People I Want to Punch in the Face #2: Most Posters on Xoxohth

Every once in a while, I see that someone [found my old blog] through a post on AutoAdmit/Xoxohth – you know, “The Most Prestigious Haven for Insecure Douchebags in the World” – and I’ll read a couple of threads. And of course, each time I do, I can’t help but think that “he needed killin’” should really be an affirmative defense to murder.

Now, don’t get me wrong – the idea of a forum for current and prospective students to discuss admissions and other shit is a great idea, and there are plenty of legitimate posters on there. Taken as a whole, however, the threads on that particular site have exceeded any reasonable quota on douchebaggery by a factor of infinity billion.

I’ll ignore for a minute that a quarter of the posts are written in the style of a prepubescent girl IMing a balding pedophile (“OMG r u trying out 4 law review LOL”). I’ll ignore all the posts about sexual topics that seem to be written by people who couldn’t get laid in an Amsterdam whorehouse on free sample day. I’ll even ignore the frequent use of the word “pwned,” easily the computer geek equivalent of collar-popping. But Jesus tittyfucking Christ, I’d sooner cut off my dick with bandsaw, glue it to my forehead, and use it to do Rosie O’Donnell up the ass, than take any advice whatsoever from that site.

The threads are more obsessed with “prestige” than flies are obsessed with shit. I swear, if I looked hard enough I could probably find a thread discussing the most prestigious special ed program to eat crayons in. But it’s all fucking meaningless. Basically, you can divide the posts into two categories: (1) debating (and I use that term very loosely) which NYC sweatshop they think will finally help them find the social acceptance they can’t get among their peers, and (2) talking shit about “TTTs” (“Third-Tier Toilets,” defined as any school below the top 14, or something equally stupid). In other words, it’s like a fucking convention of 1L gunners bragging about who has the smallest penis outlining all their classes before orientation.

Basing your life around “prestige” – in other words, what other people think of you – is probably the surest path to putting a 12-gauge in your mouth before you’re forty I can think of. Ultimately, it’s no different than spending your life trying to impress the “in-crowd,” and fuck that shit – to thine own self be true. If what you want to do happens to be “prestigious,” fucking go for it. If not, who gives a flying fuck, as long as you’re happy. In the end, all that matters is getting your genes into the next generation anyway.

So I guess what I’m trying to say is that sometimes violence is the answer. Especially when it’s directed towards raging douches who argue over shit like whether it’s more prestigious to lick ass or fondle balls. And to anyone from that site who disagrees with me, or tries to start a flame war here, I’ll give you my response in advance:

Fuck you. No, seriously – fuck you.

That’s all.

Why I'm an Equal Opportunity Offender

I had the following conversation with Slutz following her argument with Justin Timberlake in the comment section [of my old blog]:

Slutz: "It's guys like him that perpetuate the glass ceiling."

Me: "Yeah, but I like the glass ceiling. The hot secretary on the floor above me never wears panties."

Slutz: "Wow. That's all I can say to that. Wow."

Of course, she made fun of Jews during dinner, which balanced out my misogyny. And really, that's what it's all about. Fuck political correctness, life is much more enjoyable when you can good-naturedly rip on your friends' ethnicity / gender / sexuality / religion / politics and whatever else the fuck makes for good humor.

You know what true diversity and tolerance is? It's not this bullshit environment where everyone has to walk on fucking eggshells lest someone be [gasp] offended. It's about not being a fucking retard* about things.

I'll give you a model of racial fucking harmony: During the 2L recruiting season, I was doing some interviews in Dallas, where one of my oldest friends, Pinche, happened to be going to med school. Since I was crashing at his apartment anyway, I decided to stay a couple of extra days and hang out with Pinche.

