Glibertarian Type 4, Tier 8 -- D-List

Ore : 7:33 AM

Several thoughts upon "discovering" Robert Stacy McCain's blahg:

- His tag reads "Award-winning columnist, reporter, editor, author, bon vivant and raconteur." First, I'd like to know which awards he's won besides a booger-encrusted gold star from Instapundit's crotchlings. Second, I'm sure there's no such thing as an award for a raconteur -- certainly, I can't imagine such an award being doled out to someone who has the temerity to label himself one. And third, anyone who calls himself a bon vivant is just admitting to a case of raging, incorrigible alcoholism.

- Immediate impression is of a coverless, dog-eared, yard-sale paperback version of PJ O'Rourke (who himself hasn't been funny since the year I was born.)

- Another glibertarian: tolerates the hypocritical, finger-wagging scolds among his fellow travelers for the sake of political expediency, but likes his controlled substances and what he thinks passes for humor (and it does, among the knuckledraggers with whom he canoodles.) Just wishes all the niggers except for Alan Keyes would go away.

- An example of his rakish, cocked-elbow, Buckley-eyebrowed humor: "The Women's Caucus. Imagine me in a roomful of liberal women, some of them possibly heterosexual. Frightening." Analysis: any humor contained therein is purely unintentional -- frightened of possibly heterosexual women? I'm shocked, really. Of course, he meant "BWA-HA-HA LIBERAL DEMONCRAT WOMEN ARE BIG BULLDYKES HAHAHA" -- but then, what is he, a sophisticate, or a Delphi Forums troglodyte? Then again I often find myself more comfortable around lesbians, but I'm a huge faggot.

- "Stacy"? How unfortunate. My condolences.

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posted by teh l4m3 at 7:33 AM | Permalink |

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Comments for Glibertarian Type 4, Tier 8 -- D-List
I shall, from this moment on, refer to myself as a Bon Vivant. How dashing. I feel like smoking a cigarette in one of those long, thin cigarette holders.

Don't forget to get yourself a cigarette holder and actually put some sticks in it, instead of your credit cards and stuffing it into your bra. And then bitching out The Genius for noticing a cigarette holder sticking out of your cleavage.

Ooo! Shiny!

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