The League Of Extraordinary Bloggers: The Replacement

Cross-Posted at TBogg's place.
This is part six of a continuing series about the famous Bloggers who fight for truth, justice, and American Exceptionalism.–the Author

In a Secret Location, a Meeting of Diabolical Minds takes place. It is the League of Extraordinary Bloggers, each a hero (or a heroine or a Coulter) in his (or hers, or Coulter’s) own sphere. They are:

Col. Glenn Reynolds—famous defender of guns, wherever they are needed to fight the Brown Menace.

Michelle Malkin—a creature of the night, with an insatiable thirst for blood under her modest, cheerleader-clad façade.

Jonah Goldberg—A barefoot man-boy with cheek, famous for being so lazy he got his research assistant to paint his fence.

Megan McArdle–a woman of mystery, of disguise, of charm, which hides an unscrupulous and greedy heart.

Ann Althouse—A respectable professor who digs deep into the evil aspects of her psyche when she drink an experimental potion know as “Merlot.”

Part I: The Adventure Begins
Part II: A Fresh Face
Part III: And The Band Played On
Part IV: Strange Bedfellows
Part V: The NRO Cruise: Voyage To Nowhere

Part VI: The Replacement

Reynolds: Okay, bloggers, pull yourselves together. Ann, stop playing with your lei. Goldberg, stop touching the waitress’s skirt.

Goldberg: I’d mow her grass anytime.

Reynolds: Don’t piss me off, Goldberg. Malkin, sit down. When I said fly to Hawaii, I meant take a plane.

Malkin: I have a lot of expenses, Glenn. Fresh blood isn’t cheap. God, are my arms tired. Why did we have to meet in here?

Reynolds: McArdle’s here on her honeymoon and I was under strict orders to include her in the meeting.

Althouse: We have a new leader! What a relief! Karl’s been gone so long and I don’t like that black man at all. He’s so vague and grandiose and socialist. Who’s giving us instructions now, Glenn?

Reynolds: I can’t tell you. (Reynolds giggles but pulls himself together.) Karl wants you to meet his replacement at the Big Island restaurant at 8 p.m.

Goldberg: Waitress!

Reynolds: Goldberg, you haven’t touched your drink. Leave her alone. What’s keeping McArdle?

Goldberg: Duh. She’s on her honeymoon. She’s watching cartoons and drinking everything in the mini-bar.

Malkin: Remind me to send Jessica a condolence card. You’re awfully nervous, Glenn.

Reynolds: No I’m not. I’m sitting her very casually, waiting for the new boss to arrive. Where the hell is McArdle, dammit?

McArdle: Is somebody talking about me?

Reynolds: Hurry up and get over here before the big boss arrives. I want to make a good impression. Oh, and congratulations.

McArdle: Thank you, Glenn. It’s nice to see somebody cares about my Big Event. It’s not like my wedding party did. They spent the entire wedding Twittering each other instead of looking at me.

Reynolds: McArdle–.

McArdle: This is my day, not theirs. I didn’t pay the caterer $100 a head so they could have twitter-fights and throw dinner rolls from one table to another. Plus I had to sneak away from my beloved husband who I miss so much.

Reynolds: Shut up! She’s here! I can’t believe it!

Reynolds giggles and squirms in his seat but quickly recovers. He smooths down his hair and brushes a speck of dirt off his browncoat. A woman slips through the crowded bar and into a seat next to Reynolds. She takes off her wig and glasses and tosses them to the floor. It is Sarah Palin!

Reynolds: Oh, Miss Palin, this is such an honor! We can’t wait to follow your every command. I promise we are well trained and know how to please a woman. A boss woman. A woman who is our boss, and a woman. And a boss.

Althouse: Mrs. Palin, I’m Ann Althouse. I’m a law professor.

Palin: Can you practice law in Alaska? I can always use a good lawyer.

Althouse: Uh, no. I teach.

Palin: Hate teachers. Teachers have unions and want to destroy young minds and call the police on young people who are just high-spirited and didn’t mean to do so much damage. Alleged damage. (To Malkin) Waitress!

