“This Laun-dry Basket my Prison”
Well, they are gone, and here must I remain,
This laun-dry basket my prison! I have lost
Countless men (and all respectability) such as would have been
Most sweet to my remembrance when age had
Dimm’d mine eyes to heteronormative gambits most venal! They,
Meanwhile, Penises whom I never more shall meet again,
(To their utter delight, and in answer to their prayers, I dare say),
Wander in gladness, and wind down, perchance,
To that roaring dell, a fresh vaginal space!
Another’s womanhood (skanks!), o’erwooded, narrow, deep,
And only freckled by the mid-day sun;
They, with their slim and hateful wood, poking like
Purple-headed dragon necks from between ashen rocks—wingless
Things, unsunn’d and damp, whose few poor willowy spines
Ne’er tremble in the gale, yet tremble still,
Fann’d by the feral smell of NOT ME! and there my friends
Behold the dark green file of long lank weeds,
That all at once (a most fantastic sight !)
Still nod and drip beneath the happy coupled edges
Of anyone—and I do mean anyone —other than I.
Now, my “friends” emerge
Beneath the wide wide Heaven—and view again
The many-steepled tract magnificent
Of hilly fields and meadows, and the sea,
With some fair bark, perhaps, whose sails light up
The slip of smooth clear blue betwixt two Isles
Of purple shadow ! (which is another “another’s vagina” allusion, for you
Red-staters whose knowledge of poetic turns of phrase is limited to
Hallmark cards received from hick cousins on Valentine’s day); but thou,
Chickenhawk! for thou hast pined and hunger’d after
War, many a year, in the great Arab cities, winning thy way
With sad yet patient soul (and stolen elections), through evil and pain
And strange calamity! Ah! slowly sink
Like a bloodless missile once aimed majestically at the sky!
Reduced now to a flimsly slant that lies spooning Mesopotamia’s curves
As she weeps, ye purple headed monster! richlier burn, Murtha’s fury!
Live in the yellow flames of oil refinery ruin!
And kindle, black billowy poisoned air! So my friend
Struck with deep shame may stand, as I have stood,
Silent with swimming sense ; yea, gazing round
On the pocked landscape, cleaved and wounded by
The thrusts of his hard veined arrogance; and of such hues
As makes Jesus weep, dead brown babies puddled along
The ravaged landscape like some hellish Sin of emission…
A delight
Comes sudden upon my brain, and I am glad
As I myself were there! Not forced by patriarchal whims,
Oh laun-dry basket my prison, to wear you on my hip,
My dying uterus unburdened by man’s seed evermore! Pale
Hung the last vile piece of meaty oppression I’d known, a gnarled branch;
And I watch’d it move inside me and hat’d to see
The shadow of the vulgar Thing upon my freckled thigh,
Mocking my unbidden desires like some puppetshow of light! Yet,
I could not help but notice that deep radiance that lay upon me after,
Full finally on life’s ancient swimmers, I thanked quite silently
That hideous falling Elm, and now, with the guilt of having
Betrayed the sisterhood, their dark prickly vines glowering
Through the late twilight of my mind: they knew my shame!
Weal’s silent disapproval, not a swallower twitters,
Yet still the solitary newness of me must learn’d to yield,
So I take now to strained polemic! Henceforth shall you know
That Nature is but a social construct—a fabulation;
No plot so narrow, be but Nature there,
No waste so vacant, but may well employ
Each faculty of sense, and keep the heart
Awake to fictions of male and female! and sometimes
‘Tis well to be bereft of promis’d good,
That we may lift the soul, and contemplate
With lively joy the joys we cannot share.
My bload-soaked Chickenhawk! when the last rook
Beat its straight path across the dusky air
Homewards, I detest it! Choosing to see its black wing
(Now a dim speck, now vanishing in light)
As a phallic curse, crossing the mighty Orb’s dilated glory,
While thou stood’st sneering; or, when all was still,
Flew creeking o’er thy head, and had a charm
For thee, killer of babies, maker of laundry baskets – Man,
To whom no sound is dissonant which tells of IED deaths.
****
update: Some reaction from literary critics:
From:
Date: Friday, June 30, 2006 11:46 PM
Subject: protein wisdompoem about amanda marcotte:
lame, jeff.
just kill yourself.
Love,
Eugene
B-b-but…I thought you were the compassionate ones?
