A riot of manliness.
Kevin’s spouse Jenn (no web presence) has this thing she hollers whenever some asshole in a sports car or SUV pulls a lame-ass highway stunt to squeeze his vehicle just ahead of hers or cuts a corner too impatiently or runs a red light or just in general drives like a get-out-of-my-way-you-insignificant-speck megalomaniac: “Sorry about your dick!” she cries. Try it sometime: it’s surprisingly cathartic—and with a sufficiently advanced and fluid concept of gender, works just as well on female get-out-of-my-way-you-insignificant-speck megalomaniacs. (Badda-bing, to coin a phrase.)
Jay Nordlinger, Managing Editor and Impromptuiste for the Corner-hosting National Review, undertook on the Wall Street Journal’s Editorial Page to explain the gender gap in American politics. (Thanks, Roy!) Really, honestly, this thing must be seen to be believed. Calling Rumsfeld a “riot of manliness” (sincerely!) is but the tip of the rhetorical iceberg. Thrill to his implacable defense of Cheney’s chickenhawkery! Shiver at Giuliani’s (exceptionally) manly flirtation with drag! Delight in untangling the coded insults! But please, don’t drink coffee while reading this. I can’t be held responsible for your keyboards, but I’d hate to see something happen to them.
Oh, and, Jay? Mr. Nordlinger?
Sorry about your dick.
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Hummer = serious inadequacy.
Think about that when you see the 2 Hummers that are always parked in the 6/Alder garage. I do.
I have a variant on that theme - a gesture which amounts to the same thing. Hold your hand, palm down, all fingers curled under except the smallest (little, pinkie?) which is crooked downwards at a limp-looking angle. Wiggle it feebly a few times with a look of deep commiseration. Or scorn.
Or perform the favourite action of a man spending quality time by himself, but make the length of travel very small. Small tosser.
Our child shall have a rich repertoire of phrases to entertain his fellow pre-schoolers with.
I'd love to know what my favorite Westerns would've looked like with a Cheney-like hero. How DO you have a duel in the sun at the stroke of High Noon when the White Hat can't even be persuaded to leave his underground bunker for ten minutes ? How does he save the schoolmarm from the evil cattle baron when he and the evil cattle baron are together plotting day and night to force lucrative GM livestock deals on all their neighbors on the Monsanto... er, Montana frontier ?
Ahh, screw it. If we need an REAL he-android to lead us into war, get me Brent Spiner on the phone. Sure, I have no clue how his chest-hair count measures against Nordlinger's paragons of studliness. But at least Spiner can probably shoot AND sing on film. Maybe even both at the same time, should Mel Brooks decide to turn *Blazing Saddles* into a musical, too. ;)