Malkin: Mrs. Palin, I’m–

Palin: That’s nice honey. You can get my autograph some other time. Now run over to that bar and get me a little drinkie.

Malkin:—Michelle Malkin, Extraordinary Blogger and Fox News contributor, and not your waitress. And it seems you’ve already had a few drinks.

Goldberg: She has heightened senses. It’s so cool. I’m Jonah Goldberg. I wrote a New York Times best-selling book that was nominated for a Pulitzer.

Palin: Books are for sissies. Col. Reynolds, your orders are to use the British Petroleum oil spill to prove Barack Hussein Obama is a loser. Reynolds, you have the hardest job. I need you to take out one of Obama’s goons. Do you have a gun?

Reynolds: I have many guns, Mrs. Palin and I’m honored to shoot someone for you. I could use my big gun or my really big gun or my special Sunday gun with the mother-of-pearl stock. I have knives too if you want me to kill the Brown Menace with a knife. Also, my boot is very heavy and if you want I can–

Palin: Just shoot him, okey-dokey? Here’s his picture.

Reynolds and Malkin look at the picture.

Malkin: The Brown Menace looks exactly like that guy who moved in next door to you, the writer, what’s his name?

Reynolds: Shut up, Malkin. He’s a dead man, Mrs. Palin, you can count on me.

McArdle: Since Glenn has totally forgotten his manners, let me introduce myself. I am Mrs. Peter Suderman and I write for the famous magazine The Atlantic on economic issues. I’m on my honeymoon but we Extraordinary Bloggers are always ready to serve in a time of need.

Palin: Your honeymoon? That sure as shootin’ brings back memories. And congratulations about the baby. Better late than never, huh?

McArdle: (huffily) I’m not pregnant. What kind of person do you think I am?

Palin: Now, don’t get up on your high horse, missy. It’s no shame for people like us.

McArdle: I am not pregnant! I’m an economics blogger!

Palin: Great, than you can examine these BP spreadsheets and fill out this paperwork. It’s research for our mission. Mail it to this address by the end of the day. (She hands an envelope to McArdle.)

McArdle: Very well. Wait a second. This isn’t figures from British Petroleum. Travel and clothing expenses, W4 forms–these are your taxes!

Palin: Nonsense. Get crackin’, honey, those forms aren’t going to fill themselves out. And make sure you postmark it by midnight.

McArdle: Now just a damn minute. I’m on my honeymoon!

Palin: We all have to make sacrifice for our country. Do you think it was easy quitting my governor job? Where’s your patriotism? Your stick-to-it-tiveness? Your country needs you!

Malkin: Mrs. Palin–

Palin: You still here? Lord, these little Hawaiian people give me the creeps. Hardly a white face from one part of the country to another. Okay, hon, you can write our press release on Obama’s socialist plot to take over BP and redistribute its money to the poor.

Malkin: Fine, just give me the outline. (Malkin scans it quickly and then looks up at Palin.)

Malkin: You want me to update your Facebook page? I don’t ghost-write other people’s work. Doesn’t your husband do this for you?

Palin: Don’t be silly, native girl, schoolbook learnin’ is for children and my Todd is a real man, the kind that loves to hunt and fish and carry out orders to remove your enemies.

Malin: Then why don’t you have him take out—

Palin: Drinkie, sweetie. The day ain’t getting any younger. Fetch.

Malkin bares her fangs and starts to growl.

Reynolds: (hastily) Malkin, you can go now.

Malkin: I bet she tastes like bear grease and failed ambition anyway. (Malkin stalks away.)

Palin: Okay, Grandma, it’s your turn.

The bloggers look around the restaurant. Palin points a long, red fingernail at Althouse.

Althouse: Me? I don’t mind getting you a drink, Mrs. Palin. I know a very special concoction that will make your toes tingle.

Palin: No drinks for you-you’re going to need your wits about you, Grandma. Since Obama’s kids are helping him in his socialist take-over of BP, we have a couple of our own little kiddies to fight back. Your job is to assist them.

Althouse: You want me to introduce them to audiences? Write their little speeches?

