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Reframing racism, or How the pot learned to call the kettle black

A primer.

Rhetoric, Sheehan, and a defense of the SMEAR MERCHANTS, redux

Jonah Goldberg, on Cindy Sheehan, the chickenhawk meme, and identity politics.  From “Playing Chickenhawk”: “Cindy Sheehan, the mother of Casey Sheehan, an American soldier who was killed in Iraq . . . “ That’s the sentence Cindy Sheehan and her increasingly lugubrious p.r. machine want every news story about her to begin with. Nobody likes the idea of criticizing a woman who’s lost her son in such circumstances. The hope

Slaughterhouse 6

For some reason still unclear to me, I got it in my head last night to drink a pitcher of martinis while watching Sin City, the upshot from which is that I woke this morning on the living room floor in my underwear with no recollection of the movie whatever. But the worst part is, it wasn’t even my living room floor.  Which, that was a bit unsettling, I must

Air America’s Al Franken orders a round of Sex on the Beach shooters

Franken:  “Ten, right.  And make yourself one, too.  Just put it on my tab.  The name’s Gloria Wise.”* **** update:  “Oh. And can you put an Amstel Light on there, too?  Turns out we can now add pineapple juice to the list of shit Janeane’s allergic to.  The poor dear.” **** More here.  And here.

The TIMES, they AREN’T a changin’

Overlawyered’s Ted Frank argues that the Los Angeles Times’ series on “lawsuit urban legends” —which purports to examine “tall tales of outrageous jury awards”—is nothing short of an advocacy piece for the litigation lobby: The Times mentions in particular the “Winnebago cruise control lawsuit” urban legend, and suggests the tort reform movement is based on false tales like that one. One problem with their theory: Google the Winnebago lawsuit, and

Making Hippie music more palatable to Red Staters, 1:  Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young, “Helpless”

There is a 7-11 just north of Orlando, Creme-filled snackcakes enough to spare, And to that place The King is still known to go, Sequined shirts and ducktailed hair. Blue, blue Slurpees we drink in cars, Yellow cheese, Mallow Pies, Big Gulp set between the thighs, Waiting for him to catch our eye. We found Elvis, Elvis, Elvis King can you hear me now? The Colonel’s boxed and in the

Another moment of unabashed pragmatism

Sin City on DVD today?  Brown Bunny, too?  Sure, I’m there.

Rhetoric, Sheehan, and a defense of the SMEAR MERCHANTS

Using my kitten post as an occasion to criticize what he suggests is the modus operandi of the “jingosphere,” Unqualified Offerings’ Jim Henley writes: The old trick [of the pro-war crowd] is to convince people that what any given peacenik says is somehow more important than what the government does. Freelance hawkery has been playing that one for close to three years now. But it doesn’t seem to have the

Examining the Examiners

Tall Dave writes: “There’s a lot of carping that the admin is now lowering expectations, but I think it’s really the expectations of critics that have been raised. Imagine if you had told someone in Jan 2003 the following: “’By August 2005, not only will the regime have been removed from power and its leaders be on trial, but Iraq will have held successful elections and be on the verge

Christopher Hitchens joins the ranks of the SMEAR MERCHANTS

The drunk Limey neocon bastard. (h/t John Cole) **** update:  It was only a matter of time before the first Mother Sheehan miracle sighting.  Me, I once found Margaret Cho’s likeness in a summer sausage slice, but rather than make a fuss, I covered the hideous thing with honey mustard and pimento and ate it with a Triscuit. Because fuck Margaret Cho.*