly proportioned female. As such she is, coupled with her other many positive attributes, very attractive. There is nothing either petite or grandiose about her figure. Anyone who has seen a photograph of her in her running gear knows this to be the case. With Lycra all things are revealed. The only place "big breasted" comes into play is on the darkened soccer pitches of Sullivan's own sexual hell. When it comes to an estimate of Ms. Palins conformation, I am confident when I note Sullivan literally "does not know what he is talking about."

Of course all of this is just the standard, factlacking, residual flotsom that bobs about in the drug-laced soup simmering in poor Andrew's seething cranium. But rejoice for it is from that corrupted soup that we get such startling eructations as "divinely chosen warrior-mother as a military leader in a global religious war."

"Dinvinely chosen" is it, Andrew? Boning up on ye olde Joan of Arc, are we Andrew? Out-pythoning ye olde Monty, unfortunate lad?

"Warrior-mother" is it, me boy? I trust she who once and future must be obeyed is long dead. You know that she would have to punish such a naughty boy, don't you?

But lest you think Andrew's little red choo-choo has gone completly round the bend, he pulls it out with the always riveting "military leader in a" (Dare he say it? He do!) "global religious war."

There you have it. Sarah Palin as some armored Carol Doda Amazon singing "Onward Christian Soldiers" as she, along with millions of Israeli cohorts, scales the Western Wall to take back the Temple Mount once and for all. Praise the Lord and Pass the Ammunition!

All that's lacking to make this "classic" Sullivan dementia is something about his true Moby Dick, Abu Ghraib. But wait. There it is, just below with a Bush reference -- "what happened at Abu Ghraib was wrong." Ah yes, Abu Ghraib. That other attractive/repulsive Sullivan bete noir in which powerful women humiliated naked groveling men. There's something in that scenario that says to Sullivan, "I just can't quit you." It's an implant that needs to be extracted, but that's a job for psychiatric professionals. It would be a long job and I'm willing to bet a shrink could build a beach house for helping Sullivan finally understand the roots of his malignancy and quit inflicting it on the world at large. If I was a rich man I might underwrite it just to spare suffering humanity, but alas I am not. One man, however, could. But should he? He's this man:

Atlantic Owner David G. Bradley:
Believe it or not, this man actually pays Andrew Sullivan. For what is not exactly clear.

David Bradley is the uber-rich DC publisher of the money-hemorrhaging Atlantic who signs Sullivan's paycheck, so I guess he's okay with the constant perverted hate-sotted spew of this pustulant toad. How much longer before Sullivan becomes an out and out embarrassment to Bradley's social and political climbing efforts is anybody's guess.

For the present it's enough to say that as long as Bradley keeps doling out the dosh to Sullivan for his jihad against women and children who plunk his magic twanger, Bradley obviously approves. And that's a perversion that I really can't understand. Maybe he'd do better just paying for Andrew, at long last, to get well; to get clean.

"Sullivan desperately wants the Jews to be good Jews, to be the best Jews they can be. He wants edifying Jews. Don’t they realize that if they fail to edify, they may lose his friendship? The fools! Jews ought to determine their beliefs and their actions apologetically, so as not to disappoint “goyim like me.” This is a common phenomenon in the experience of minorities. They may awaken to their autonomy, but they must not go too far. Gays are abundantly familiar with this sort of phony friendship, as are blacks. “It does not represent the historic mainstream of liberal Jewish society”: but what if the historic mainstream of Jewish society were conservative? A day does not go by that I do not do my humble part to prevent such a transformation from coming to pass, but let us imagine that it does. What, then? Will they all be bad Jews, and “something much darker”? Is the Jews’ claim upon American understanding premised upon their conformity to a particular politics? Is their legitimacy conditional? Sullivan’s more-in-sorrow-than-in-anger tone is cheap. He can keep his sorrow and he can keep his anger."

This gets my vote as the anthem for all those from those years who had the vision and the guts to uncolonize their colonized minds.

My Back Pages

Crimson flames tied through my ears
Rollin' high and mighty traps
Pounced with fire on flaming roads
Using ideas as my maps
"We'll meet on edges, soon," said I
Proud 'neath heated brow.
Ah, but I was so much older then,
I'm younger than that now.

Yes, my guard stood hard when abstract threats
Too noble to neglect
Deceived me into thinking
I had something to protect
Good and bad, I define these terms
Quite clear, no doubt, somehow.
Ah, but I was so much older then,
I'm younger than that now.

When they tell you the Earth is warming, send them this link.

Well, here it is. Judge for yourself...