Palin: Yeah, yeah. Here’s their pictures.

Althouse: Um, Mrs. Palin, I don’t have any experience with special needs children. Surely his mother would rather be with him if he’s going to be surrounded by strangers?

Palin: Some mothers are busy, alright? They have responsibilities. And their stupid mothers have to take a cruise just because her doctor said she’s exhausted and needs some rest, instead of helpin’ her children like Jesus commanded.

Goldberg: Isn’t that your kid?

Althouse: This is Trigg and Track?

Reynolds: You mean Trogg and Trigg.

Goldberg: I think they’re Trip and Trap.

Palin: Whatever.

Althouse: What about Bristol?

Palin: Teen abstinance lecture. That poor girl pays and pays and pays for her sin. Oh, that reminds me–I haven’t taken my cut yet. Take a note, Honeymoon Girl. Now, which one of you is the Jew?

Reynolds: (points to Goldberg) He is, Mrs. Palin, but I’d be glad to convert if you want. I wouldn’t have to cut anything off, would I?

Palin: (to Goldberg) I have a very special relationship with your people. The only flag in my office is an Israeli flag. I just can’t wait until Jesus returns and wipes you all off the map so Christians can be Raptured. Your assignment is to read all about the history of BP and fill out this research material.

Goldberg: This is a bunch of questions about the history of Alaska. And it has “Piper Palin” written on the name line. And it was due yesterday.

Palin: Your people are so smart, I’m sure you can do it in no time. You have an hour. Piper’s ballet lesson’ll be over then.

Goldberg: I can’t. My research assistant is busy working on my book about cliches.

Palin: Do you want to serve your country or not?

Goldberg: Not if I have to do your daughter’s homework. I have to run, anyway. I have to go to the movies and write a review. For my job. And I have to interview some dancers in the women’s dressing room. I hear some of them belong to a union and I need to talk to them about freedom and the free market. And then I need to take my daughter to the new Harry Potter theme park. For my job.

Reynolds pulls his gun from its holster and points in in Goldberg’s face.

Goldberg: (hastily) I’ll pull my assistant off the book right away.

Reynolds: Good. Anything else, Mrs. Palin?

Palin: Yeah. What the hell is that?

Palin points to a small woman in a nun’s habit and veil making her way to the table.

Reynolds: Oh, Jesus. Quick, eveyone, under the table!

The League and Palin duck under the tablecloth.

Palin: You wanna explain yourself, Col.?

Reynolds: Shhhhh!

“Nun’s” voice: Glennie, is that you?

Palin: That nun is lookin’ for you Glenn. Stop hidin’ and act like a man.

Reynolds’ face turns red and he comes out from under the table. The rest of the League stays where they are.

Reynolds: K-Lo. What are you doing here and why are dressed up like a penguin?

K-Lo: Hi, Glenn! I thought that since Megan was on her honeymoon I could take her place in The League of Extraordinary Bloggers’ latest adventure. I’m in disguise so nobody knows my real identity.

Palin appears from under the table. K-Lo stiffens with shock. Her eyes widen and her mouth slowly opens. She sinks to her knees.

K-Lo: Mrs.–

Palin: What’s that, honey?

K-Lo: Mrs.—

Palin: You got a stutter, honey?

K-Lo makes the sign of the cross and rises.

K-Lo: Oh, Mrs. Palin! God has answered my prayers at last! Well, one of my prayers, but that’s one more prayer than he’s ever answered before!

K-Lo bends over and kisses Palin’s wedding ring.

Palin: Take it easy, girlie, you’re getting spit on my diamond.

K-Lo shudders in esctasy.

K-Lo: Oh, Mrs. Palin! Can I do anything for you, Mrs. Palin? Would you like a drink? A massage? A kidney, one that’s never tasted the demon rum? Is your chair comfortable? Do you need a pillow? I can be a footrest if you want. See, I’ll just bend over and—.

Palin: Col., I don’t think you and your Bloggers will be needed after all. Come with me, little nun. I think we’re going to be very good friends.

Palin hands her wig, sunglasses, purse, and sweater to K-Lo and departs. K-Lo caresses the sweater furtively and follows.

