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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:
Conversation — March 30, 2016, 3:44 pm
Joseph Hickman discusses his new book, The Burn Pits, which tells the story of thousands of U.S. soldiers who, after returning from Iraq and Afghanistan, have developed rare cancers and respiratory diseases.
Freddie Gray’s relatives arrived for the trial in the afternoon, after the prep-school kids had left. By their dress, they seemed to have just gotten off work in the medical and clerical fields. The family did not appear at ease in the courtroom. They winced and dropped their heads as William Porter and his fellow officer Zachary Novak testified to opening the doors of their police van last April and finding Freddie paralyzed, unresponsive, with mucus pooling at his mouth and nose. Four women and one man mournfully listened as the officers described needing to get gloves before they could touch him.
The first of six Baltimore police officers to be brought before the court for their treatment of Freddie Gray, a black twenty-five-year-old whose death in their custody was the immediate cause of the city’s uprising last spring, William Porter is young, black, and on trial. Here in this courtroom, in this city, in this nation, race and the future seem so intertwined as to be the same thing.
Average speed of Heinz ketchup, from the mouth of an upended bottle, in miles per year:
After studying the fall of 64,000 individual raindrops, scientists found that some small raindrops fall faster than they ought to.
The Playboy mansion in California was bought by the heir to the Twinkie fortune, and a New Mexico man set fire to his apartment to protest his neighbors’ loud lovemaking.
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“Matt was happy enough to sustain himself on the detritus of a world he saw as careening toward self-destruction, and equally happy to scam a government he despised. 'I’m glad everyone’s so wasteful,' he told me. 'It supports my lifestyle.'”