One evening, after discovering that we had run out of beer, we headed out to Fiesta - a Mexican grocery store that will sell you some crazy shit. For example, it's where the pledge class below me picked up what they need for a prank that involved placing a fucking pig's head in each and every bathroom stall in the frat house. Anyway, since Pinche happens to be Chinese**, I made a crack that we should pick up some dog while we were there. Rather than getting offended, however, he just responded that (since I'm Jewish), I'd probably be too cheap to pay for my half.

That's what it's fucking all about - not just being cool enough with someone's "differences" that those differences don't fucking matter - but also being cool enough with them to give (and take) shit for those differences like you would for anything else. Ripping on Pinche's ethnicity was as normal as giving him shit about the time (back in high school) when he got so wasted in Mexico that he started getting into arguments with inanimate objects...

Ah, memories.

Fuck it. And fuck political correctness.


* - And yes, I said "retard." Fucking deal with it.

** - Half-Chinese, half-Mexican to be exact.

You don't know Jack (unless his last name is Daniels)

Back when I was on my high school wrestling team, all of the other schools would gather in a circle, chant, scream and otherwise psych themselves up. Not us. We would gather in a circle and quietly, though forcefully, count off, "one - two - three - Cougars."

This wasn't a matter of sportsmanship. Coach Mimms told us that he wanted us to be "quietly confident." He wanted us to focus on kicking ass, not the loudmouthed trash-talking that preceeded it. Victory, he said, was decided on the mat; nothing else mattered. Brag after you've won, not before.

Many law students could benefit from Coach Mimms' advice. No one cares whether you've read Corbin on Contracts, Law School Confidential, the entire Encyclopedia Brittannica, or Harry Potter and the Order of the Coif. Bragging about having read all of your textbooks over the summer doesn't make you any smarter; it just means that you wasted your summer. No one wants to hear about your time in the library unless it's a story about how you had sex underneath the Federal Supplements.

This goes double for 1L's: If you have to brag, at least wait until you have something to brag about, e.g., grades*. (Bragging about how much you drank at Bar Review, however, is perfectly acceptable.) Trying to psych out your classmates, especially this early in the year, is just pathetic. Don't pretend to be Learned fucking Hand after a week of law school.

* - In which case, you're just a jackass.

Gay Marriage and Evolutionary Theory

I’ve officially changed my position regarding gay marriage. I used to oppose gay marriage because it seemed to confer no reproductive advantage to the organisms, and believed that this sort of behavior ought to be discouraged. However, thinking about it last night, I’ve realized two things.

First, although homosexuality is maladaptive for the organism in a pure Darwinian sense (you don’t get your genes in the next generation by mating with another dude), gay marriage will not erode the basic biological underpinnings of regular marriage.

The institution of marriage has evolved because it generally serves our species reproductive interests. For the male, it normally guarantees exclusive mating rights with a particular female (or females in polygynous societies). This substantially raises the likelihood that he is the father of the female’s offspring. The male therefore can safely invest energy in the offspring, raising the likelihood that it will survive and successfully reproduce.

This arrangement benefits the female because it tends to guarantee a healthy supply of male parental investment in her offspring. Even in polygynous societies, a male will only be able to acquire as many wives as he is able to support.

Gay marriage will neither interfere with exclusive mating rights or guarantees of male parental investment – the real “family values.”

Second, not only will banning gay marriage will not discourage maladaptive behavior, I don’t want it to.

Let’s assume for a second that if gay marriage was banned, then gay men would go and marry women. This means I would have to compete with an influx of better-dressed men as I search for a mate. Girls already seem to have a strange infatuation with gay guys – why would I encourage them to compete against me in a zero-sum Darwinian game?

So by supporting gay marriage, I keep potential competitors out of the gene pool. The species as a whole may not benefit, but I will.

FUCK Minimum Wage

I have heard Madison described as "30 square miles surrounded by reality." It's a pretty fucking apt description. In Wisconsin's latest effort to emmulate the paradise that was Soviet Russia, the Milwaukee Council voted to follow Madison's lead and hike up minimum wages. They hope to push for a statewide minimum wage.

Great going, you assholes.