Reynolds: She’s gone.

The other bloggers sit back in their seats.

Reynolds: She’s gone, and I don’t know if she’s ever coming back.

Goldberg: They’re both gone, hopefully for good. I never thought I’d see the day when K-Lo found her true calllng. I was sure she’d end up in the loony bin.

Reynolds: Enough chit-chat. Mrs. Palin needs us. Let’s get crackin’, bloggers.

Goldberg: Sure thing, Glenn. Right after lunch.

The League of Extraordinary Bloggers: The NRO Cruise: Voyage to Nowhere

In a Secret Location, a Meeting of Diabolical Minds takes place. It is the League of Extraordinary Bloggers, each a hero (or a heroine or a Coulter) in his (or hers, or Coulter's) own sphere. They are:

Col. Glenn Reynolds—famous defender of guns, wherever they are needed to fight the Brown Menace.

Michelle Malkin—a creature of the night, with an insatiable thirst for blood under her modest, cheerleader-clad façade.

Jonah Goldberg—A barefoot man-boy with cheek, famous for being so lazy he got his research assistant to paint his fence.

Megan McArdle--a woman of mystery, of disguise, of charm, which hides an unscrupulous and greedy heart.

Ann Althouse—A respectable professor who digs deep into the evil aspects of her psyche when she drink an experimental potion know as “Merlot.”

Part I: The Adventure Begins
Part II: A Fresh Face
Part III: And The Band Played On
Part IV: Strange Bedfellows


Part V: The NRO Cruise: Voyage to Nowhere

Reynolds: Is everybody here? Where the hell is Goldberg?

Malkin: He's in the bar, running his mouth off in front of his adoring fans. I haven't seen so many pink-cheeked piglets since the kids watched Charlotte's Web. Did you know spiders eat their mates? We have so much to learn from the animal world.

McArdle: God, those NRO-nicks are freaking me out. "Oh, Miss McArdle, you're so tall and pretty. Miss McArdle, should I sell my Citi shares? Miss McArdle, your engagement broke my heart."

Goldberg: What ho, chaps! What's our mission?

McArdle: They were all just devastated about my engagement. To Peter Suderman.

Althouse: Why, what a coincidence. I recently got---

Goldberg: That's our mission? You need help dragging him to the altar and sitting on him until you walk down the aisle?

Reynolds: Shut up, Goldberg. The Foundation has called us together to consult with the party's leading intellectuals and formulate new ideas that will return us to our rightful place in society.

McArdle: Isn't anybody going to congratulate me on my engagement?

Althouse: Just this summer I, too--

Goldberg: The Federation? Hot damn! At last! And they said I was crazy for buying a Starfleet uniform on the internet. I'm going to be first in line at the Academy and then I'll get some big guy to beat up everyone else and all the girls will want me.

Malkin: Foundation, not Federation, doofus. The tiny group of multi-millionaires and billionaires that fund conservative causes. You know, the people who sign the paycheck of the people who sign the paychecks of the people who sign the paychecks of the people who sign our paychecks.

McArdle: Suddenly I feel very tingly. Also, did I mention that I just got engaged?

Malkin: So what?

McArdle: I don't think you understand the importance of my wedding. As the world's tallest female economics blogger, my every move is watched and admired. It's a big responsibility.

Althouse: Me too!! Getting married!!

McArdle: Ann, dear, it's not all about you.

Reynolds: Shut up, all of you! We're here to get new ideas to restore us to or rightful supremacy! Now mingle with the guests and listen to the National Review speakers and report back to me at 0200 hours in the Starlight Cocktail Lounge on the Pool Deck.

Goldberg: Why do we have to walk all over the ship and talk to other people? I know exactly how the country should be run--the libertarian way.

McArdle: You're so right, Jonah. Conservatives had their chance and they failed. Liberals had their chance and they failed. Now it's our turn to fail.

Reynolds: Concentrate, people. Here are your assignments: Goldberg, you take the smoker. Malkin, take K-Lo's lecture.

Malkin: She didn't show up.

