House of Eratosthenes

Great American Having triumphed over the herculean task of cleaning out the coffee pot and getting it started on a fresh batch, Morgan K. Freeberg used his powerful legs to carry his naked, Adonis-like form, his massive muscular shoulders barely fitting through the doorways. As the coffee pot gurgled away, he logged back in to his Windows XP account. Outside the window in the hours before dawn, just a few house lights could be seen; the entire world slept soundly, including his paramour who slumbered away in blissful exhaustion from the carnal activities the night before, but Freeberg was already hard at work. As the Firefox windows refreshed, bringing him news of various crises brewing all over the world, Freeberg ran his rugged palm over his majestic, cash-register-like stubble-covered chin, a picture of calm in the face of crisis. It was a vintage example of a dedicated blogger getting ready to lay the smackdown on a bunch of grandstanding liberal politicians, glory-queens, attention whores, phony guilty-white-males, and preening Associated Press lackeys.

A quick shower and a commute to work beckoned, but before Freeberg could join the morning rush on Highway 50 like thousands of other clock-punching automatons, he knew it was his destiny to make this one contribution as an erudite, intellectual, and powerful communicator of current events: The noble blogger. He used his position as a national teaching opportunity, a skill often employed by such dedicated practitioners, although of course Freeberg was the best of the best of the best. Lording his majestic form over all creation, godlike, and rightfully, Freeberg scanned the headlines — the very picture of attentiveness, leadership, resourcefulness, and quiet competence — a shining beacon of sanity in a world gone mad. One particular headline caught his eye; he cocked an eyebrow toward it, majestically, pulled out the keyboard and began to use his awesome blogger powers to put wrong things right, biceps and triceps writhing away beneath his bronze skin, like massive pythons, his lean, powerful fingers fluttering away like ten jackhammers on speed…

Yeah, okay. Pushing myself to the limit on this stuff, laying it on this thick, I think I’m much better suited for a sprint than a marathon. Glen Johnson clearly raises the bar to new highs. He is, in what I presume is an attempt to be completely serious, far more ludicrous than Rush Limbaugh is when he’s joking.

I understand where the guy’s coming from — he wants to be a speech-writer in a Clinton administration. The real question is for everybody else. Why do we let things get this far?

H/T: Many, potentially at least, but I learned it for the first time from Rick. And barfed on the spot, just about.

Update: You know, a thought occurs to me about womens’ equality. It should already be raising red flags with everybody — and I think, in secret and in the thoughts to which one never dares give utterance, it does indeed — there’s just something terribly wrong with championing “equal rights” for any demography, and having to crank away at it for forty years plus in the phony spirit of CALWWNTY (Come A Long Way, We’re Not There Yet).

I know it’s politically incorrect to say such a thing, but forty years is too long. There must be a lack of energy being channeled into the movement, in spite of all the bluster and complaining we’ve been hearing; or the tactics are wrong, somehow incompatible with fundamentals of human nature; or, there must be a paralyzing disagreement on what exactly it is we’re trying to do.

We may very well have a female President in 2009. Nobody is even bothering to pretend that if we do, the feminist caterwauling will shut down for good. Or even drop a bit, for that matter. We just got hold of our first female House Speaker earlier this year, and this event hasn’t silenced anyone. Every single soul who was bitching about equal rights before that, is bitching now about the same things.

I think this is the new glass ceiling. Right now. I think we’re looking straight at it. Women are not being treated equally, and because of that they will never have equal rights. Certainly not according to this bizarre post-modern measuring device we’ve gotten going…where a bunch of lazy scientists and energized busybodies put together some statistics, and look for differential bumps, some well within the margin of error, that might possibly feed the next Big News Story.

I think the next two things we have to do are very clear. They both have to do with fewer praises lauded upon females, so I doubt they’ll be implemented. Until they are, you can forget all about equality and I think that will remain true even if we pursue it for the next thousand years.