...and now, judge the critics of this ad for yourself.

Speaking just for myself, of course, it seems to me that what most threatened the hordes of transcultural cretins in their hatefest was the simple decency of the ad and the two people in it. The ad gives us a glimpse into a real where decent people make hard choices and it turns into something wonderful. It seems that there are among us those to whom real decency is the light that reveals not only the good among us, but the twisted dark nature of the realm in which the shameless among us dwell. Those that cannot see this for what it really is are seeing instead some dead darkness they've allowed to dwell inside them. I pity them.

It is the privilege you have when you own your own land, your own house, and you have enough Dosh to handle your business and that of your offspring. So you can ignore the rest of the world. I'm striving to be that kind of ignorant, so I don't have to fill my head with other people's news to feel at home in the world....

"I don't want to share the bonds of the bondsman, and though my conscience recognizes his predicament, I don't want to be a part of it. I want to be a freer man than my father and my son to be a perfectly free man. I want that my daughters would marry such men. Let my drama be the human drama of the ordinary sins of ambition in men of ways and means, not the acts of desperation of those migrant prisoners. A free man never becomes a suicide bomber, but he'll try for your wife all the same. The more free men we have, the better our prospects for justice." -- When You Don't Care Enough To Care - Cobb

Atheists, like songwriters, are always seeking lines more glib than true. Glib is golden because it obscures the fact that deep down atheism is, like a pop song, shallow. One of the more tedious quips, oft repeated with a tone that oozes ‘What a good boy am I,’ is "God is just an imaginary friend for adults.”

The possibility that God may have given glib atheists everything – space, time, a planet, evolution, and free will – that allows this bromide to roll trippingly off their tongues is something they will not and can not conceive. Their wetware is not evolved enough to perceive God should He deign to reveal himself. God is not finished buffing out their fatal flaw, although He will be, by and by. Until then they cannot grasp that, in some cases, “imaginary friends” can be as real as their friendship is illusory.

Exhibits A, B, and C today are the Virginia and New Jersey elections last fall and especially the Massachusetts senate election of Scott Brown. These established the new truth of contemporary American politics, “Barack Obama is the imaginary friend of Democrats.” This dovetails well with another of his many roles: Stand-in lower-case god for the vast majority of American atheists.

If there were still any doubt he's only an imaginary friend, last week's run-in between the President and panicked members of his party removed it. The depth to which Obama is willing to betray Democrats is trouble was summed up by a Washington Post writer, PostPartisan in Obama dismisses Blanche Lincoln's plea to be more centrist:

The pivotal moment came when Sen. Blanche Lincoln of deep-red Arkansas, a centrist who’s on her way to defeat in November, practically begged the president to repudiate “extreme” liberals -- a clear reference to the Nancy Pelosi-led House -- and tack to the center. Arguing that the Democrats’ ambitious legislative agenda was sowing job-destroying “uncertainty” in the business community, she asked: “Are we willing as Democrats to push back on our own party?”

Obama’s reply, in a nutshell: Sorry, Blanche.

If the price of certainty is essentially for us to adopt the exact same proposals that were in place for eight years leading up to the biggest economic crisis since the Great Depression -- we don’t tinker with health care, let the insurance companies do what they want, we don’t put in place any insurance reforms, we don’t mess with the banks, let them keep on doing what they’re doing now because we don’t want to stir up Wall Street -- the result is going to be the same. I don’t know why we would expect a different outcome pursuing the exact same policy that got us into this fix in the first place.

Still, give the president credit: No one can accuse him of bending his principles to politics. Of course, if there’s a price to be paid for that this year, he won’t be the one paying it. Blanche Lincoln, among others, will get to do that.

     Blanche Lincoln: Please Moderate Your Course So You Don't Get Endangered Democrats Like Me Booted Out of Office.
     Obama: FYNQ.

and by one of his commenters as:

     Barrack Obama: Do you know what real love is, Blanche?
     Blanche Lincoln: No.
     Barrack Obama: [whispers in her ear] Sacrifice...

Even as Obama’s methods grow more radical, his means more aggressive, and his motives darker, and his ideology more naked, most Democrats polled persist in their belief that he really is their friend. It’s entirely imaginary, of course, since we see with every passing day that the “friendship” of Obama only lasts as long as it is needed -- by Obama. When the need is no longer there, the friendship fades like the Highland mist at dawn. The now tattered and overused phrase “Under the bus” has become code for “Any speed bumps on Obama's road will be steam-rolled to a flat black stain on the pavement like an armadillo on an Arizona highway in August.”