Althouse: Really? That's not like Kathryn Jean. She's usually so responsible.

McArdle: It's not like she has anything better to do.

Goldberg: Or anybody.

(Both snicker.)

Reynolds: Forget K-Lo. Cover Rich Lowry instead.

Malkin: (hopefully) Cover or smother?

Reynolds: Just get the ideas first, okay?

Malkin: (sighs) Whatever.

Althouse: What about me, Glenn?

Reynolds: You'll cover Katie O'Beirne.

Althouse: I don't know, Glenn, she's kind of scary.

Reynolds: Tell you what, Ann. Why don't you go to the bar first and ask the bartender to give you a nice glass of Merlot? It'll settle your nerves.

Althouse: Why, that's a great idea, Glenn. I think I'll do just that. Be right back!

Reynolds: Okay, McArdle, you---what the hell?

The Bloggers walk closer to the ship's railing and see metal grappling hooks attached to pink nylon rope fly through the air and grip the railing tight. Female voices rise from over the side of the cruise ship and very soon several young women clamber over the railing. They are dressed in voluminous short skirts and blousy white tops, and dangle cutlasses at their slender waists.

Goldberg: Is this a dream? Am I awake? Pinch me, please!

Malkin stabs him in the arm with a stiletto.

Goldberg: Oww! What is your problem? I said pinch, not stab.

Malkin: I just had my nails done.

Reynolds: Quiet, everyone, I think I hear their leader.

(Disembodied Female Voice): Shove harder, girls! You can do it if you believe enough! Heave!

(Disembodied Girls' Voices): Ho!

Goldberg: No.

Reynolds: It can't be.

(Disembodied Voice): For the Love Of Mittens, heave!

Malkin: But it is.

Everyone: K-Lo.

K-Lo pulls herself over the railing and falls to the deck. Several Pirate Lasses help her to her feet and straighten her tricorn hat.

K-Lo: Guess what, everyone! I'm a pirate! A Pirate For God!

Althouse: Hi, K-Lo! Why are you wearing a pirate costume?

K-Lo: I'm glad you asked, Ann. I've been hired by a secret group of SuperChristians called The Family to take over this ship and declare that the United States of America is now the United States of God. (sings) My country tis of Thee God, Sweet land of God's Mystery, Of Thee I sing. Land of the Goooood's Pride, Land of God's Countryside, From all God's Mountainsides, Let Gooooooood ring!

Althouse: That's funny, that doesn't sound like the anthem that I learned.

K-Lo: I'm here to establish a theocracy, with the Pope as king. And pope. It's a two-for-one, which will save a lot of money in these difficult economic times. And the best part is that we're in international waters so I'm not breaking any laws. Father Benedictine will be so proud of me!

Althouse: And who are these lovely young ladies?

First Pirate Lass: We're here to fulfill our service requirements to graduate from our school, Stigmata High.

Second Pirate Lass: She told us that we were going to be missionaries in the Philippines.

Third Pirate Lass: I told you that the Philippines already is Catholic. All you had to do was google, but nobody ever listens to me.

First Pirate Lass: I thought it would look good on my transcript and I'd get a tan. Father Stevens gives references to people who can get butts in the pews, not people who can climb ropes and swing swords.

Reynolds: K-Lo, the Republican party is the party of ideas, not the party of Jesus freaks. You guys lost a long time ago and you never even noticed.

K-Lo: I think Mr. William F. Buckley, devoted Catholic, would beg to differ. It's the party of Catholic ideas, just you wait and see.

Goldberg: You mean Judeo-Christian ideas, dummy. With the Judeo coming first.

Reynolds: Don't be stupid, Goldberg. This is a Christian nation and don't you forget it. (turns to K-Lo) Forget it, K-Lo. No theocracy. You lost, we won, end of story.

K-Lo: Oh yeah, Glenn? We'll see about that. Girls, attack!

The Pirate Lasses draw their cutlasses and rush towards the Extraordinary Bloggers. Malkin pulls back a little fist and drives it straight into the First Pirate Lass's nose.

First Pirate Lass: Owww! I can't believe how mean you are! I just spent a fortune on this nose. It's the Jennifer Aniston!