First of all, we have to stop lavishing praise on “First” women who do things a zillion and one men have already done. By that I mean being President of the United States, or being the person walking on the moon getting a phone call from that President. When a man’s already done it, and you shower these phony congratulations on the first woman who does the same thing — that’s degrading to women. It doesn’t seem to make any sense, until you think on it awhile. And then it has to make sense. If you can think clearly about things, that is. It’s measurably degrading — it degrades in direct proportion to the amount of time that has passed since the first man did it. In President Hillary Clinton’s case, that would be 218 years. Quite the slur.

Secondly…the whole “not freaking out” thing. Men don’t get credit for that. Women shouldn’t either. Again — put some quality thought into it, you’ll see this is as degrading to women as any butt-slap Captain Kirk ever dealt out to any space-babe in a miniskirt who brought him 23rd-century coffee. Stop giving women, especially women in positions of authority, credit for being “calm.” I mean, what were you expecting? After sixteen years in the public eye on the national stage, to restrain one’s self from running room to room, arms overhead, shrieking like a banshee when there’s a hostage situation in your office hundreds of miles away — doesn’t seem like much to ask. It’s good that Hillary stepped up to the challenge. But her alleged vagina is only so much of an argument for inflating such an achievement under the masthead of the Associated Press.

I’ll bet my last ten dollars that Glen Johnson is as big a male chauvinist pig as anyone you’ve ever met, including me.

Update: Gerard coins a newly-minted portmanteau, yabbling, and affixes it to our bit of creative writing up-top.

This is some of the finest turd polishing I’ve ever seen attempted. I admire the elbow grease the author put into the effort.

I had assumed that her campaign would try to spin this somehow, I just didn’t realize that the AP was part of her campaign staff. Silly me.

One question does come to mind though, when she was calling all those law enforcement people up and down the line, is that an example of vigorous diplomacy?
- Allen L | 12/03/2007 @ 12:38
Yah, I just loved this bit:

“I knew I was bugging a lot of these people, it felt like on a minute-by-minute basis, trying to make sure that I knew everything that was going on so I was in a position to tell the families, to tell my campaign and to be available to do anything that they asked of me,” the New York senator said.

Well, yeah, NO kidding! She bugs me a lot too, but will she fix that? Not bloody likely.

Nice diary entry, Morgan. 😉
- Buck | 12/03/2007 @ 14:55
Thanks, Buck.

I thought the bits about pajama-bloggin’ out of my pajamas, and doin’ the mattress dance with the ol’ lady the night before, were getting a little close to the line if not crossing it. First draft had something like “his gargantuan twig-n-berries smacking his masculine, muscular thighs just above his kneecaps as he walked — since it was a little chilly that morning.” That one didn’t make the cut.

Don’t want to make any of the mere-mortal gentlemen feel intimidated or inadequate. Someone’s patronizing those “Add Three Inches Overnight!” spammers plenty enough as it is.

I was noticing if you read the original AP column, by simply substituting in your mind the name “Bush” in place of “Clinton,” it makes coffee squirt out your nose. Can’t quite see that one playing out in real life, not even close.
- mkfreeberg | 12/03/2007 @ 16:21
We are AT YOUR SERVICE, SIR! YES, SIR!
- vanderleun | 12/04/2007 @ 18:19
[…] Last weekend, I had indulged in a fanciful bit of creative writing trying to figure out what it would look like if a certain Clinton sycophant had such undying adoration for me, as he in fact has for Hillary Clinton — and had written a diary entry about my relatively humdrum existence. You might have thought at that time, that myself and others had brought to you the most incredible, amazing, outrageous example of Clinton-worship disguised as even-handed analysis, that you were likely to see in this generation. […]
- House of Eratosthenes | 12/10/2007 @ 03:24

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Morgan’s DiaryMonday, December 3rd, 2007

Morgan’s Diary
Monday, December 3rd, 2007