So, is this Mr. Stein, of the LA Times the designated piñata of the month, for the blogosphere to freely thwack, belittle and otherwise abuse? Now that the joys of flogging “Professor”* Ward Churchill are a thing of the past, we have all apparently moved on. I as usual, am late to the all-blog pile on, since the by now the egregious Mr. Stein has been filleted, sliced and diced by sharper minds and more accomplished writers than myself. I just did not receive the Dark Lord Rove’s latest memo, ‘kay?

*** pouting prettily***

I just must not be on His Darknesses’ primary AIG distribution list. (Quick, can anyone tell me, are we an army of digital brownshirts this month, or just an electronic lynch mob? I hate to be inappropriately outfitted; my jackboots are this very week out being new-soled, but the pitchfork and torch are ready and waiting…. Oh, thanks. Lynch mob it is then… right. Thanks for the light. Non-smokers are always short of a light, have you ever noticed?)

Frankly, Mr. Stein is pitiful meat, after the never-ending buffet that was the many-talented Professor Churchill. The only thing to marvel at is that what used to be a reputable newspaper paid him (presumably a lot of money) for these vapid dribblings. I would rather advise everyone to stand well back, point a finger at him and laugh, long and heartily. Please, for the love of heaven, don’t stuff his email inbox with any more flaming communications. We’re just setting ourselves up to listen to him whine, with lip all a tremble, about those horrid hostile hate-mongers, when all he did was innocently mosey down the lane, excercising his rights of free speech, man!

And don’t, please don’t write a righteously wrathful letter to the Times, threatening to cancel your subscription — even if you are really one of those rapidly diminishing number who actually have a subscription. For the love of all dead fish and bottoms of parrot-cages in the world, something has to serve as wrap and liner! A newspaper is supposed to be representative of the community it serves, after all, and the management just might realize that the whiney, insular yuppie twat demographic is way over- represented in their newsroom/editorial staff, and fire his clueless ass. Thereupon, he would slink off to work for Pacifica Radio, or the sort of extremely judgmental lefty local alternative free paper almost entirely supported by ad revenue from gentleman’s clubs, alternative lifestyle bars and pathetically awful personals… but before he did, we would be treated to Mr. Stein wobbling all over NPR and others as a martyr to free speech. I have a low nausea threshold, and I would far rather keep him where we can point to him and giggle, heartlessly.

After all, he didn’t want to advise spitting on military personnel returning from a war zone. Which, I guess, is progress of a sort.

PS: Cpl/Sgt. Blondie finds it awesomely incredible that he knows no military people first hand. It sort of reminds her, says she, of the kids in her 6th grade class in Ogden, UT, the ones who had never, ever been beyond the state line, or even out of the city limits, and were absolutely boggled to discover that she had been born in Japan, and lived in Greece and Spain for most of her life after that. She advises that Mr. Stein get in his car, and drive south for a little bit, to Oceanside, or San Diego. He will meet a lot of military people there, just by hanging around.

* As always, viciously skeptical quote marks

Later: Problem preventing comments from being posted is fixed. Comment away! – Sgt. Mom