Poor John Podhoretz -- oafish, repulsive, cowardly, backstabbing, boring, a picker-of-his-nose-in-public -- and so dull-witted he couldn't cut soft butter with his forehead. Then there's the Matrix plug in the back of his Foul and Most Foreign Peanut-Shaped Pinhead (F&MFP-SP), the one feeding him the most hallucinogenic of Philip K. Dick novels -- the never-written one in which a brilliant, adventureous Poddy is a cross between Dr. Benton Quest and Race Bannon. If that plug ever falls out, reality will come crashing in on Lil' Pod, and he will see himself in all his grotesque, inbred, Betty Friedanesque glory -- a high-speed DNA collision between Elmer Fudd and Beldar Conehead.
That plug is apparently pumping all sorts of anti-American ideas into Lil' Pod's F&MFS-HP, such as the one that Americans want to import millions of Mexicans who fly the American flag upside-down on a pole and put the Mexican flag above it. It's Lil' Pod who's upside down, a position I've heard described as "cranio-rectal inversion." If it's permanent, it will surely improve his looks. It certainly won't hurt his brains.
Lil'Pod is the Quasimodoesque offspring of the original Poddy, Norman the Now-Senile. Senile Poddy's main claim to fame (excluding all his shameless self-promotion) was putting the make on Jackie Kennedy back in the '60's, then crawling away like a dung beetle after she skewered him with the icy eyeball and contempuously asked him, "Just who do you think you are, Mr. Podhoretz?" Somebody who never looked in a mirror, apparently, or else he didn't believe what they all told him -- that here was a man, no matter what his age, who always looked like an old geezer who should have a stogie in his mouth, wear boxer shorts, and back up his Cadillac on the interstate because he missed his exit.
Lil' Pod's well on his way to his father's decayed state, and suffers from the same malady: the delusion that people should listen to his opinion, even though he's as ignorant as my pug dog, whose underpowered brains can't tell the difference between a hot dog and a cat turd. In a recent article Lil' Pod (I suspect that nickname applies in more ways than one) whirled his pom-poms in support of totally open borders, claiming it's a good thing for the U.S. because he sees "a vibrant, dynamic, extraordinarily strong and extraordinarily stable country that has dealt successfully with far more pressing domestic problems without losing a beat."
See what I mean about that plug in his head? Frosty Wooldridge has a clearer view of what's really going: "Why are we allowing millions of diseased, non-assimilating, poverty-stricken revolutionaries and agitators and criminals, who despise us with a passion and who clearly have every intent of destroying our Republican form of government, into this country? What madness is this?"
Yes, Lil' Pod, it is madness, one that can, and has, destroyed countries. His sputtering synapses apparently can't comprehend this simple fact.
While Lil Pod's father occasionally made sense when he was younger, such as pointing out that the media portrayal of poor, downtrodden blacks was the exact opposite of their predatory behavior experienced by those in the real world, Lil Pod's accomplishments consist of little more than answering the most obscure of trivia questions on Jeopardy about "The Seinfeld Show."
That's an example of a mind that memorizes every tiny little twig and misses the entire forest.
Just how enormous is Lil Pod's self-delusion, that he does not know what he is? At the Washington Times the column he wrote for it was read out loud, for its laughter-inducing qualities, in a ritual called Podenfreude. For a long time he was referred to as "John P. Normanson," as in "John Podhoretz, Norman's son."
That's just pathetic. And now he completely dismisses as fantasies concerns about the increase in crime, disease, and reduction in wages brought by illegal immigrants, ones who are automatically criminals by being here illegally. He also claims the 14th Amendment, which grants automatic birthright citizenship to the children of illegal aliens, is responsible for "a great deal of the advances made in the 20th century by immigrant children." Apparently he thinks all those 89-IQ Mexican grape pickers are working on Ph.Ds in Molecular Biology in their spare time, or that their children are. . .children who are confused about which flag belongs in what country.
No, Lil' Pod, the critics are not living in a fantasy world. You are. As a leftist, you, like all leftists, don't merely misunderstand human nature; you don't understand it at all. The real world is one you don't want to deal with. One you can't deal with.
What would happen if Lil' Pod's delusional recommendations were put into effect, nation-wide? The result would be catastrophic. Would Lil' Pod say he was wrong and accept responsibility? Of course not. He would blame the problems on someone else, claiming his recommendations were not followed. Even if they were, to the letter.
Such are the wages of self-deception.
If Lil' Pod ever ended up in a field picking crops, he's throw his hands up to heaven, sit down, burst into tears, and wail, "I can't do this work! My butt's too big!" Then he'd wipe his eyes, go home, ignore his minaturized genitalia, and dream a little dream of being a Vikingesque marauder.
Come on, let's be honest here. Lil' Pod is a hideously inbred nerd, the offspring of two grotesque Troksyites -- Midge Dector and the already-mentioned Norman Podhoretz. Such ghastly inbreeding has made Lil' Pod an utter incompetent whose opinion is irrelevant on any issue. Perhaps he might go away some day. Perhaps. Or perhaps he'll just hang around forever like crabgrass and turn into the Fidel Castro of obnoxious stupidity -- a dildo-headed, beady-eyed little dork.