Let me give y'all some firsthand experience with the effects of minimum wage on the people it's purportedly designed to help. My dad used to own a jean factory in El Paso, where he was forced to pay his employees minimum wage. (I think at the time, it was like $4.25 an hour.) As soon as NAFTA came along, he was forced to compete with factories in Mexico that paid their employees $0.25 an hour, and let's just face it, that's not going to fucking happen.

Eventually, my dad, and every other garment manufacturer in El Paso was forced to shut down. Instead of making a "decent living wage" of $4.25 an hour, his employees made $0.00 an hour, because they didn't have a fucking job anymore. I'm sure they were thanking all that "progressive" minimum wage legislation when they were standing in the fucking unemployment line. I don’t know of many grocery stores that accept leftist ideology as legal tender to exchange for food.

Minimum wage is fine in theory. Of course, when the theory fundamentally conflicts with the realities of the marketplace, it's going to fall flat on it's face. Employers don't want to pay people more than their services are worth, and punching a button on a cash register at McDonalds, or standing behind a counter at a convenience store isn't worth a hell of a lot. Sure, that may be the only job some people are qualified for, but they shouldn't expect to be paid as if they have specialized skills.

Now I've gotten myself all worked up. I need a drink.

Fuck it.

Report: Video Games Cause Cannibalism in Children

Associated Press - Horror struck the sleepy town of Fuckityville, IN when little Timmy O'Toole, aged 13, cracked open his little sister's skull and feasted on her sweet, sweet brains within. Uncomprehending parents and authorities are blaming video games for this grisly crime.

"If only we hadn't bought Timmy that gosh darn Stubbs the Zombie game for Christmas," said Mindy O'Toole. "If only I had read the Mediafamily.org report on how horrible violent games are for children... children are so impressionable, especially when these awful games glorify cannibalism."

Sadly, this is not the first such incident to blemish Fuckityville. Police Chief Basil Shitski attributes a string of carjackings/murders to youngsters playing Grand Theft Auto. "It was mayhem, I tells ya," said Shitski. "Kids was just yanking people out of their cars and jumping in. Some of dem would just start shooting at random folk with machine guns and rocket launchers purchased at AmmuNation. It was even worse then back in '89 when all dem kids kept getting high on mushrooms and jumping on those poor little turtles by da old pond."

Police have issued a warning to others who may have purchased games on Mediafamily.org's list of games they don't like. Parents are urged to watch for early warning signs of cannibalism in their children. Signs of cannibalism include dialated pupils, withdrawal from family and friends, and consuming human flesh.

Fuck. Shit. Cock. Balls.

According to a recent Associated Press poll, Americans are exposed to more profanity than they were 20 years ago. Also, according to this survey, some prude fucking dickburglers actually give a fuck.

Irene Kramer, a grandmother in Scranton, Pa., gets her ears singed when passing by the high school near her home.

“What we hear, it’s gross,” says Kramer, 67. "I tell them, 'I have a dictionary and a Roget's Thesaurus, and I don't see any of those words in there!' I don't understand why these parents allow it."

The price is wrong, bitch - but you probably didn't bother to actually look it up. However, it might be a recent addition. I mean, do you have any idea how hard I tried as a child to find a dictionary definition of the word “fuck”? Or even “damn”? Seriously, it was like a fucking puritanical conspiracy to keep eager young children, keen on expanding their vocabulary and refining their proper grammatical usage, from an integral segment of the language. I mean, talk about stifling a child's natural curiosity - I fucking guarantee that there are more 10-year-old boys looking up “tits” than “onomatopoeia.”

And even if that weren't the case, language isn't bounded by a motherfucking dictionary. It's a living thing that evolves over time. As Wittgenstein said, you can't give a sign in the wrong sense - if the sign is understood by the listener, it is part of the language. This means that newly invented profanity (i.e. “cuntbubble”) can be more linguistically relevant than a more established, but obscure, sign (i.e. "tachydidaxy").