Malkin: And now it's the Rocky Balboa.

Second Pirate Lass: Who?

Reyonlds: (yelling) Get out now , and take this crazy woman with you or I'll heave her carcass overboard myself.

Third Pirate Lass: You don't have to be so rude. We're not your servants, you know.

The Pirate Lasses drag K-Lo to the railing.

K-Lo: You're making a terrible mistake, Glenn. I'll pray for you and your poor endangered immortal soul. Say you'll pray too, Glenn. Promise me you'll pray!

The Pirate Lasses attach a rope to K-Lo, tip her over the edge and lower her down the side of the ship. The Bloggers can hear the faint words of The Lord's Prayer float upwards.

McArdle: I need a drink.

Althouse: Don't we all.

Reynolds: Okay, let's regroup at the bar. I've had enough for one day.

Malkin: Buck up, Reynolds. At least you conquered the Phantom Menace and the galaxy is safe for another light year.

Reynolds: Stop trying to cheer me up.

Malkin: It could be worse, Glenn. You could be K-Lo.

Reynolds brightens and follows Malkin inside to the bar.

A Night Before The Election

T'was the night before the election and all through the house
All the eyeballs were rolling at poor Ann Althouse.

All the bloggers were nestled all snug in their beds
While visions of linkfests danced in their heads.

When in The New Yorker there arose such a clatter
The bloggers all sprang to see what was the matter.

When what to their wondering eyes did appear
but a drunken law teacher and eight tiny "hear, hear!"s

She was blond with a page-boy, a right jolly old prof
And I laughed when I saw her in spite of myself.

She spoke many words, going straight to her work
And filled all her posts with ideas from jerks.

And then tipping her wineglass to empty last drops,
she blogged that Obama will persecute sops.

And I heard her exclaim as she faded from sight,
Obama is wired! I saw with my sight!

Althouse's Bankruptcy

Lordy, lordy, the New Yoker called Ann Althouse a nutcase, in the least pleasant way possible. There'll be nutcases-a-poppin' today. So, how is Ann "I don't spoonfeed." Althouse taking it?

Ah, not well, which is why Althouse is so much fun. In her first blog post about the Packer post, which demands to be reproduced in its entirety, Althouse says:

Friday, October 24, 2008

I am shocked at the substandard ethics displayed by The New Yorker's blogger
George Packer.

This New Yorker blogger, George Packer, names me and slams me, but doesn't link,
so there's no way for readers to see the context. The context is here.

I didn't "push[] the plastic-device story," I genuinely thought I saw
something, something that wasn't a "story" anywhere else -- I took my own
freeze-frame photograph. Within 5 minutes, I looked more closely in the
surrounding frames and decided it wasn't there and said so. That's all my post
was. So what the hell is George Packer talking about?

Shame on you, George Packer! That is truly sleazy! You are so eager to push
your little theory that you have lost sight of ethics and fairness. Packer
writes:

The problem isn’t lack of education—it’s that of a self-isolating political
subculture gone rancid.

Look in a mirror, man. Look in a damn mirror, loser.

ADDED: What Packer seems to have done is to have adopted another blogger's
summary of what a lot of bloggers, including me, have done over the course of
the election season. That other blogger paid no attention to my year of balanced
blogging, under an explicit vow of cruel neutrality. And Packer, I bet, did not perform an independent check to figure out what my blog is really like. It is this failure,
even more than the failure to link to the particular post he purported to
describe, that is really a failure of ethics. What absurd irony that he behaved
like this to reach the conclusion that the other side of the blogophere is
"self-isolating" and "rancid"!

Packer, I demand an abject confession of your self-isolation and
rancidity.

ADDED: Thanks to Instapundit for linking. There's also a separate post called "I got so mad at George Packer last night."

No boxed wine was safe that night, I bet.