Shouldn’t you at least try to get me into a sensitivity training course before asking me to off myself?
****
update 2: More criticism, this time from PZ Myers. In a nutshell: “Goldstein is an awful awful writer and his poem is teh suck. Deal, bitches!”**
update 3: I think I’m getting the hang of this meter thing.
Comment by Paul on 6/30 @ 6:48 pm #
Amanda! Where are my clean socks?
Comment by maggie katzen on 6/30 @ 6:48 pm #
sorry, Jeff, but i can’t seem to peg the tune that’s supposed to go with.
Comment by Phinn on 6/30 @ 6:50 pm #
– The Talmud (sort of)
(You know, Amanda, the shape of this laundry basket means that it is also useful for carrying one’s enormous pregnant belly around the house while one silently makes one’s way to the kitchen to make me a sandwich.)
Comment by B Moe on 6/30 @ 7:00 pm #
I lit a Bic lighter and held it over my head at this point.
Comment by Pablo on 6/30 @ 7:06 pm #
That made me cry. I am so feeling your pain, girlfriend. Now about that backdoor…
Comment by Bill Spencer on 6/30 @ 7:08 pm #
“Amanda, you use your tongue prettier than a twenty-dollar whore!”
Comment by Sean M. on 6/30 @ 7:08 pm #
Hey, I do the laundry sometimes. Is she trying to insinuate that I’m some kinda homofag?
Comment by Hoodlumman on 6/30 @ 7:12 pm #
That basket should only be carried while barefoot, as well.
And get me a beer.
xoxox
Comment by 6Gun on 6/30 @ 7:16 pm #
And they say feminism’s lost all credibility…
Comment by ahem on 6/30 @ 7:24 pm #
Tour de force, Jeff.
Comment by mojo on 6/30 @ 7:25 pm #
Lay off the laudanum is my advice.
But then we wouldn’t be treated to Jeff’s version of “Kubla Khan”…
“And all should cry, Beware! Beware!
His flashing eyes, his floating hair!
Weave a circle round him thrice,
And close your eyes with holy dread,
For he on honey-dew hath fed,
And drunk the milk of Paradise.”
Comment by tongueboy on 6/30 @ 7:30 pm #
Comment of the week:
None of you people have children underfoot, do you.
How very heteronormative of you to notice…
Comment by McGehee on 6/30 @ 7:31 pm #
Yo, Mandy, make me a sanmich. An’ none o’ that thar may-oh-naise nither. Gives me the trots.
Comment by McGehee on 6/30 @ 7:33 pm #
An’ where’s my dang clean tank top, dagnabbit!? I’s only worn it two or three times an’ now I can’t find it.
Comment by B Moe on 6/30 @ 7:37 pm #
I must confess that as a bachelor I was a bit in the dark about parts of this post, so I did some research and found this:
You mean I don’t have to throw away my dirty clothes and buy all new ones?
Comment by Moe Lane on 6/30 @ 7:42 pm #
(pause)
I… remember.
I remember days
when I wrote such things.
I remember!
Those quick-thoughted days that
sprang out one after
the other, each day
and thought orbiting
in reckless dances;
cigarettes marking
punctuation
through the restless nights.
We knew the face of
The world, and gave it
A mask and called it
…
And I remember
the days that followed.
Now I shall forget
again.
Moe
PS: Yes, Alan, you’re right. Nothing.
Comment by docob on 6/30 @ 7:42 pm #
For what it’s worth, I followed the “chickenhawk” link to Amanda’s and read the comments. There amongst the paste-eater slurs and calls to arms re: facist Amerikkka, I had me a gen-u-wine PIATOR sighting!
Whhhhoooooo-doggies!
(Sorry, just my inner peckerwood surfacing.)
Comment by cranky-d on 6/30 @ 7:43 pm #
That was inspired.
Comment by docob on 6/30 @ 7:46 pm #
Plus, I second cranky-d.
Comment by rls on 6/30 @ 7:49 pm #
I reallllly hate to burst Mandy’s bubble here, but that whole narrative about that laundry basket and what it signifies is SOOOOooooo passe.
The NEW and IMPROVED laundry baskets are duo handled, fleible with the handles in the middle (sort of like the “wood hauling slings” (note: male) that we use to bring firewood in. These new baskets are gender neutral and can be carried with one hand. I am a male. I have one. I carry it with one hand. My mate is a female. She has one. She carries it with one hand.