Were he not the son of Norman, he'd spend his life watching TV game shows, yelling at the screen, "I know that answer!" and dreaming of being the center square on Hollywood Squares. And probably having nightmares in which the audience laughed at him when the late Paul Lynde made double entendres he didn't understand, while he sat there like an organ-grinder's puzzled monkey who knows something is wrong, but hasn't quite realized someone has stolen his little red cap.
Friday, February 27, 2015
Lil' Pod, Hideously Inbred Nerd
Another coward, traitor and buffoon I wrote about years ago.
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
The Twisted Mind of Philip Roth
I don't know how the churlish and ignoble Philip Roth remains upright, the way his moral compass is spinning so madly. The author, who made his name with the more-than-a-little-semi-pornographic Portnoy's Complaint, which titillated a 12-year-old me and my classmates so much the teacher confiscated the book, has now with his current novel, The Plot Against America, used this farrago of vitriol to spin himself right into a place where good is evil, and evil, good.
I'll wager that George Orwell would have seen Roth's book as an example of Lies are Truth, Ignorance is Strength and War is Peace (and in Roth's case, Cowardice is Bravery). The novel is odious, libelous and just plain disgusting -- especially the grotesque and sickening comments about a murdered baby. Maybe we need a neologism: "libelodious." More cheerful is the idea of using Roth's name, as in "He Rothed him," meaning "a truly dishonest and reprehensible man told blatant and transparent lies about a good man."
The man libeled is Charles Lindbergh, who was about as close to a true hero as America produced in the 20th century. Roth libels him as a frothing-at-the-mouth anti-Semite, and a crypto-Nazi just waiting, faster than an eyeblink, to turn into the hillbilly version of Hitler.
Roth also libels America, which he apparently believes is always on the verge of toppling into a kinder, gentler Nazi Germany. Actually, he libels everything west of New York City as a horrifying, undifferentiated mass of drooling, gap-toothed, tobacco-juice-spittin', banjo-playing, five-year-old-girl chasin' troglodytes jes' awaitin' to lynch Jews from the nearest tree.
The focus of evil in Rothworld is Kentucky, a place which to him takes up 90% of Flyover Land. I get the impression Roth truly believes that if he was to ever leave Brooklyn, everyone west of it would have eyes about an inch apart, and drag their knuckles on the ground when they weren't picking their noses, farting in church or hitching their crotches up in public. I guess he believes Kentucky is the breeding chamber for those hundreds of millions of Morlocks overrunning America.
The Plot Against America is actually an excruciatingly bad science-fiction novel, of a sub-genre called "alternate history." Roth should have stayed with his specialty, "autobiographical pornography written by a dirty-minded neurotic Jew who cruelly verbally abused his ex-wife and her daughter, was a drug addict, and checked himself into and out of mental institutions."
In Plot, Charles Lindbergh beats FDR for the nomination in 1940, and becomes President. Now would have happened if this eminently sane event had come to pass? Lindbergh, a true patriot who was an anti-interventionist in the mold of George Washington and Thomas Jefferson, would have kept the US out of World War II. There would have been peace, Roth forbid.
Instead,in Roth's confabulations, Lindbergh instantly turns a compliant America into the Hillbilly Reich, the inhabitants of which immediately start whoopin' and yeehawin' because they don't have to send their sons to die in another European war, and instead let their anti-Semitic bloodlust, which Roth thinks is in their DNA, take control of their 70 IQ heads.
Roth will have none of this peace-mongering. He writes of FDR, who really was a semi-fascist and pro-Communist, as a great President unfortunately voted out of office by people who should have been grateful he was going to get them disassembled as cannon fodder by the hundreds of thousands.
He also cheers Lincoln and Woodrow Wilson as great presidents. Apparently, Roth has no education at all.
As for FDR, he maneuvered the Japanese into attacking Pearl Harbor by cutting off their oil and sending the Flying Tigers against them in China. There is substantial evidence he knew Pearl Harbor was going to be attacked -- indeed, he moved the fleet there from the safety of California -- and wanted war with Japan so Stalin (whom he called "Uncle Joe") wouldn't have to fight a two-front war against the Germans and Japanese. If Roth knows about any of this, I'm sure he doesn't believe it. Or if he does believe it, perhaps he agrees with it.
Lindbergh, who was a fine writer and speaker, is portrayed as having even less ability to speak than the stumble-tongued George Bush. He starts a program with the improbable name of "Just Folks," in which Jewish city boys are sent into the country to be Nazified. One of Roth's relatives returns from this hillbilly Dante's Inferno with a taste for ham and bacon, the Devil's Food, which, Roth, gasping in horror, claims destroys his ability to draw and also makes him enjoy picking tobacco and milking cows. Another is forced to move to Kentucky by the federal government, and almost instantly becomes so retarded he can do little more than intone, "Do you like cookies and milk? I like cookies and milk."
Still another, a mother, is murdered -- it's hard to write this with a straight face -- "alongside a potato field" in the Hell-on-Earth know as -- brr!-- Paducah, Kentucky! Leaving her poor son with no parents at all!
