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The blogosphere ranges from the sublime to the ridiculous, but one of the safest ports of call has consistently been Andrew Sullivan’s Daily Dish. He offers a mix of serious political commentary, foreign policy insight, discussion of theory and theology, and a steady stream of fascinating extras. Lately his readers have sent in scenes “from my window” from all over the world, and he’s offered a sequence of YouTubes featuring best lines from favorite movies. But the best current entry, and the most refreshing stop for a sweltering, relentless summer day in Gotham, consists of the series of Neocon jokes—marking the birth of a new genre. Jokes can be petty and mean-spirited, of course, but many of these are simply hilarious. And frankly I can’t think of anyone on earth who more merits being ridiculed at this point than the Neocons. Take it as a patriotic mission. My current picks:
Q: What do you get when you cross a neocon with a lemming?
Q. How many neocons does it take to screw in a light bulb.
A. None. God won’t let their light bulbs go out. And it’s an impertinent question.
A. None. George Bush predicts the light bulb will be fully capable of changing itself within 3 months.
George W. Bush, Dick Cheney, and Joe Lieberman are all flying over New Orleans in a Blackhawk, surveying the progress that has been made in rebuilding the city and the levees. As they fly over the Ninth Ward, Cheney looks out the window, grins, and says, “You know, I could throw a thousand-dollar bill out the window right now and make one of those poor bastards very happy.”
Bush says, “Well, I could throw ten hundred-dollar bills out the window right now and make TEN people very happy.”
Not to be outdone, Lieberman chimes in, “Oh yeah? Well, I could throw a hundred $10 bills out the window and make a HUNDRED Americans very happy.”
Hearing this, the copter pilot rolls his eyes and says, “Man, I could throw all three of you out the window and make 300 million Americans very happy.”
More from Scott Horton:
Six Questions — October 18, 2014, 8:00 pm
Nathaniel Raymond on CIA interrogation techniques.
I recently spent a semester teaching writing at an elite liberal-arts college. At strategic points around the campus, in shades of yellow and green, banners displayed the following pair of texts. The first was attributed to the college’s founder, which dates it to the 1920s. The second was extracted from the latest version of the institution’s mission statement:
The paramount obligation of a college is to develop in its students the ability to think clearly and independently, and the ability to live confidently, courageously, and hopefully.
Let us take a moment to compare these texts. The first thing to observe about the older one is that it is a sentence. It expresses an idea by placing concepts in relation to one another within the kind of structure that we call a syntax. It is, moreover, highly wrought: a parallel structure underscored by repetition, five adverbs balanced two against three.
Percentage of Britons who cannot name the city that provides the setting for the musical Chicago:
An Australian entrepreneur was selling oysters raised in tanks laced with Viagra.
A naked man believed to be under the influence of LSD rammed his pickup truck into two police cars.
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“Shelby is waiting for something. He himself does not know what it is. When it comes he will either go back into the world from which he came, or sink out of sight in the morass of alcoholism or despair that has engulfed other vagrants.”