Is thought Mandy was PROGRESSIVE. Appears to me that she is way behind the technology curve.
Comment by JohnAnnArbor on 6/30 @ 7:56 pm #
Doubtless Mandy’s up in arms about all the incremental discrimination represented by the vast number of everyday objects that assume you’re right-handed.
Comment by Rick Ballard on 6/30 @ 7:57 pm #
RLS,
It appears that she may still be lost in the rubyfruit jungle.
Jeff,
Still no leprous ‘dillo?
Comment by Tony Harrison on 6/30 @ 7:57 pm #
See Papa … I tole yu … and Sis … you shudnt auta be messn rond on Mama when she wasa goun to dat snak roun’up down by crik wid the Prerha man.
Now … ole ‘Manda … she fixin to mak us awl look lik wez bin inta the shin’ agin … heckfar .. shes airin oura lawndres in publik …. I tole shez wernt wri’t in da hed
Comment by Matt30 on 6/30 @ 8:06 pm #
I read her whole post because I wanted to know how the shape of a laundry basket was significant to her. In the end, all I got from it was “abortion, abortion, abortion.”
Brilliant piece here, Jeff. I’m not sure what you’d call it, parody doesn’t seem quite right. And I don’t know why I thought about it, but for some reason this had me thinking of the movie, Citizen Kane.
Comment by Major John on 6/30 @ 8:20 pm #
I left a comment on that “Chickenhawk” post. I’ll wait awhile and see what reaction it draws.
Comment by rls on 6/30 @ 8:37 pm #
I wish you hadn’t told me. I went over and read the comments….bleh! There are some of the worse of the BDS sufferers. Lies, innuendos, assumptions and opinions stated as fact and argued as such.
Blech!!
Comment by alppuccino on 6/30 @ 9:15 pm #
rls, tell me more about these firewood baskets. Don’t they shatter at -20?
Comment by Patrick Chester on 6/30 @ 9:15 pm #
Hm. Need to do laundry this weekend. Thanks for the reminder.
Comment by syn on 6/30 @ 9:19 pm #
Poor things, one of these days vacumn-cleaned feminists will discover there is available a device called the dildo if they feel so deeply the need to save their basket-case wombs from that oppressive patriarchal parasite pregnancy.
As for myself, I prefer the real thing especially when I’m lying on a set of freshly-cleaned 600 count cotton sheets I’ve just laundered.
Comment by Master Tang on 6/30 @ 9:39 pm #
Major John – you seem to have disconcerted them somewhat. The best they’ve been able to manage so far is along the lines of “Well, Afghanistan is different!” and “We’ve always supported that effort.”
It was interesting to see the fabled Phoenician surfacing over there. That creature has such an intense, visceral, white-hot hatred for anything and everything American that it’s astounding. It goes beyond ideology – it’s almost like some deep-seated psychosis.
Comment by Charlie (Colorado) on 6/30 @ 9:42 pm #
Armadillo?
Comment by Master Tang on 6/30 @ 9:47 pm #
Yes – Tang seconds Charlie and respectfully inquires after the armadillo, trusting he is well and that he be allowed to express his Buddha-nature in dance.
Comment by ahem on 6/30 @ 10:01 pm #
I heard a rumor the armadillo’s on strike. He’s been busy cockslapping dimwits all week and, frankly, he doesn’t get paid enough for that shit–or words to that effect. Jeff may know more.
Comment by Big Bang Hunter on 6/30 @ 10:29 pm #
- Maybe Mandy should forget about her heteronormative confusion, and just stop trying to fuck in laundry baskets. Makes the whole process needlessly harder, and most probably is the source of a good deal of her frustrations.
- That or just wear a paper bag. That usually works in the more severe bow wow cases.
- Still her problems can’t be as bad as Hampshers subway difficulties, with weird old guys trying to undress her with their evil shriveled bony fingers. ‘Course she could always switch to a hedge trimmer for the leg hair.
Comment by Scot on 6/30 @ 10:31 pm #
I thought those contoured laundry baskets were designed to accomodate my beer gut. Nothing gestating there, of course, except a bad attack of the sleepies from too much barbeque and suds this comming weekend.
Comment by Patrick Chester on 6/30 @ 10:31 pm #
Ah, the “forcing” democracy argument showed up again.