And yet, if we are to believe the polls, Democrat love for Obama endures in many even as the pain from his policies grows. The tryst that was consummated in the soft and moonlit honeymoon suite in January 2009 by February 2010 seems more and more like a long dark night in Michelle Obama's Dominatrix Dungeon with no safeword. Incomprehensible as it may seem to any neutral observer many Democrats continue to believe, in the face of stark facts daily seen, that Obama is indeed their friend. It has to be tiring because this fantasy -- now entirely a product of the imagination -- requires that greater and greater energy is expended on the part of the believer in "Keeping it real."

How can Democrats continue to "feel the love" even as the whip comes down? Yes, it's perverse but they have no choice. Those that believe Obama is their friend find it necessary to believe. Why is Obama the imaginary friend necessary to them? Because, regardless of their age, all Obama acolytes and most Democrats are children. They need to believe in Obama like Virginia needs to believe in Santa Claus, and like a beaten woman needs to believe her man really loves her. These are immature attitudes but in the USA of the 21st century “childishness” is what we do. It's the one sector of manufacturing in which we still lead the world.

We’ve been producing the manchild, the femchild, and the girly-boy in this country for decades. What the Chinese emperors once did to women's feet we can now do to human souls and we're not outsourcing. The binding that cripples the soul begins in the early indoctrination of kindergarten, where they learn all they need to know and then stop learning much of anything else. To make sure it sticks, the indoctrination is repeated for as long as they remain soaking in the thick multicutural, transnationalist, progressive soup of our educational system:

“The New York Times, Grievance Groups, Government, Diversity = Good” vs “The Great Books, Individualism, Responsibility, America = Bad.”

It’s Big Education’s formula for stunting spiritual growth and producing Peter Pans and Pams that won’t and can’t grow up. As a result the liberal Democrat's capacity for sustaining imaginary friends never really abates. Indeed, with some many Baby Hueys living well into their fifth and sixth decade the imaginary friend demand was exceeding the supply. This was all solved by Big Media’s manufacture and distribution of Barack Obama as a kind of “Barabi Doll – The Only Imaginary Friend You’ll Ever Need!”

As some have gotten chary of pointing out, Obama was tailor made (by an as yet unknown tailor in an as yet undisclosed location) for rich and/or liberal white people. It was a classic example of branding a substandard product in such a way that it gained major market share in the target demographic. Without them, Obama was nothing. Without Obama, they were less than zero.

What was the product? It was “Your New Best Friend in the White House.” It was “President Jed Bartlet, But Better Because a Bit Blacker.” To underscore this point comedian and soothsayer Chris Rock has a routine in which he relates,

“These days black folks have a LOT of white friends and white folks all have ONE black friend.”

Obama seems to fill that gap providing “a friend in need.” He’s cool. He’s slender. You not only want him to come to dinner, but to stay for the long weekend and bring his family. His family is picture perfect in a Tiffany frame. You want that framed picture with you in it to hang on your ego wall. Obama knows you want that photo-op more than anything. He also knows what you like to hear, and he knows how to say it when he’s doing just the opposite. His stiletto is so smooth you hardly feel it going in.

Obama is a better liar than most politicians because he’s far beyond shame. Shame was stripped out of him as a teenager. Shame is for sissies. Truth is not the tool of tyrants.

Most of all Obama knows how hard it is to stop loving someone even when you see them buying lap dances from Nancy Pelosi night-after-night in the champagne court at the back of the DC titty bar. Like all abusive spouses, Obama knows that once he can get you to stick around after he’s been unfaithful and knocked you around, you’ll stay around for even more abuse and infidelity. Why? Because you’ve come to need the abuse more than the love; you’ve come to want more than anything else to just spend more time close to him in the hope that he’ll change and finally feel your pain and feed your needs.

The problem is your needs may be real, but Obama’s got a full schedule when it comes to his “Let’s wreck America as quickly and completely as possible” needs. He just doesn’t have time to hang out with you. So you’ll just have to imagine the love.

Where did this compulsive need for an imaginary friend come from? A 2006 study of the phenomenon of imaginary friends by Dr. Louise Newman, child psychiatrist and the director of the New South Wales Institute of Psychiatry , sheds a glimmer of light:

Most children grow out of imaginary friends, Newman says. But in some cases an imaginary friend can emerge in adulthood, usually in response to trauma, inability to cope with stress and sometimes psychotic illness.In rare cases some adults develop what's known as Doppelganger syndrome, which occurs when they believe a twin or invisible friend accompanies them.

