Mama, Weer All Crazee Now
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Jacobson and guys like him have been running their schtick for years without evincing any of the kind of skills that normally give writers pleasure — they don’t produce interesting wordplay, fresh insights, journalistic discoveries, or even good jokes. The only time you can feel something like excitement coming from their work is when they’re attacking someone and have hope of defeating them.
In short, they’re propagandists. They took up the tools of culture to further their cause, probably as a last resort — not everyone has what it takes to be a ward heeler — but while some people who do that sort of thing eventually learn some interest in, and even affection for, the act of creating, these guys seem impervious to it. Day after day they take political messages out of the appropriate briefing documents, move the parts around a little so it doesn’t look suspicious, and hit “post.” They don’t do inspiration. If you gave them a block of marble and a chisel and all the time in the world, they’d be looking around for a liberal to kill with the chisel.
When last seen, Jacobson was waging a flaccid jihad against Elizabeth Warren with a series of hardy-har-har Fauxcahontas jokes and questioning whether Warren was running an illegal lawyer operation out of the back of a laundromat.
And he is a professor at a supposedly good ivy league school.
Hard as it is to believe, there was a time when conservative bloggers (once they got past their ” invade their countries, kill their leaders and convert them to Christianity” pants-pissing) actually went through the motions of attempting to create the illusion that they were reasonable, intelligent adults who could be trusted with something sharper than a spoon. The Ole Perfesser had yet to become the quartermaster of the Galt’s Gulch Gun Club & Heh-Indeedery, Ed Morrissey (in his Cap’n Ed dork grandfather incarnation) didn’t spend his days snow-shoveling copious quantities of unrefined bullshit, and even Godlestein spent more time in front of the mirror pretending he was Alvin Goldman, and less time acting out his ‘Randy Weaver waiting for the jack-booted stormtroopers to break down his door and take his guns from his cold paste-encrusted hands’ fantasies.
Part of the reason for this wholesale descent into crazification is financial: they’re just throwing red meat to the rubes who will tithe a portion of their meager earnings to anyone who will validate their belief that the negro homosexuals are a’comin’ for their guns, their white wimmins, and their collectors edition Big Mouth Billy Bass. But once the White House was integrated back in ought 8, the red meat couldn’t get bloody enough for a good hategasm and conservative bloggers had to up the dosage to give their readers a satisfying bile high.
It’s kind of like porn: one day you’re happy just fappin’ away to your HAWT Conservatives Babes calendar but pretty soon the kinks aren’t kinky enough and you can’t get your action jacks-on anymore until one fateful dark midnight of the soul you catch yourself doing a Google search for phyllisschlaflyclevelandsteamer.com.
And that way lies madness….
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