Comment by Verc on 6/30 @ 10:32 pm #
You know, Jeff, I’m beginning to like playing with the trolls–excuse me, sorry, I forgot, in their own territory, they like to be called Troglodillians–over at yonder Ms Marcotte’s Palace of the Sacred Poon.
BTW, I saw this chick the other day wearing a t-shirt that said “This is what a Feminist looks like”; good G-d, I hate it when the stereotype is upstaged by reality.
You might lose me, bud, unless you throw out that lazy armadillo. There are entire harvests of Troglodillians out there, begging to be clue-batted.
Comment by Master Tang on 6/30 @ 10:58 pm #
Verc – you and Major John have them swarming like fire ants whose mound has been disturbed over there. And Amanda is already pulling out the misogyny/rape card – a sure sign that she’s on the ropes. (How does the use of the word “sweetheart” equate to a desire to rape, by the way? My wife’s Southern relatives call everyone “Hon” and “Sugar” all the time. Should I be alarmed?)
Comment by Rusty on 6/30 @ 11:32 pm #
Mandy. Shut the fuck up already! Jesus. Get a job.You use too much bleach anyway.
Comment by McGehee on 6/30 @ 11:34 pm #
I think it’s because it’s an anagram for … um … “sweatheert.” Which is Afrikanns for … uh … you know.
Comment by physics geek on 6/30 @ 11:42 pm #
From the Marcotte post:
But I bring up this example of how to seek out and analyze the details of everyday life for signs of sexism and heterosexism for a reason…
Normally, I’d be annoyed at the pretentious bilge that she spouts daily, but that excerpt above moves me to pity. Really, your life has to blow enormous chunks when you spend all of your time examining everything for signs of sexism.
I guess that a banana is sexist because it resembles a phallus and not the scared feminine chalice. Or maybe it’s just an effing piece of fruit.
Comment by MarkD on 6/30 @ 11:42 pm #
We have a tie!
Insipid poetry and inane political commentary. All conveniently located at pandagon.net.
TW: act This reminds me of he whose name shall not be mentioned and Mandy’s clown fest. A twofer.
Comment by BumperStickerist on 6/30 @ 11:58 pm #
since pandagon moderates the comments, and JeffG is not, I’ll post this here as well.
One of my central problems with ‘The Left’ is that they tend to do things badly. There are lots and lots of ways to take shots at Bush without resorting to Chimpy McHitlerburton – yet the Left is, as a group, incapable of doing as such.
The alternate lyrics to “Ballad of the Green Berets” Amanda wrote were completely unsingable to the song – which is obvious if you 1) know the song and 2) can sing.
-
Hi Amanda,
Former Vet (USAF), 2x Dubya voter – Republican, frequent commenter at Pasty McPasterson’s.
Your awareness of SSGT Barry Sadler’s work is lacking. I took the liberty of revising your effort to keep align it with the song’s meter but kept (as best I could) your intent.
Which is to say, your initial effort kind of sucked. But there’s no easy way to tell you that without you juxtaposing your own feminist/sexual issue/possible rape crap over the topic rather than hoping that you just admityou weren’t all that familiar with the source material to begin with.
Which clearly you weren’t.
But no matter, you’re you.
Anyway, here’s a revised copy that’s actually singable to the tune. Because I like SSGT Sadler’s work just that much.
Cheers.
â€â€Ã¢â‚¬â€Ã¢â‚¬â€Ã¢â‚¬â€Ã¢â‚¬â€Ã¢â‚¬â€Ã¢â‚¬â€Ã¢â‚¬â€Ã¢â‚¬â€Ã¢â‚¬â€Ã¢â‚¬â€œ
101st Keyboardists, SCOTUS Edition – Revised
Rove alerts his keyboardists
“Human rights for terrorists?â€Â
Night falls soon they’re tapping keys
“How to beat the Left disease?â€Â
‘No surrender’, they blog on
Cursing libs, from dusk till dawn
Some will drop their bag of chips
Still they type, these keyboardists
Chickenhawks upon their chest
These poor souls, the Rove-asphere’s best
To them it’s all a great big game
Soldiers dying in their name.
Nothing Bush does drains their will
Fading polls, their bandwidth bills
The liberal scourge they will resist
pajama clad, these keyboardists.