Roth also spends an entire chapter on his cousin, who lost part of his leg in the war. He spends that chapter writing in exquisite detail of his cousin's swollen, oozing, scabby, and -- to Roth's oh-so-delicate little-girl sensibilities -- horrifying stump (this is when he's not telling us about his cousin's masturbatory spraying of semen all over the place as he watches little girls though a basement window). The chapter title? Not surprisingly, "The Stump."
Roth is not only terrified of the Midwest, which in his mind starts one millimeter west of the Hudson River, he also swoons in horror at Catholicism, with its "witchy" nuns and "mortician-like" priests.
And, I'll have to admit, I've never read a novel in which all those Catholic Nazi hillbillies infesting Kentucky join the Ku Klux Klan and the American Nazi Party, then break out the kerosene-soaked crosses they've been hiding in their basements, which they hurl at anyone who they think looks like a Jew.
There are even anti-Semitic riots in St. Louis, a place in which I have lived, and where the only semi-riots occurred when the German consulate hung a Nazi flag outside their window, and the gathered crowd got so upset the police had to be called. But Roth does not know these things, having created history out of his head.
The novel is preposterous and surreal to the point of hilarity. Anti-Jewish pogroms in Cleveland? What next, death camps run by the Simpsons, with Lisa as She-Wolf of the SS?
I won't give the ending away, except to say that a cackling Roth gets to engage in his version of genocide against all those inbred 'Tuckians. I'll also say he has gotten the truth backwards and upside down, and in doing so has written a truly repellent anti-Christian, anti-American, anti-human novel, one of the worst I have ever read. If he's got the ability, the man should be ashamed of himself.
At the end of his career Roth shows himself to be as he started it -- paranoid, hate-filled, envious, narcissistic, utterly self-absorbed and utterly self-deluded. As a novelist he will be forgotten. As a decent and honorable man, he never was one.
I'll wager that George Orwell would have seen Roth's book as an example of Lies are Truth, Ignorance is Strength and War is Peace (and in Roth's case, Cowardice is Bravery). The novel is odious, libelous and just plain disgusting -- especially the grotesque and sickening comments about a murdered baby. Maybe we need a neologism: "libelodious." More cheerful is the idea of using Roth's name, as in "He Rothed him," meaning "a truly dishonest and reprehensible man told blatant and transparent lies about a good man."
The man libeled is Charles Lindbergh, who was about as close to a true hero as America produced in the 20th century. Roth libels him as a frothing-at-the-mouth anti-Semite, and a crypto-Nazi just waiting, faster than an eyeblink, to turn into the hillbilly version of Hitler.
Roth also libels America, which he apparently believes is always on the verge of toppling into a kinder, gentler Nazi Germany. Actually, he libels everything west of New York City as a horrifying, undifferentiated mass of drooling, gap-toothed, tobacco-juice-spittin', banjo-playing, five-year-old-girl chasin' troglodytes jes' awaitin' to lynch Jews from the nearest tree.
The focus of evil in Rothworld is Kentucky, a place which to him takes up 90% of Flyover Land. I get the impression Roth truly believes that if he was to ever leave Brooklyn, everyone west of it would have eyes about an inch apart, and drag their knuckles on the ground when they weren't picking their noses, farting in church or hitching their crotches up in public. I guess he believes Kentucky is the breeding chamber for those hundreds of millions of Morlocks overrunning America.
The Plot Against America is actually an excruciatingly bad science-fiction novel, of a sub-genre called "alternate history." Roth should have stayed with his specialty, "autobiographical pornography written by a dirty-minded neurotic Jew who cruelly verbally abused his ex-wife and her daughter, was a drug addict, and checked himself into and out of mental institutions."
In Plot, Charles Lindbergh beats FDR for the nomination in 1940, and becomes President. Now would have happened if this eminently sane event had come to pass? Lindbergh, a true patriot who was an anti-interventionist in the mold of George Washington and Thomas Jefferson, would have kept the US out of World War II. There would have been peace, Roth forbid.
Instead,in Roth's confabulations, Lindbergh instantly turns a compliant America into the Hillbilly Reich, the inhabitants of which immediately start whoopin' and yeehawin' because they don't have to send their sons to die in another European war, and instead let their anti-Semitic bloodlust, which Roth thinks is in their DNA, take control of their 70 IQ heads.
Roth will have none of this peace-mongering. He writes of FDR, who really was a semi-fascist and pro-Communist, as a great President unfortunately voted out of office by people who should have been grateful he was going to get them disassembled as cannon fodder by the hundreds of thousands.
He also cheers Lincoln and Woodrow Wilson as great presidents. Apparently, Roth has no education at all.
As for FDR, he maneuvered the Japanese into attacking Pearl Harbor by cutting off their oil and sending the Flying Tigers against them in China. There is substantial evidence he knew Pearl Harbor was going to be attacked -- indeed, he moved the fleet there from the safety of California -- and wanted war with Japan so Stalin (whom he called "Uncle Joe") wouldn't have to fight a two-front war against the Germans and Japanese. If Roth knows about any of this, I'm sure he doesn't believe it. Or if he does believe it, perhaps he agrees with it.