Ms. Althouse has published in the New York Times and is often linked to by Instapundit. Her postion give her authority before the public. Yet her emotional, capricious posts, written to elicit attention and sympathy from anyone needing to rescue an ageing damsel, are meddling and snide, albeit not exactly dangerous. The last thing Althouse should do is demand further exploration of the content of her posts, but of course she does, since one of the first ways she attempts to fight back is to say that she is misunderstood or her words are being twisted. In the comments, she and Jon Swift exchange words about just that excuse.

Jon Swift said...
Well, he does link to my story, which is what his post is about, and I had the
courtesy to link to you, so readers can in fact see the context.

Ann Althouse said...
Yes, you're a [loser and a] shithead too, Swift, but thanks for the tip. Are you saying Packer didn't bother to read the original source, that he just poached off your lame-ass post?

Ann Althouse said...
"The problem isn’t lack of education—it’s that of a self-isolating political subculture gone rancid."Swift's comment underscores my point about Packer's observation. You
folks have been stewing in your own juices too long.

Ann Althouse said...
And Swift distorts to suit his purposes too. Congratulations for being a less devious than Packer.

Jon Swift said...
I'm saying, in fact, the opposite, Ms. Althouse. Since I linked to you in my story he most likely did see your story and still reached the same conclusion.

Ann Althouse said...
Swift, I get the point that you linked
and that he linked to you, but as a matter of the most basic blogger ethics, he
needed to put a link where he made an assertion about what I said, particularly
since what he said was completely distorted. He libeled me in The New Yorker,
one of the most important magazines. The fact that the link is on your little
blog is insufficient. You know the readers aren't going to find their way back
to my site via that circuitous route.And you got it wrong too, so if you have
any decency, you would fix your twisted post. You are not concerned with
fairness and accuracy. You should see the ridiculous irony of your post. YOU are
doing the very thing you are supposedly shedding light on. Hypocrite!

Jon Swift said...
I would be most interested to know Ms. Althouse what specifically was inaccurate about my post and how what he wrote and what I wrote rises to the level of libel.

Ann Althouse said...
Swift, I haven't read your post other than the sentence I emailed you about. Read my email. I said that Packer libeled me when he said I "pushed" a story after I posted a photograph of a freeze-frame and then in 5 minutes said it wasn't what it had originally looked like to me. That is not pushing. It is not true. And he went on to slime me and insult me in The New Yorker. That is harmful and shameful and I'm extremely angry about it. As for what you do on your blog, I don't bother to read it, and I didn't call it libel. I can't be bothered to read it, frankly. I think you're boring, but you do apparently appeal to people in your "self-isolating political subculture gone rancid." Good for you. Asshole.

Jon Swift said...
How did you manage to read only one sentence of my post, Ms. Althouse, while skipping all the other words? And which sentence was that? Your emails contain no mention of a specific sentence. I did not email you a specific sentence, only a link, which you must have clicked on because I did not describe the piece in my email and no one had linked to it when I emailed you as a courtesy, not even Mr. Packer. And I'm not sure why you feel the need to claim that you haven't read my piece and then
proceed to characterize it and me. Wouldn't that be unfair and in fact what you
accused Mr. Packer of doing?

Ann Althouse said...
"Wouldn't that be unfair and in fact what you accused Mr. Packer of doing?"I had read the sentence that had my name it it after seeing a Google alert. YOU emailed me to point out your work, and I responded to you by email based on the one sentence I had read. Then you came over here to talk about yourself -- I get it, you do self-promotion like mad -- and I responded here. It was never my idea to write about you on my blog, because I wasn't interested in reading what you had to say, since I could see from the sentence about me that you were being unfair. I'm not going to comb over what you said about everyone else, and I'm not going to write a post about you. I don't like you, and screw you. The idea that I'm doing anything to you that is comparable to what Packer and you did to me is flat-out bullshit. But
you are not interested in honesty. So pimp your posts to Sullivan and Packer and
get your traffic. Good for you, you little prick.

Ann Althouse said...
I don't mind people attacking me for doing that post itself, which was done at the end of a long session of live-blogging. But what angers me are these broad statements about how insular and narrow-minded I've been, when I have spent the last year (and more) being incredibly balanced, to the point where my readers really didn't know which candidate I was going to vote for. You know, I'm going to vote for Obama (94.67% chance), but these assholes make it a really distasteful exercise.