â€â€Ã¢â‚¬â€Ã¢â‚¬â€Ã¢â‚¬â€Ã¢â‚¬â€Ã¢â‚¬â€Ã¢â‚¬â€Ã¢â‚¬â€Ã¢â‚¬â€Ã¢â‚¬â€Ã¢â‚¬â€Ã¢â‚¬â€Ã¢â‚¬â€Ã¢â‚¬â€Ã¢â‚¬â€-
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Comment by Darleen on 7/1 @ 12:00 am #
St Amanda of Fornicatus is really a very pitiable female.
Comment by Lazar on 7/1 @ 12:01 am #
We think of the key, each in his prison
thinking of the key, each confirms a prison
Eliot.
Comment by fletch on 7/1 @ 12:01 am #
Jeff-
Wander in gladness, and wind down, perchance,
To that roaring dell, a fresh vaginal space!
Dude! I’m a Republican that smokes dope…
If it ain’t Geddy, Neil, and Alex doing “Xanadu”– I really have no use for Mr. Taylor Coleridge.
BTW, ‘Amanda’ is not so fresh…!
T/W: “Because”–(because “Summer’s Eve” is just another outrageous denigration that is forced upon women by the Patriarchy…)
Comment by BumperStickerist on 7/1 @ 12:06 am #
I think, having read Amanda’s post, that she mistakes ‘Being attuned to heterosexism’ with ‘Having an allergic reaction to heterosexism’
That Amanda’s hypersensitized herself to the point where she lives in a world where 92-95% of the population exists solely to piss her off with their heterosexist cant, culture, and canoodling is, well, sad.
Because it’s not like Amanda has a peanut allergy and everybody is dusting themselves with peanut powder before going out in the hopes of causing an allergic reaction in Amanda.
People with allergies should declare them to those around – it’s their responsibility. Until such time as Amanda admits those cultural allergens she’s particularly sensisitive too, fuck her.
and not in the sexual way. Just in the rhetorical one.
Comment by Phil Smith on 7/1 @ 12:22 am #
She reminds me of the dumbass in World According to Garp that cut her tongue out to show her solydaryty. She even looks like her.
And then shot Garp.
Careful, Goldstein.
Comment by DrSteve on 7/1 @ 12:24 am #
Oh, come on, Frost at Midnight is sort of evocative, no? It’s the perfect 3am watch-the-baby-sleep poem. I loved it at 18, I love it at pushing-40.
Comment by Shanghai_Flyer on 7/1 @ 12:33 am #
Why does she keep calling soldiers “chickenhawks”?
Me no understand
Comment by Verc on 7/1 @ 12:54 am #
Dude, she had that thing on the table like BLAM! Domino, muthafucka!
But I had groped her mentally so it was cool.
I still am. Groping her mentally that is. And I’m not gonna call her. Smooooooooooth…
Comment by Darleen on 7/1 @ 1:28 am #
The one thing you have to keep in mind about Mandy is that, I believe, she really hates being a woman.
I mean it. Not “penis envy” or any such trope but actually is not happy in her own skin.
She is incapable of personal relationships, she taunts/sneers/makes-fun-of anyone who is successful in a personal relationship…and
if one has kids?
Well, if said one is a woman, then one has “rented out” her uterus to her “patriarchal owner.”
She’s beyong parody because she is, herself, a stereotype.
Comment by Verc on 7/1 @ 1:34 am #
Huh, I happen to find the renters to be much more fun than the sellers, but that’s just me…
Comment by 6Gun on 7/1 @ 2:06 am #
Tough stuff, Darleen, but on the money. A Trish Wilson but without the chocolate genitalia?
Comment by marcus on 7/1 @ 2:07 am #
oh Mandy
Well you aim and you miss cuz yer shaking
it’s the best you can do, oh Mandy
well they dissed you and said you were faking
So I bid you adieu, oh Mandy
Comment by maggie katzen on 7/1 @ 2:14 am #
thanks BumperStickerist, that was bothering me. I kept reading it, going….”i think i know what it’s supposed to be, but that line blows it….”
Comment by BoZ in fast thick pants on 7/1 @ 2:53 am #
Let me personalize the details of our oppression by the heteronormative sexualization of the laundry-room landscape in Bush’s America:
The mouth of an All detergent bottle, purportedly designed for “E-Z” pouring but clearly modeled on the Pocket Pussy, can’t accomodate a cock aroused by its vaginal temptation, and when it’s capped, a functionally useless neck flange prevents me from packing the bottle far enough up my ass to enjoy it.
To the streets!