Lindbergh, who was a fine writer and speaker, is portrayed as having even less ability to speak than the stumble-tongued George Bush. He starts a program with the improbable name of "Just Folks," in which Jewish city boys are sent into the country to be Nazified. One of Roth's relatives returns from this hillbilly Dante's Inferno with a taste for ham and bacon, the Devil's Food, which, Roth, gasping in horror, claims destroys his ability to draw and also makes him enjoy picking tobacco and milking cows. Another is forced to move to Kentucky by the federal government, and almost instantly becomes so retarded he can do little more than intone, "Do you like cookies and milk? I like cookies and milk."
Still another, a mother, is murdered -- it's hard to write this with a straight face -- "alongside a potato field" in the Hell-on-Earth know as -- brr!-- Paducah, Kentucky! Leaving her poor son with no parents at all!
Roth also spends an entire chapter on his cousin, who lost part of his leg in the war. He spends that chapter writing in exquisite detail of his cousin's swollen, oozing, scabby, and -- to Roth's oh-so-delicate little-girl sensibilities -- horrifying stump (this is when he's not telling us about his cousin's masturbatory spraying of semen all over the place as he watches little girls though a basement window). The chapter title? Not surprisingly, "The Stump."
Roth is not only terrified of the Midwest, which in his mind starts one millimeter west of the Hudson River, he also swoons in horror at Catholicism, with its "witchy" nuns and "mortician-like" priests.
And, I'll have to admit, I've never read a novel in which all those Catholic Nazi hillbillies infesting Kentucky join the Ku Klux Klan and the American Nazi Party, then break out the kerosene-soaked crosses they've been hiding in their basements, which they hurl at anyone who they think looks like a Jew.
There are even anti-Semitic riots in St. Louis, a place in which I have lived, and where the only semi-riots occurred when the German consulate hung a Nazi flag outside their window, and the gathered crowd got so upset the police had to be called. But Roth does not know these things, having created history out of his head.
The novel is preposterous and surreal to the point of hilarity. Anti-Jewish pogroms in Cleveland? What next, death camps run by the Simpsons, with Lisa as She-Wolf of the SS?
I won't give the ending away, except to say that a cackling Roth gets to engage in his version of genocide against all those inbred 'Tuckians. I'll also say he has gotten the truth backwards and upside down, and in doing so has written a truly repellent anti-Christian, anti-American, anti-human novel, one of the worst I have ever read. If he's got the ability, the man should be ashamed of himself.
At the end of his career Roth shows himself to be as he started it -- paranoid, hate-filled, envious, narcissistic, utterly self-absorbed and utterly self-deluded. As a novelist he will be forgotten. As a decent and honorable man, he never was one.
Benjamin Shapiro, Manly Man!
It must be hard being Benjamin Shapiro. Standing in front of a full-length mirror in a jockstrap, making tuff faces, wondering why you're 21 and have twelvish biceps, being puzzled over why the babes don't swoon over your bitchin' violin playing...and then every damned time, without fail, your shriveled pair makes your strap plop down around your ankles. Honestly, what's a boy to do?
Dry your eyes, I suppose, gaze with admiration and longing upon your Alexander poster of a buff Brad Pitt, hitch up a pair of tighty-whities (the ones with the special "Frank 'n' Beans" codpiece designed to avoid those embarrassing and sometimes not-so-surreptitious public glances), slip your feet into your penny loafers, and thence to the keyboard, trying hopelessly to get that testosterone level to, well, low-low-low-normal at least.
I know that's a hard task, what with the genetically determined wimpification and all, but Benjie does give it the old kindergarten try. Recently he's tried to get the glands to chug out the manly hormones by attacking Pat Buchanan in an execrable column he wrote at the even more execrable WorldNetDaily, a site that used to be pretty good, until publisher Joseph Farah looked down one day and noticed his pair had shriveled up on him, too.
I don't agree with everything Pat Buchanan writes, but I do know he is an honorable man. Shapiro is neither honorable, nor a man. What he is, then? He's...wait a minute...what's that sound I hear? Oh, yeah, there it is: "Buk, buk, buk." That's the squawk of the Chickenhawk, that species that will not fight under any circumstances but instead stands on the sidelines yelling, "Throw the ball there. Okay, now throw it over here."
Benjie's one of those doing the yelling. He's also one of those who will never, ever get onto the field and into the game. That's what having a shriveled pair will do to you, along with shrieking, putting a glass on top of a spider wandering across the kitchen floor, then, with trembling girlish fingers, calling the exterminator.
Buchanan, who Benjie thinks is a naughty, naughty boy, caused him go all PMS when Buchanan wrote a column castigating blundering, war-mongering presidents from Wilson to FDR to Truman to Kennedy to Bush. He's also suggested we give foreign aid to Hamas. They are, after all, democratically elected (the only democracy in the Middle East, you know, hee hee).
Benjie had a hissy fit over Buchanan's column. What, not invade the Middle East to conquer it for Israel's sake, using as a smokescreen the rationalization of pounding democracy into the wogs, even if you have to rub out truckloads of them? Benjie ignores the wisdom of his betters, such as Jesus and Aesop, both of whom noticed that all tyrants call themselves benefactors. Instead, like every Chickenhawk, Benjie drools for war, as long as his eunuch-smooth complexion is never put at risk.