Seen in that light, it’s easy to understand why so many folks retain the impression of Obama as their imaginary friend. It is, as it always is, the fault of George W. Bush. What was once the mental disease that crippled tens of millions of American minds, "Bush Derangement Syndrome" (BDS), has morphed into "Obama Arrangement Syndrome" (OAS)

which requires that people interpret or ignore events in a manner that reinforces their preconceived, and rigid, notions about Obama.

If Bush Derangement Syndrome needed a 12-step program, Obama Arrangement Syndrome is going to need a 13-step program. It begins with, “We admited to ourselves and others that the idea Barack Obama was our friend was utterly imaginary, and no matter how many times he promised it we were never going to be sharing long, hot showers into the wee hours of the morning.”

Last night upon the stair
I saw a man who wasn’t there.
He wasn’t there again today.
I hope he never goes away
-- Variation on a nursery rhyme

[Rewritten, updated, and republished from November 4, 2009]

They expose the unwanted infant
On a hot flat stone, or throw it
Whirling head over foot into the ravine
For the raven's obscene brunch,
And walk back down
Their barren blasted Hill
To their village of rocks,
Hearing the mother’s moans,
Approving the father's stern smile.
All male, the state demands,
And sound.

The Watcher @ Watcher of Weasels notes that both, though separated by time, distance, and death have sided with Palestinians against the Jews; as shown in two pieces of original research that have won this week's contest.

First in the Council category is Mere Rhetoric's deeply researched and illustrated - Yahoo Wipes “Ariel, Israel” Off The Map, Replaces It With “Jenin, Palestinian Occupied Territories”. It's an article that will make you regret you ever Yahooed:

Apparently someone has convinced Yahoo to go into their News Weather data, erase “Ariel, Israel” as a valid location, and replace it “Jenin, Palestinian Occupied Territories.” The 20,000 residents from Ariel, where the relevant weather station is built, apparently don’t deserve their own weather. Yahoo has decreed that it belongs to the residents of Jenin, which is 25 miles north and 850 feet lower.

Paired with Mere Rhetoric, is Pamela Geller's article @ Atlas Shrugs - historical investigation, From Himmler with Love: “His Eminence, the Grand Mufti, In Remembrance”.

Here the tale of two monsters gets personalized. The captured files of the German High Command in Flansburg at the war’s end reveal that the Arab riots of 1936 in Palestine were carried out by the Mufti with funds supplied by the Nazis. The report states: “Only through funds made available by Germany to the Grand Mufti of Jerusalem was it possible to carry out the revolt in Palestine.”

In my own idiosyncratic "Best Headline" category, best in show has to go to Wolf Howling - The Three Stooges Meet Al Qaeda In Undiegate.

After Obama has had a full year in office, and after he had inherited a functioning system from the Bush administration, this is truly scandalous - not to mention incredibly dangerous for America. Call it Undiegate.

And my own "Oh, This Is Going to Be No Fun at All" category choice is J. E. Dyer's description of the grand SNAFU that will be the elimination of the Don't Ask Don't Tell policy, Commentary Contentions - When the Telling Starts.

The issue will be forced by lawsuit if by no other means. A 20-year veteran with combat tours in Iraq and Afghanistan may not be comfortable, for example, endorsing “Gay Pride Month” or participating in scheduled military celebrations of it. He may be charged by a gay subordinate with creating a hostile work environment or ordered by a senior officer to get onboard with gay-pride celebrations. Perhaps his chain of command would back him up and force the issue to a higher level. The serious question remains: what does this have to do with warfighting readiness?

The complete listings of the awards follows:

Dated? You bet. But update the hair and the clothes and you've got a Tea Party anthem for 2010 right there. Better still, everybody knows the words.

This May Be the Greatest Campaign Web Video of All Time

"In California’s GOP Senate primary, Carly Fiorina released a web attack ad against Tom Campbell that is being called “psychedelic.” I think it’s destined to be remembered as a classic. It combines what sounds like the soundtrack to “The Exorcist,” a narrator who sounds like he's imitating Morgan Freeman with the stratospheric dudgeon of Keith Olbermann’s “Special Comments,” and then the grand finale: evil, menacing, vaguely cybernetic sheep with glowing red eyes. Two minutes and thirty seconds into the video, you will be screaming, “What the hell is that?!?” and reaching for any available firearms." -- Jim Geraghty

[Original image courtesy of Insty. ]

From Curmudgeonly & Skeptical -- Your go-to source for demented insanity that somehow makes sense.

Come to think of it, it's not. It's "Citizen Media."

The Post-American Bandstand with Pat Boone. Yes, Pat Boone.