…
You to the streets, I mean. I’ll be masturbating by the washing machine.
Comment by Master Tang on 7/1 @ 3:02 am #
Verc is still cleaning house over there – and the chronically-underinformed Geoduck has made a self-righteous appearance, pronouncing Rumsfeld an idiot in her informed opinion!
Likely because Rumsfeld is not hip with the New Historicism.
Comment by Good Lt on 7/1 @ 3:22 am #
JG-
(applause)
tw: puts
Schlotkins! Go back to the golf course and work on your
Comment by sifl on 7/1 @ 3:46 am #
What’s with all the inferiority complexes here?
Although I do agree that on a day we find out that US soldiers raped and killed an innocent woman, making jokes about mentally groping women is teh hilarious!
Comment by Verc on 7/1 @ 3:56 am #
sifl, that would, of course, be allegedly raped and killed an innocent person.
But, you know, I’m warming to the thought of US atrocities; it helps to bring out the folks that “support” the troops by tarring all of them with the same brush, pissing all over them, and accusing them all of rape, murder, genocide, and whatever you might have available.
I hope this time somebody DID rape and kill someone. Let’s get you fuckers on the record for being gleeful about it.
But then again, how’s that Haditha thing shaping up? So, yeah, probably next time, sweet tits.
Comment by Attila Girl on 7/1 @ 4:18 am #
I don’t think I’ve ever seen Verc quite this angry.
Comment by EFG on 7/1 @ 5:12 am #
I don’t blame him.
Comment by maggie katzen on 7/1 @ 5:22 am #
oh hey! we have a willy pete sighting!!!!! good luck Verc.
Comment by Verc on 7/1 @ 5:23 am #
Tired, Attilagirl. The rape game goes on, it’s just so easy to accuse people of rape. I knew one girl that accused two Marines of raping her. A year apart. At the same barracks of the same unit.
And sometimes it happens. In Okinawa, two Marines and a corpsman took a twelve-year old girl and raped her. It was disgusting. It was terrible, even the particulars of it; I think the attack lasted almost an entire day.
And I’m sorry. I’m sorry that there are evil people in the world that hurt innocent people.
And I’m sorry that there is a class of people out there that defend head hackers and rapists and torturers and murderers and molesters and bombers and terrorists by ommission and commision. I’m not one of them, neither an apologist for scum nor the scum itself. But the people throwing those accusations are one of the above. The people lauding it are too.
Comment by brooksfoe on 7/1 @ 6:41 am #
I am going to exercise uncharacteristic restraint, stay out of the rape and murder discussion at least for a while, and just note that I found Jeff’s poem about vaginas to be not funny. Also, it made me queasy.
Obviously, this proves I am a [signal to self-proclaimed troll-hunters to go to town with various synonyms for “ass bandit"]
Comment by Kent on 7/1 @ 6:44 am #
Oh, you big tease, you.
Comment by Master Tang on 7/1 @ 6:49 am #
Brooksfoe – why “queasy,” exactly? And no, I do not ask this as either a substitute for or a prelude to deeming you an “ass bandit” or anything similar.
Funny, not funny: that sort of thing is subjective, and tastes in humor vary. But queasy? I don’t see where that comes from here.
Comment by Gabriel Malor on 7/1 @ 6:57 am #
I’ve got eight years as a Marine that I want to smack your fingers with like a Catholic nun.
Verc, I love this line. Nice work in the mud-pits.
Comment by Kent on 7/1 @ 7:21 am #
No, no; just a preening, priggish little online schoolmarm wannabe with a stick the approximate size and heft of Gretzky’s old goalie-slayer jammed lengthwise up your colon, is all.
Not even remotely the same thing, really.
Comment by klrfz1 on 7/1 @ 7:31 am #
brooksfoe, when you come here and ask for abuse, please post as actus.
tw: small
Comment by Kent on 7/1 @ 8:19 am #
I got as far as this howler in the “Chickenhawk” thread, before projectile vomiting onto the screen in self-defense:
[emphasis mine]
Obviously burbled by something pale and segmented and invertebrate, from underneath a large, damp rock.
Comment by Pablo on 7/1 @ 8:54 am #
In other words: Goldstein had a lot to say about it, but I didn’t understand a word of it so…PASTE EATER! Now let’s talk about my pussy.
tw: And stupidity carried the day…and the laundry.