Here are some of the words a palpitating Benjie tapped out about Buchanan: "anti-Semitic...ignorant...anti-Semitic...moral blindness...anti-Semitic...myopic bigotry...anti-Semitic...wisdom and patriotism must be questioned...anti-Semitic...arrogance...anti-Semitic...laughable...anti-Semitic." Ooh, them's fighting words, pardner! Not that Benjie's going to do any fighting, except with his mouth, from behind his computer, from his parents' basement, huddling behind a locked door. Certainly not in Iraq, or Afghanistan...or for his homies in Israel.
Let's cut to the chase, here. Shapiro is a Zionist Jew, and a crazed and cowardly one at that. He puts Israel first. Buchanan is an American. He puts America first. It's as simple as that, once you get beyond the farrago of obscuring, hate-filled verbiage that Shapiro spewed. He may pretend he's a patriot, but that's true only if you define patriotism not as the last refuge of a scoundrel, but the first.
If you think it isn't that simple, Shapiro once wrote a bizarre column, again for WorldNetDaily, in which he hooted, and hooted loudly, for genocide. Hey, wait a minute once again! Isn't genocide what the Nazis did to some Jews...and some Christians...and some homosexuals...and some Gypsies...and some Masons? Or is there good genocide, and not-so-good genocide? In Benjie-world, in a word, yep!
Once you get past Bela Kun Benjie's duplicitous words, what he writes boils down to this: "Kill them. Kill them all, and kill all their kids, too!" He tells us the story of Jewish holiday Purim, in which ancient Jews, during a two-day period, killed "75,000 Jew haters" throughout the Persian Empire, "800 in the capital [sic] city of Shushan alone."
Like, brrr! All 75,000 of them were "Jew haters"? Even the infants? (The relevant quote reads, "Now go and smite Amalek, and utterly destroy all that they have, and spare them not; but slay both man and woman, infant and suckling, ox and sheep, camel and ass.") Wow! Even better, Benjie describes this little tiff as "God's hand...revealed though...the actions of men." Neat! I'll say this, though: it doesn't sound like a Kodak moment to me, not when you're skewering some kid on a stick. Still, I must say, it is way-cool that Benjie has personal knowledge of God's hand and who He's smacking with it.
Benjie refers to all "Jew haters" as the Biblical "Amalek," and tells us it "refers to a real, physical nation. Jews are enjoined to kill descendants of that nation." Benjie defines a Jew hater as...well, anyone he defines as a Jew hater. To him, Buchanan is a Jew-hater, ergo, he is an Amalekite, ergo, he should be killed. And his kids, too! Hey, ain't it a hate crime to say such things? Or even to think them? You know -- like the Thoughtcrimers who point out only about a million-and-a-half Jews died in "the Holocaust," not six million?
If you want to do an interesting thought-experiment with Benjie's piece, replace "Jew" with "Nazi" and "anti-Semite" with Jew. You'll find that Benjie's twisted soul is no different than the most goose-stepping of Nazi's. At least the Nazis had nifty uniforms, ones I suspect Benjie pines for in a quasi-homoerotic kind of way. (By the way, the by-his-own-admission-virginal Talibenjie wrote a book about the evil of pornography, most ironic indeed since Jews dominate the industry both as performers and producers. Basment-dweller underahieverus is so obsessed with porn I suspect he spends a lot of time downstairs exercising his wrist, and I don't mean typing.)
The fact he's never had any puddy (if indeed he really is interested in it) raises an interesting question: could it be related to his lust for mass murder, as long, of course, as he's the one doing the lusting and other people are doing the mass murdering? If so, then do all virginal violin-playing wimps have obscene fantasies of mass murder, destruction and theft? I wonder what name there is for such a sin? Could it be....Satan?!
I wonder what's going to happen to Benjie in the years to come? On the one hand, I suspect he might turn into a more rabid version of Norman "Poddy" Podhoretz, who I'm sure wants to forget a little '60's episode in which he ignored what every mirror told him, put the make on Jackie Kennedy, and then got flicked away like a booger on her finger with the comment, "Mr. Podhoretz, just who do you think you are?"
That last comment also applies to Benjie: Just who does he think he is? Obviously, a 21-year-old who's smarter than Buchanan, the Founding Fathers, and the wisdom of the world. Why? Well, just cuz. Just cuz Americans are supposed to expend blood and treasure defending Israel. Just cuz Benjie says so, without exactly coming out and admitting what is really is -- an Israel-firster, as opposed to an America-firster.
On the other hand, he might turn into Betty Friedan, who recently gave up the ghost, thereby losing her title as the Ugliest Woman in the World. Betty had a Poddy-moment in her life, too, when her overstuffed suitcase burst at an airport, spilling, ahem, "marital aids" onto the floor. I'm sure she needed them, because I can't imagine who would have -- urp -- done her. At least with his eyes open.
Benjie might not go either way. Lookswise, he's a cross between a wimpier version of the necrophilic serial-killer Ted Bundy and the crypto-gay comic-book character, Prince Namor of Atlantis. With that kind of pedigree, and having almost no sense whatsoever in his pointy little inbred head, I suspect he'll crash and burn early, turn into the Zionist version of a bag lady, then spend the rest of his life walking the streets, muttering to himself, "Amalekites...it's their fault...damned Amalekites...shoulda killed their dogs, too."