But she goes on:

For Kramer, a major culprit is television. "Do I have to be insulted right there in my own home?" she asks. "I'm not going to pay $54 a month for cable and listen to that garbage." And yet she feels it's not a lost cause. "If people say 'Look, I don't want you talking that way,' if they demand it, it's going to have to change."

It's called the fucking market, grandma, and Adam Smith is giving you the invisible finger. First of all, I guarantee you're still a fucking cable-subscriber because you don't want to spend your retirement years without Matlock reruns, ordering useless shit off of QVC, and random second-rate movies from the Forties on Turner Classic Movies that remind you of a golden past before your tits migrated below your goddamn knees. Nobody, least of all you, is going to change a fucking thing. In reality, you're going to take it in the ass and continue to pay the cable company $54 a month. Sure, you may rant about it to your sewing circle, but angry ranting doesn't change a goddamn thing, and I know that better than anyone. If it did, we'd have the homeless fighting to the death in gladatorial battles for our amusement and Hugh Hefner's birthday would be a federal holiday.

The point is, there's a market for G-rated shit and "family" entertainment, and cable has certainly catered to serving it. That's why if you want to see a cartoon with a character who says things like, “Shut up Kyle! Shut your goddamn Jew mouth! You're the reason that there's war in the Middle East!” you turn to Comedy Central, and not the motherfucking Disney Channel. And thanks to the market, you're more than welcome to watch Mrs. Cleaver and Lassie save the fucking orphanage. Just shut the fuck up when you flip past shows that them crazy youngsters watch because that's what really brings in the dollars. This will be easier to accept, Mrs. Kramer, if you just repeat after me: “I am not a key demographic. My opinion doesn't matter.” There - isn't that better?

Fuck it.

Thank You Sir, May I Have Another?

One of the reasons I decided to go into law (despite my highly marketable philosophy degree) was that I hate the business world. Don’t get me wrong, I like business law – U.C.C. § 2-207 gives me a fucking hard-on – but there’s something about business itself that annoys me at an almost existential level. Mostly, I think it’s the buzzword laden, team-building, motivational bullshit. The only time I want to shift my paradigm is if it’s getting in the way of achieving synergy on the boss’s desk with my proactive secretary. Seriously, fuck that shit. I have very little patience for listening to some over-cheerful douchebag drone on about mission statements when I could actually be doing something “productive.”

I mean, it’s not like a pointless seminar is going to make a fucking difference anyway. If you haven’t bonded with your co-workers during the normal course of interacting, you’re sure as shit not going to do it by putting together a fucking puzzle that symbolizes how each unit in the company must interlock with the others pointless your existence is.

If corporations really want to create loyal and cohesive teams, what they should do is bring in a fraternity pledgemaster to haze the fuck out of their employees. Seriously. Nothing brings a group together like common adversity, and fraternity hazing is about as adverse as you can get without going to boot camp.

You want to build trust? Fuck that stupid fall-backward-and-I’ll-stand-behind-and-catch-you shit. Try tying your dick to a cinderblock and trusting your partner to have left enough string when you drop it. You want people to learn your mission statement? Get a trough full of ice water, pour in salt to lower the freezing temperature, and make your employees strip down to their boxers and partner up. When one guy has to sit in the tub until the other recites your mission statement perfectly, word-for-word, they’ll fucking memorize it like their balls depend on it (since, they sort of do). Believe me, your employees will bond for life when they’re sitting under a table covered by a tarp and can’t leave until they smoke an entire pack of Swisher-Sweets and eat a whole raw onion. They’ll be reminiscing for years to come about that time Jimmy from Accounting ate an entire stick of butter to save them from getting paddled, or the time they bet their Christmas bonus that Helena from Marketing wouldn’t drink a bottle of piss and lost.