Comment by Kent on 7/1 @ 8:57 am #
MARCOTTE [at her online Bonfire of the Illiteracies]:
I harbor no doubts whatsoever that that genuinely IS, in fact, “all [she] knows.”
That’s what comes, doubtless, from only ever having been called “sweetheart” by Scott Ritter, prior to this.
Comment by Pablo on 7/1 @ 8:58 am #
Yeah, and when they institute a five day waiting period, then we’ll really know!
Comment by lost my cookies on 7/1 @ 12:05 pm #
See? This is what happens when you let the womens into skool.
TW: death. My wife reads that, she’ll cockpunch me to death. But that’s OK, because I rented her uterus a couple of times.
Comment by An on 7/1 @ 12:19 pm #
Does anybody knows who wrote this poem:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams
I have spread my dreams under your feet
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams
Comment by B Moe on 7/1 @ 12:53 pm #
No, but I can see why they were poor.
Comment by A. G. on 7/1 @ 12:54 pm #
An, try putting it all in Google.
Comment by A. G. on 7/1 @ 12:56 pm #
why no rss feed for this blog…?
Comment by Schoolmarm on 7/1 @ 1:08 pm #
What is the history behind Amanda not spelling out Jeff’s name? Is Jeff God? Is Amanda affraid if she speaks Jeff’s name his “ancient swimmers” will find her freckled thighs?
Comment by McGehee on 7/1 @ 1:33 pm #
BECAUSE OF THE UTERUS HIJACKING!!!
Comment by Attila Girl on 7/1 @ 2:11 pm #
An–I’m pretty sure it’s William Butler Yeats. It’s a beautiful poem about the extravagant things the narrator would like to give to the object of his desire (or, perhaps, the reader), and it ends with the lines you quote.
Comment by Rusty on 7/1 @ 2:24 pm #
then one has “rented out†her uterus to her “patriarchal owner.â€Â
Huh, I happen to find the renters to be much more fun than the sellers, but that’s just me…
Having been married, I prefer to rent.
Comment by Great Mencken's Ghost on 7/1 @ 2:36 pm #
pablo  I got ten days in California. Should I feel twice as safe?
Comment by Master Tang on 7/1 @ 2:44 pm #
Clicked over to the thread at Pandagon to find a commenter named “R. Mildred” who responded to a question whether Al Qaeda posed “an existential threat” with the following:
Existential? as in “do they make me question the validity of my life?â€Â
No.
Did 9/11 involve a raelly big propaganda pamphlet now? Thye dropped it on new york and the awesome weight of the 50 foot wide Shaq Chick tract crushed a few thousand people to death?
God, I know your collective dedication to keeping your own asses from being injured overrides any giving a crap you can do about things like civil rights and liberty and justice and all that, but seriously, if you’re worried about being converted rather than killed by AQ, you’re a moral weakling.
Honest to God, how do people this thick get through the day, much less be allowed to leave the house or cross the street by themselves?
Comment by Jeff Goldstein on 7/1 @ 3:11 pm #
If it’s any consolation, brooksfoe, invocations of Amanda’s hotpocket make me queasy to.
But sometimes you just have to cowboy up and do what needs doing. Meaning, writing a poem that mocks her. Not that other thing that needs doing.
Dear G*d, not that.
Comment by Verc on 7/1 @ 3:11 pm #
Marcotte’s coochie houses some of the most rare species of trolls I have ever seen.
I figure I will organize scientific expeditions at least once a week to explore the nether regions.
The Milret Carnifax, Master Tang, is a special variety I’ve only ever read about. It lives on a layer of Stupid so deep and secluded that its eyes and ears have atrophied and it has developed a special sixth sense which exudes Stupid waves like sonar to track its prey.
Thankfully, just a bit of that book learning can poison it.
Comment by Thomas Foreman on 7/1 @ 3:19 pm #
I posted this over at Amanda’s site, but I’ll repost it here before it disappears:
Comment by Jeff Goldstein on 7/1 @ 4:22 pm #
It’s over, man. I’ve lost the poetry wars. Dr LeftScience has declared it to be the case. And the rest of the shrieking sycophants, bless their little burbling lemming hearts, will assert right along with him.
It’s a simple formula, really: assert, gather your “unified message” puppets to agree (and to spread the assertion far and wide and with a forced gusto), insist—and voila! Indisputable truthiness that cannot be contradicted!
Numbers don’t lie after all.