He's a born coward, a bayonetter of the wounded and helpless, a born sadistic torturer of puppies and kitties, and a born wannabe murderer (one with no balls), with a head full of tangled, sputtering, shorted-out brain-wiring, just like Gen. Jack D. Ripper in Dr. Strangelove, who went all a-twitter over imaginary subversives who wanted to "sap and impurify all our precious bodily fluids."
For that matter, WorldNetDaily has a lot of brain-sputters, too, for running a genocide-promoting nutcase, one who thinks God gave him the right to kill Pat Buchanan and his kids. And -- most probably -- his dog, too.
at Saturday, March 08, 2008
Dry your eyes, I suppose, gaze with admiration and longing upon your Alexander poster of a buff Brad Pitt, hitch up a pair of tighty-whities (the ones with the special "Frank 'n' Beans" codpiece designed to avoid those embarrassing and sometimes not-so-surreptitious public glances), slip your feet into your penny loafers, and thence to the keyboard, trying hopelessly to get that testosterone level to, well, low-low-low-normal at least.
I know that's a hard task, what with the genetically determined wimpification and all, but Benjie does give it the old kindergarten try. Recently he's tried to get the glands to chug out the manly hormones by attacking Pat Buchanan in an execrable column he wrote at the even more execrable WorldNetDaily, a site that used to be pretty good, until publisher Joseph Farah looked down one day and noticed his pair had shriveled up on him, too.
I don't agree with everything Pat Buchanan writes, but I do know he is an honorable man. Shapiro is neither honorable, nor a man. What he is, then? He's...wait a minute...what's that sound I hear? Oh, yeah, there it is: "Buk, buk, buk." That's the squawk of the Chickenhawk, that species that will not fight under any circumstances but instead stands on the sidelines yelling, "Throw the ball there. Okay, now throw it over here."
Benjie's one of those doing the yelling. He's also one of those who will never, ever get onto the field and into the game. That's what having a shriveled pair will do to you, along with shrieking, putting a glass on top of a spider wandering across the kitchen floor, then, with trembling girlish fingers, calling the exterminator.
Buchanan, who Benjie thinks is a naughty, naughty boy, caused him go all PMS when Buchanan wrote a column castigating blundering, war-mongering presidents from Wilson to FDR to Truman to Kennedy to Bush. He's also suggested we give foreign aid to Hamas. They are, after all, democratically elected (the only democracy in the Middle East, you know, hee hee).
Benjie had a hissy fit over Buchanan's column. What, not invade the Middle East to conquer it for Israel's sake, using as a smokescreen the rationalization of pounding democracy into the wogs, even if you have to rub out truckloads of them? Benjie ignores the wisdom of his betters, such as Jesus and Aesop, both of whom noticed that all tyrants call themselves benefactors. Instead, like every Chickenhawk, Benjie drools for war, as long as his eunuch-smooth complexion is never put at risk.
Here are some of the words a palpitating Benjie tapped out about Buchanan: "anti-Semitic...ignorant...anti-Semitic...moral blindness...anti-Semitic...myopic bigotry...anti-Semitic...wisdom and patriotism must be questioned...anti-Semitic...arrogance...anti-Semitic...laughable...anti-Semitic." Ooh, them's fighting words, pardner! Not that Benjie's going to do any fighting, except with his mouth, from behind his computer, from his parents' basement, huddling behind a locked door. Certainly not in Iraq, or Afghanistan...or for his homies in Israel.
Let's cut to the chase, here. Shapiro is a Zionist Jew, and a crazed and cowardly one at that. He puts Israel first. Buchanan is an American. He puts America first. It's as simple as that, once you get beyond the farrago of obscuring, hate-filled verbiage that Shapiro spewed. He may pretend he's a patriot, but that's true only if you define patriotism not as the last refuge of a scoundrel, but the first.
If you think it isn't that simple, Shapiro once wrote a bizarre column, again for WorldNetDaily, in which he hooted, and hooted loudly, for genocide. Hey, wait a minute once again! Isn't genocide what the Nazis did to some Jews...and some Christians...and some homosexuals...and some Gypsies...and some Masons? Or is there good genocide, and not-so-good genocide? In Benjie-world, in a word, yep!
Once you get past Bela Kun Benjie's duplicitous words, what he writes boils down to this: "Kill them. Kill them all, and kill all their kids, too!" He tells us the story of Jewish holiday Purim, in which ancient Jews, during a two-day period, killed "75,000 Jew haters" throughout the Persian Empire, "800 in the capital [sic] city of Shushan alone."
Like, brrr! All 75,000 of them were "Jew haters"? Even the infants? (The relevant quote reads, "Now go and smite Amalek, and utterly destroy all that they have, and spare them not; but slay both man and woman, infant and suckling, ox and sheep, camel and ass.") Wow! Even better, Benjie describes this little tiff as "God's hand...revealed though...the actions of men." Neat! I'll say this, though: it doesn't sound like a Kodak moment to me, not when you're skewering some kid on a stick. Still, I must say, it is way-cool that Benjie has personal knowledge of God's hand and who He's smacking with it.