Sure, there are probably “laws” against this sort of thing. But if you’re going to be indicted eventually anyway, wouldn’t you rather have a better story to tell in the slammer – that you got busted for making your employees eat goldfish – than for something lame like “embezzlement”? And if you did get indicted, wouldn’t the prosecutor really be indicting the whole corporate system? And if the whole corporate system is guilty, then wouldn’t it really be an indictment of free enterprise in general? I put it to you, my faithful readers – wouldn’t this be an indictment of our entire American society?

Well, I’m not going to sit here and listen to you badmouth the United States of America. Gentlemen!

[LI walks out humming the Star-Spangled Banner]

Seriously though, I’m not going to sit here. I’m going to go sit at a fucking bar and drink beer with my friends.

Fuck it.

(Hat tip: Bama Girl, for the conversational inspiration)

Fuck. Shit. Cock. Balls.

According to a recent Associated Press poll, Americans are exposed to more profanity than they were 20 years ago. Also, according to this survey, some prude fucking dickburglers actually give a fuck.

Irene Kramer, a grandmother in Scranton, Pa., gets her ears singed when passing by the high school near her home.

“What we hear, it’s gross,” says Kramer, 67. "I tell them, 'I have a dictionary and a Roget's Thesaurus, and I don't see any of those words in there!' I don't understand why these parents allow it."

The price is wrong, bitch - but you probably didn't bother to actually look it up. However, it might be a recent addition. I mean, do you have any idea how hard I tried as a child to find a dictionary definition of the word “fuck”? Or even “damn”? Seriously, it was like a fucking puritanical conspiracy to keep eager young children, keen on expanding their vocabulary and refining their proper grammatical usage, from an integral segment of the language. I mean, talk about stifling a child's natural curiosity - I fucking guarantee that there are more 10-year-old boys looking up “tits” than “onomatopoeia.”

And even if that weren't the case, language isn't bounded by a motherfucking dictionary. It's a living thing that evolves over time. As Wittgenstein said, you can't give a sign in the wrong sense - if the sign is understood by the listener, it is part of the language. This means that newly invented profanity (i.e. “cuntbubble”) can be more linguistically relevant than a more established, but obscure, sign (i.e. "tachydidaxy").

But she goes on:

For Kramer, a major culprit is television. "Do I have to be insulted right there in my own home?" she asks. "I'm not going to pay $54 a month for cable and listen to that garbage." And yet she feels it's not a lost cause. "If people say 'Look, I don't want you talking that way,' if they demand it, it's going to have to change."

It's called the fucking market, grandma, and Adam Smith is giving you the invisible finger. First of all, I guarantee you're still a fucking cable-subscriber because you don't want to spend your retirement years without Matlock reruns, ordering useless shit off of QVC, and random second-rate movies from the Forties on Turner Classic Movies that remind you of a golden past before your tits migrated below your goddamn knees. Nobody, least of all you, is going to change a fucking thing. In reality, you're going to take it in the ass and continue to pay the cable company $54 a month. Sure, you may rant about it to your sewing circle, but angry ranting doesn't change a goddamn thing, and I know that better than anyone. If it did, we'd have the homeless fighting to the death in gladatorial battles for our amusement and Hugh Hefner's birthday would be a federal holiday.

The point is, there's a market for G-rated shit and "family" entertainment, and cable has certainly catered to serving it. That's why if you want to see a cartoon with a character who says things like, “Shut up Kyle! Shut your goddamn Jew mouth! You're the reason that there's war in the Middle East!” you turn to Comedy Central, and not the motherfucking Disney Channel. And thanks to the market, you're more than welcome to watch Mrs. Cleaver and Lassie save the fucking orphanage. Just shut the fuck up when you flip past shows that them crazy youngsters watch because that's what really brings in the dollars. Repeat after me, lady: “I am not a key demographic.”

Fuck it.

“Don't pee on my leg and tell me it's raining.”

Ah, daytime television, you train wreck, you. So horrible, and yet I cannot look away. And, as it seems, I cannot stop thinking like a lawyer – it’s a fucking involuntary reflex.