Ann Althouse said...
Now I feel like voting for McCain... and pushing the inside the ear transmitter theory...

Jon Swift said... Isn't it a wee bit hypocritical, Ms. Althouse, to complain of Mr. Packer's not linking to you, and then to refer to me and my piece and not link to me or even name me?

Ann must have passed out at that point, for there are no further posts from her in that thread. No doubt any day now she will decry her "enemies" for their sexism.


(edited for redundancy)

Ann "O-Ring" Althouse, NYTimes Published writer, speaks!

I haven't read Ann Althouse in months, so it's both shocking and amusing to see what she's up to now. Post after post sneers at Barack Obama's popularity, and no detail is too trivial to create observe. It's an Onion Ringapalooza, all the time. Frankly, I'm surprised she isn't commenting on Obama's man-breasts.

There's a lilting cadence to CNN's pronunciation of the name:
ba-ROCKO-ba-ma, with an arcing, hopeful inflection. It's most noticeable when
they say "John McCain" soon after. The nonObama candidate's name is said in a
leaden singsong, ending in a flat low note.

Next up: Althouse reports the weather is biased for Obama, as it has not rained on his parade.

It's like visiting an uncle you haven't seen for decades, and finding him wearing a tinfoil hat and listening to Alpha Centauri through his cavity fillings.

Poor Megan

Poor Megan blogs a complaint about Empire-waisted dresses, and only one commenter discusses what Megan would look good wearing. They're letting her down. Here it is summer and obviously Megan's cruising the catalogues to see what will look good on her while walking down Fifth Avenue. She takes time out of her day to observe that J. Crew is tormenting her with its fashion designs, and hardly gets any feedback. Now what is Megan to do? How will she know what to wear? Everyone else is wearing Empire waist dresses but she'll look like a fashionable scarecrow if she parades around in one.

The worries of a Libertarian blogger are many. No sooner is she back from the beach than she has to face yet more difficulties. The economy is suffering, and she has anti-union posts to write. Here's another post that--

Sweet Chocolate Jesus! She didn't!

::rubs eyes::

Megan McArdle said Ann Althouse was old and ripping off her readers. First, Megan says:

Ann Althouse doesn't like the Kindle because the gray-on-gray print is too hard
for her to read....But I know a lot of older readers complained about contrast
during my previous website's brief foray into dark-gray text.... I would be
surprised if this troubles anyone under forty who isn't legally blind. But it's
a good point.

Athouse was quite pretty once, as she likes to remind her readers. She's still attractive. On the outside, at least. Megan continues:

Most bloggers have Amazon Associates accounts that generate a fairly trivial
amount of revenue. Perhaps Instapundit makes a fortune off of his, but the rest
of us--and I've had one for years--get enough money to buy a nice electronic
gadget once a year, maybe. This is hardly worth jeopardizing my relationship
with my readers, my reputation, and my salary in order to push worthless crap.

And that was the end of it.

Ha, gotcha, didn't I! From Megan's comments:

Hi, Megan. I know you can enlarge the text, but I care a lot about the
aesthetics. It just doesn't look good enough to me. I didn't say it was "too
hard" for me to read. I said I want a crisp, clear, high-contrast page because
it's easier to read. Given a choice between a Kindle and a book or my computer
screen, I never pick up the Kindle.
Posted by Ann Althouse June 1, 2008 5:26 PM

Stay turned for more. Both women don't like criticism very much, and both tend to be obsessive about it.

The Passing of the Prime of Miss Ann Althouse

Ann, Ann, Melots are red
Cameras lights are blinking green
And your face is aglow
While the Idols moan low, so
Come out to the Vlog, Ann

Ann, Ann, you were young and alive
Dreaming your Camelot dreams
But then fame passed you by,
now you Vlog while high
Open your eyes, bonnie Ann

For Ann, Ann, Merlots are red
And camera lights are blinking green
While the comments are ablaze with the sychophants' yelping praise
Come into the Vlog, bonnie Ann

(Crossposted at the comments section of TBogg's hacienda.)