Benjie refers to all "Jew haters" as the Biblical "Amalek," and tells us it "refers to a real, physical nation. Jews are enjoined to kill descendants of that nation." Benjie defines a Jew hater as...well, anyone he defines as a Jew hater. To him, Buchanan is a Jew-hater, ergo, he is an Amalekite, ergo, he should be killed. And his kids, too! Hey, ain't it a hate crime to say such things? Or even to think them? You know -- like the Thoughtcrimers who point out only about a million-and-a-half Jews died in "the Holocaust," not six million?
If you want to do an interesting thought-experiment with Benjie's piece, replace "Jew" with "Nazi" and "anti-Semite" with Jew. You'll find that Benjie's twisted soul is no different than the most goose-stepping of Nazi's. At least the Nazis had nifty uniforms, ones I suspect Benjie pines for in a quasi-homoerotic kind of way. (By the way, the by-his-own-admission-virginal Talibenjie wrote a book about the evil of pornography, most ironic indeed since Jews dominate the industry both as performers and producers. Basment-dweller underahieverus is so obsessed with porn I suspect he spends a lot of time downstairs exercising his wrist, and I don't mean typing.)
The fact he's never had any puddy (if indeed he really is interested in it) raises an interesting question: could it be related to his lust for mass murder, as long, of course, as he's the one doing the lusting and other people are doing the mass murdering? If so, then do all virginal violin-playing wimps have obscene fantasies of mass murder, destruction and theft? I wonder what name there is for such a sin? Could it be....Satan?!
I wonder what's going to happen to Benjie in the years to come? On the one hand, I suspect he might turn into a more rabid version of Norman "Poddy" Podhoretz, who I'm sure wants to forget a little '60's episode in which he ignored what every mirror told him, put the make on Jackie Kennedy, and then got flicked away like a booger on her finger with the comment, "Mr. Podhoretz, just who do you think you are?"
That last comment also applies to Benjie: Just who does he think he is? Obviously, a 21-year-old who's smarter than Buchanan, the Founding Fathers, and the wisdom of the world. Why? Well, just cuz. Just cuz Americans are supposed to expend blood and treasure defending Israel. Just cuz Benjie says so, without exactly coming out and admitting what is really is -- an Israel-firster, as opposed to an America-firster.
On the other hand, he might turn into Betty Friedan, who recently gave up the ghost, thereby losing her title as the Ugliest Woman in the World. Betty had a Poddy-moment in her life, too, when her overstuffed suitcase burst at an airport, spilling, ahem, "marital aids" onto the floor. I'm sure she needed them, because I can't imagine who would have -- urp -- done her. At least with his eyes open.
Benjie might not go either way. Lookswise, he's a cross between a wimpier version of the necrophilic serial-killer Ted Bundy and the crypto-gay comic-book character, Prince Namor of Atlantis. With that kind of pedigree, and having almost no sense whatsoever in his pointy little inbred head, I suspect he'll crash and burn early, turn into the Zionist version of a bag lady, then spend the rest of his life walking the streets, muttering to himself, "Amalekites...it's their fault...damned Amalekites...shoulda killed their dogs, too."
He's a born coward, a bayonetter of the wounded and helpless, a born sadistic torturer of puppies and kitties, and a born wannabe murderer (one with no balls), with a head full of tangled, sputtering, shorted-out brain-wiring, just like Gen. Jack D. Ripper in Dr. Strangelove, who went all a-twitter over imaginary subversives who wanted to "sap and impurify all our precious bodily fluids."
For that matter, WorldNetDaily has a lot of brain-sputters, too, for running a genocide-promoting nutcase, one who thinks God gave him the right to kill Pat Buchanan and his kids. And -- most probably -- his dog, too.
at Saturday, March 08, 2008
Lil' Pod, Hideously Inbred Nerd
Poor John Podhoretz -- oafish, repulsive, cowardly, backstabbing, boring, a picker-of-his-nose-in-public -- and so dull-witted he couldn't cut soft butter with his forehead. Then there's the Matrix plug in the back of his Foul and Most Foreign Peanut-Shaped Pinhead (F&MFP-SP), the one feeding him the most hallucinogenic of Philip K. Dick novels -- the never-written one in which a brilliant, adventureous Poddy is a cross between Dr. Benton Quest and Race Bannon. If that plug ever falls out, reality will come crashing in on Lil' Pod, and he will see himself in all his grotesque, inbred, Betty Friedanesque glory -- a high-speed DNA collision between Elmer Fudd and Beldar Conehead.
That plug is apparently pumping all sorts of anti-American ideas into Lil' Pod's F&MFS-HP, such as the one that Americans want to import millions of Mexicans who fly the American flag upside-down on a pole and put the Mexican flag above it. It's Lil' Pod who's upside down, a position I've heard described as "cranio-rectal inversion." If it's permanent, it will surely improve his looks. It certainly won't hurt his brains.