Anyway, the case on Judge Mathis was pretty fucking simple. The plaintiff, a 300 lb. girl, hired a fashion designer to create a prom dress for her. The dress wasn’t ready on time, and she didn’t go to her senior prom. Since she didn’t pay for the dress, she sued the fashion designer for the trauma of missing her senior prom. And, of course, all I could think was, “Ok, this is just a question of consequential damages, and it’s a loser.”

Under Article 2, you can get “consequential damages resulting from the seller's breach” for “any loss resulting from general or particular requirements and needs of which the seller at the time of contracting had reason to know and which could not reasonably be prevented by cover or otherwise.” U.C.C. § 2-715. In other words, all the bitch had to do was buy another fucking dress and she could have easily gone to her prom, shared an intoxicated romp in the back of her boyfriend’s parents’ station wagon, and she would have been able to go to the abortion clinic three months later and live happily ever after. And of course, she could have sued for the extra cash she had to spend to get a prom dress on such short notice.* But no, she decided to mitigate her damages by sitting in her bathroom and crying while she freebased a gallon of Rocky Road. This is summary judgment shit, maybe even 12(b)(6)-able (depending on the pleadings). Why the fuck would you let this case get to trial?

Because it’s good TV and your producers choose the cases, that’s why. And, of course, because you’re not actually a “judge” presiding over a “court” – your “jurisdiction” is based on a contract between the parties and the network. And the bored housewives watching your show while they spoon-feed Gerber peas to their precious little poop-factories are going to flip the fucking channel if you start talking about the rule of Hadley v. Baxendale, 156 Eng. Rep. 145 (1854) or citing the Official Commentary to the U.C.C.. Besides, under the Federal Arbitration Act, you’re about as likely to get reversed on appeal as I am to start working at a soup kitchen. See 9 U.S.C. § 10 (really fucking limited grounds for vacating arbitration award).

Fuck it.

----------------------------------------------------------

* - Whether she could have gotten compensated for having to orally pleasure the manager at Dress Barn is an open question.

My Jacket of Sin

While I was home, my dad asked me to go with him to Saturday morning services at my old synagogue. I went, mainly because it makes him and my grandfather happy - despite the fact that I don't actually "pray" while I'm there, and haven't done so in many years.

Anyway, since (1) I don't pray, and (2) my grandfather would probably get upset if I brought my laptop to synagogue, I needed something to stave off the crushing boredom of services. I therefore turned to reading the Bible.

Now, despite my total lack of belief in the god of my ancestors, I always enjoy reading the Bible. In particular, my two favorite books are Genesis and Leviticus. Genesis is great because I'm kind of a mythology buff and its stories are on par with Homer; my personal favorite is the Jerry Springeresque story of Lot. Leviticus, however, is straight-up statutory law, and let me tell you something: God is a crazy fucking legislator. He's set down everything from the gory details of ritual sacrifice - you take a turtle-dove, twist off its head, drain the blood on the altar, and then place the bird's head on the altar and burn it (Lev. 1:14-15) - to the prohibition against shaving (Lev. 19:27) and the death penalty for sleeping with another man's slave-woman (19:20).

This past Saturday, however, one law in particular caught my attention, because I realized that I was breaking a divine commandment right there as I sat in synagogue. I couldn't believe my eyes. Before me was a bright-line rule: "You shall keep My statutes: ... you may not wear a garment made of two kinds of fiber" (Lev. 19:19). And there I was - sitting there, in a house of the Lord, shamelessly wearing an unholy sportcoat of wool and silk.

I was ashamed. And by "ashamed" I mean "hungry." Because it was almost lunchtime and the service was fucking dragging on and on.

Really though, how can my family expect me to take this religion stuff seriously when its primary authority is full of gems like the sin of mixed-fiber fabrics?

Fuck it.