Well, unless Diebold is involved. Then the numbers are big fat stupid evil neocon liars.
Comment by B Moe on 7/1 @ 4:50 pm #
What is it with the constant Doritos/Cheetos references in the blogoshere. I have noticed it on both sides and think we really need some more creativity in the snack food references, people. I for instance, much prefer Fiddle-Faddle.
Now that is fucking funny.
Comment by Dan Collins on 7/1 @ 5:24 pm #
On internet did Pandagon
A stately pleasure-dome decree :
Where Ralph, the scary penis, ran
From caverns measureless to man
Down to his undressee.
So twice five miles of fleshy mounds
With stays and whalebones were girdled round :
And there were gardens farmed by leftist shills,
Where blossomed many an nonsense-bearing screed ;
And here were Sapphics ancient as the hills,
Who hackey-sacked in spots of greenery.
But oh ! that deep erotic gasm which ranted
From the cheap thrills beneath a silken cover!
A savage race! as wholly unenchanting
As e’er bestride a loping Wong was taunted
By woman wailing for her lesbo-lover !
And from this gasm, with ceaseless sperm-oil seething,
(As if Gaia’s elastic pants were creasing)
Jeff Goldstein’s name momently was forced :
Amid which swift half-intermitted burst
Vague figments rose up of forgotten tail,
And masochists ‘neath dominatrix’s flail :
And ‘mid those laundered socks at once and ever
John Wesly vomits on the poontang giver.
Five miles meandering with amazed emotion
Through parking lots from that seductress ran,
To reach the haven; he had just this plan:
To hit the shower and wash off scummy lotion:
And ‘mid her tumult Panda heard from far
Her sisters’ crying, “What a whore!”
The shadow of the cock of pleasure
Floated midway on the waves ;
Where was leaked the tingling treasure
From the still-sore tumid labes.
It was a drunk mistake of sexual vice,
To let a man invade those caves of ice !
A hot chick with a videocam
On a website once I saw :
She was a heterosexual babe,
Who liked to film the guys she’d laid
(Finding men not abhorrent).
Could I replay within me
Her sympathy for schlong,
To such a horny height ‘twould win me,
That with penis proud and long,
I would gallop in that darkened lair,
That hippodrome (that may have lice) !
And all who knew should have a care,
And all should cry, Beware ! Beware !
Her fleshy thighs, her gorgon stare!
Run five miles from her thrice,
And close your eyes with holy dread,
For she on sweetheart quim hath fed,
And spat the spunk of Andrew Dice!
Comment by Matt, Esq. on 7/1 @ 5:27 pm #
*Meaning, writing a poem that mocks her. Not that other thing that needs doing.
Dear G*d, not that. *
Amen.
Comment by Matt, Esq. on 7/1 @ 5:29 pm #
*It’s over, man. I’ve lost the poetry wars. *
Jeff, if its any consolation, I think Buscemi could take Ali in a poetry contest.
Comment by Jeff Goldstein on 7/1 @ 5:43 pm #
The idea that I may have purposely altered the rhythm for comedic effect is evidently lost on these people. I mean, it’s not like I’ve done it before (or even, you know, earlier today)
Nope. Must be that I’m so dumb I don’t even know how to stick to meter! Whereas Chris Clarke? A genius wordsmith!
And so full of imagination, too! I mean, it takes a special blogger to even think about redoing Prufrock? [Scroll down to March 4, 2002]
He’s to be commended on his originality alone, I say. Not to mention the freshness of his barbs. Keyboard warriors caked in snackfood dust? I stand in awe!
Or rather, I sit in front of my keyboard fighting wars by proxy in awe. But let’s not quibble. You say tomato, I say t’-mah-to.
Comment by Dan Collins on 7/1 @ 6:07 pm #
So. Who’d like to take up “The Lady of Shallott”?
Comment by sifl on 7/1 @ 6:11 pm #
I hope this time somebody DID rape and kill someone. Let’s get you fuckers on the record for being gleeful about it.
Nice.
Comment by Verc on 7/1 @ 6:13 pm #
PIATOR sez…
Comment by maggie katzen on 7/1 @ 6:14 pm #
ooooh, i wonder if that’s mandy’s excuse for slaughtering BotGB? except that’s kinda harder to get away with when there’s music involved.
Comment by Verc on 7/1 @ 6:14 pm #
Like that, don’t you, sifl?
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