Sometimes a 50-foot-tall gorilla is just a 50-foot-tall gorilla

Back at Texas, my honors program (Plan II, for those of y’all who know what the hell that is), required all freshman to take a year-long world literature class. It was supposed to be a great experience – instead of a normal 500-person freshman English class in a huge fucking lecture hall, you were in a 15-person discussion section. Many of the professors teaching these small sections were among the university’s elite, and each of them offered a different reading list based on a different theme. I chose the class on monsters.

I thought it would be the perfect class – it was at 11:00, so I’d actually be able to wake up for it, and we were going to be reading classics like the Oddysey and Frankenstein, and modern shit like A Clockwork Orange and Jurassic Park. We were even going watch movies – King Kong, Godzilla, and Alien.

I didn’t realize that the theme would really be “Whitey is the Source of All Evil.”

Describing my professor as “a bad teacher” would be accurate; describing her as “an insecure, pretentious, affirmative-action case who was off the fucking deep-end” would be even better. Hell, she even told us point-blank that she’d never have gotten her Ph.D. without affirmative action. She’s the kind of person that makes a conscious effort to pronounce every non-English-based name with a Spanish accent – even when the names aren’t fucking Spanish in origin. For example, when we read The Tempest, it wasn’t just “Ariel” for her; no, it was “Ahrrrrrrrrrr—iÉL!” “Ariel,” however, is Hebrew for “lion of God” – Biblical, not Latin. I mean, if you’re going to make a conscious effort to be pretentious, at least get your fucking etymology straight.

Anyway, somehow instead of studying about monsters in literature, I turned out to be studying about “post-hegemonic colonial dialectics,”* or some bullshit like that. I think I must have missed the part of the course description where it said, “We will be studying how every goddamn monster, in every work of literature ever written, somehow represents oppressed minorities.”

I’m not fucking exaggerating either. Polyphemus, the cyclops from the Oddyssey? Represents colonial natives, and how the white oppressor, Odysseus, blinded them. The dinosaurs in Jurassic Park – you know the ones with big, pointy teeth and razor-sharp claws that try to eat people? They’re “really” scary because they represent the Other Womyn’s reproductive habits gone awry (because the females start breeding without males). And the monster in Frankenstein – the one made from dead people? He represents the modern black woman’s plight (I have no fucking clue how she made that conceptual leap.) In other words, she was a fucking crackpot.

That was the first time I had ever heard the theory that King Kong is racist. And, to be fair, it was probably the only theory I heard in that class that was at least plausible. As James Pinkerton writes on the Peter Jackson version:

Any movie that features white people sailing off to the Third World to capture a giant ape and carry it back to the West for exploitation is going to be seen as a metaphor for colonialism and racism.

Fine. If you want to find the metaphor in Kong, at least the elements are there. On the other hand, you can see a metaphor for racism in fucking pretty much anything, for example, my argument that doing laundry is implicitly racist.

Kong is Kong, not because he represents the “big, scary black man chasing after the blonde, white woman”; he’s Kong because he’s a giant fucking gorilla. What next, do the dinosaurs in the movie represent Mexicans? Or here’s one: Toucan Sam must represent Jews because he has a big, brightly-colored nose, and “Froot Loops” just symbolize the round shape of the coins we Hebrews lust after. Fucking hell.

I should really get to Evidence. Fuck it.

* - From what I was able to piece together during the class, this is a fancy way to say “psychotic ultraleftist pseudo-intellectualism”**

** - This is a fancy way to say "a load of fucking bullshit."

The Honorable Justice Balki Bartokamous

Professor Althouse's (whom I will be taking a class with in the Fall) discussion about the problems of nominating people to "represent" different groups on the Supreme Court got me thinking. Why should we stop at trying to nominate such broad fucking groups like "women" or "hispanic" or "pygmy"? After all there are plenty of minorites that have never even been considered for the Supreme Court...

- Black, Jewish Women. We've had a few black people on the Court by now, a couple of Jews, and two very lovely ladies. But have we had all of these qualities in a single person? I think not. And I remember meeting a hot, black Jewish girl at my friends' anti-Matzah Ball Party in Dallas. Of course, I had quite a bit to drink, so she may not have been hot/black/Jewish/real. But either way, we have a perfect nominee.

- Dolphins. Almost as intelligent as we are, (and incidentally, delicious with tuna,) nominating a dolphin would be a "first-ever" non-human. Screw women and minorities, at least they've got their fellow Homo sapiens on the Court. The downside to having a dolphin on the court is that it would make oral argument even more taxing than it already is:

Counsel: ...therefore, the statements in question were not "testimonial" within the meaning of Crawford v. Washington, and to support this, I'd like to point out...

Justice EEEEK 'KLIK A A A A 'KLIK: A a a 'klik ch'a a a ch' ch' eeeek a a a a a ch' klick a a?

Counsel: No, your honor. The case before us concerns only a private citizen's statements to an off-duty law enforcement officer, who cannot be said to have been operating in his official capacity.

Justice EEEEK 'KLIK A A A A 'KLIK: Ch' k'k'k a a k'a eeek eeek?

Counsel: Yes, your honor. That would be a relevant difference because it goes to the similarity of the inquiry to the type of ex parte examination that the Confrontation Clause was designed to...

Justice EEEEK 'KLIK A A A A 'KLIK: Eeeeek a a a k'a k'a eeeek ch'k'k'k a a a?

Counsel: I'm sorry, your honor. I did not bring any fish for you today.

- Meposian Immigrants. If the wacky antics of Balki Bartokomous are any indication of this radically unrepresented minority's procilivity for fun, homespun tales and folk wisdom, and a love of delicious sheep eyeballs, the Senate will be sold in no time. I mean, it's not like the Constitution requires Justices to be natural-born citizens. Besides, who wouldn't want to see a dissenting opinion that starts out with "Don't be rediculous, cousin LARRY Justice SOUTER"? Perfect Strangers make perfect justices.

Fuck it.

Doing Laundry is Racist

After spending the good part of a beautiful afternoon the other day doing laundry, I have come to the realization that the institution of laundry itself is inherently racist and that we, as a society, ought abolish this social evil.

I mean, think about it - what is the fundamental principle of laundry? Why, to separate the "whites" from the "color" loads - in other words segregation! And why, pray tell, must the coloreds be separated from the whites? Because the colors will contaminate the whites by making them "dingy" - because the colors will "bleed" into the whites! In particular, we are supposed to separate "new" items of colored clothing - a clear allusion to individuals who have refused to abandon their ethnic identities and adopt the mores of the mainstream whites - because these will do the most "damage" to the purity of these items.

What kind of message are we sending to society when we do laundry in this fashion? What stereotypes are we perpetrating by distinguishing our loads in this manner? Hell, why don't we just go the whole nine yards and designate certain machines for “colors” - perhaps grouped close together in the center of the laundromat - while the white loads are comfortably spread throughout the rest of the facility?

This oppression must end! Hence I encourage each and every one of you who reads this to lobby your representatives in the government to outlaw the separation of white and color loads. I urge you, in your own practice, to achieve a true American melting-pot, every time you de-stink your stinkables. For only when the red sweatshirt, the black pants, the blue and green t-shirt, and the tighty-whities swim together in the same washing machine, will this country truly live up to its ideals of democracy.

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NOTE: Since this blog has an occasional tendency to attract people who lack a certain faculty known as "a sense of humor," and it's attendant ability to recognize and and appreciate things like "sarcasm" and "satire," I'll make explicit what this post was about. I was in no way suggesting that we get rid of the institution of laundry (much as I'd love to for reasons of sheer laziness). Nor was I suggesting that the institution of laundry is in fact racist or that those who separate their laundry into loads based on color are consciously engaging in racism. Rather, I was making fun of people who feel the need to find racism everywhere, and in everything. Yes, racism is real, and it’s a terrible when it happens – but come on folks, pick your fucking battles.