Lil'Pod is the Quasimodoesque offspring of the original Poddy, Norman the Now-Senile. Senile Poddy's main claim to fame (excluding all his shameless self-promotion) was putting the make on Jackie Kennedy back in the '60's, then crawling away like a dung beetle after she skewered him with the icy eyeball and contempuously asked him, "Just who do you think you are, Mr. Podhoretz?" Somebody who never looked in a mirror, apparently, or else he didn't believe what they all told him -- that here was a man, no matter what his age, who always looked like an old geezer who should have a stogie in his mouth, wear boxer shorts, and back up his Cadillac on the interstate because he missed his exit.
Lil' Pod's well on his way to his father's decayed state, and suffers from the same malady: the delusion that people should listen to his opinion, even though he's as ignorant as my pug dog, whose underpowered brains can't tell the difference between a hot dog and a cat turd. In a recent article Lil' Pod (I suspect that nickname applies in more ways than one) whirled his pom-poms in support of totally open borders, claiming it's a good thing for the U.S. because he sees "a vibrant, dynamic, extraordinarily strong and extraordinarily stable country that has dealt successfully with far more pressing domestic problems without losing a beat."
See what I mean about that plug in his head? Frosty Wooldridge has a clearer view of what's really going: "Why are we allowing millions of diseased, non-assimilating, poverty-stricken revolutionaries and agitators and criminals, who despise us with a passion and who clearly have every intent of destroying our Republican form of government, into this country? What madness is this?"
Yes, Lil' Pod, it is madness, one that can, and has, destroyed countries. His sputtering synapses apparently can't comprehend this simple fact.
While Lil Pod's father occasionally made sense when he was younger, such as pointing out that the media portrayal of poor, downtrodden blacks was the exact opposite of their predatory behavior experienced by those in the real world, Lil Pod's accomplishments consist of little more than answering the most obscure of trivia questions on Jeopardy about The Seinfeld Show
That's an example of a mind that memorizes every tiny little twig and misses the entire forest.
Just how enormous is Lil Pod's self-delusion, that he does not know what he is? At the Washington Times the column he wrote for it was read out loud, for its laughter-inducing qualities, in a ritual called Podenfreude. For a long time he was referred to as "John P. Normanson," as in "John Podhoretz, Norman's son."
That's just pathetic. And now he completely dismisses as fantasies concerns about the increase in crime, disease, and reduction in wages brought by illegal immigrants, ones who are automatically criminals by being here illegally. He also claims the 14th Amendment, which grants automatic birthright citizenship to the children of illegal aliens, is responsible for "a great deal of the advances made in the 20th century by immigrant children." Apparently he thinks all those 89-IQ Mexican grape pickers are working on Ph.Ds in Molecular Biology in their spare time, or that their children are. . .children who are confused about which flag belongs in what country.
No, Lil' Pod, the critics are not living in a fantasy world. You are. As a leftist, you, like all leftists, don't merely misunderstand human nature; you don't understand it at all. The real world is one you don't want to deal with. One you can't deal with.
What would happen if Lil' Pod's delusional recommendations were put into effect, nation-wide? The result would be catastrophic. Would Lil' Pod say he was wrong and accept responsibility? Of course not. He would blame the problems on someone else, claiming his recommendations were not followed. Even if they were, to the letter.
Such are the wages of self-deception.
If Lil' Pod ever ended up in a field picking crops, he's throw his hands up to heaven, sit down, burst into tears, and wail, "I can't do this work! My butt's too big!" Then he'd wipe his eyes, go home, ignore his minaturized genitalia, and dream a little dream of being a Vikingesque marauder.
Come on, let's be honest here. Lil' Pod is a hideously inbred nerd, the offspring of two grotesque Troksyites -- Midge Dector and the already-mentioned Norman Podhoretz. Such ghastly inbreeding has made Lil' Pod an utter incompetent whose opinion is irrelevant on any issue. Perhaps he might go away some day. Perhaps. Or perhaps he'll just hang around forever like crabgrass and turn into the Fidel Castro of obnoxious stupidity -- a dildo-headed, beady-eyed little dork.
Were he not the son of Norman, he'd spend his life watching TV game shows, yelling at the screen, "I know that answer!" and dreaming of being the center square on Hollywood Squares. And probably having nightmares in which the audience laughed at him when the late Paul Lynde made double entendres he didn't understand, while he sat there like an organ-grinder's puzzled monkey who knows something is wrong, but hasn't quite realized someone has stolen his little red cap.
That plug is apparently pumping all sorts of anti-American ideas into Lil' Pod's F&MFS-HP, such as the one that Americans want to import millions of Mexicans who fly the American flag upside-down on a pole and put the Mexican flag above it. It's Lil' Pod who's upside down, a position I've heard described as "cranio-rectal inversion." If it's permanent, it will surely improve his looks. It certainly won't hurt his brains.
Lil'Pod is the Quasimodoesque offspring of the original Poddy, Norman the Now-Senile. Senile Poddy's main claim to fame (excluding all his shameless self-promotion) was putting the make on Jackie Kennedy back in the '60's, then crawling away like a dung beetle after she skewered him with the icy eyeball and contempuously asked him, "Just who do you think you are, Mr. Podhoretz?" Somebody who never looked in a mirror, apparently, or else he didn't believe what they all told him -- that here was a man, no matter what his age, who always looked like an old geezer who should have a stogie in his mouth, wear boxer shorts, and back up his Cadillac on the interstate because he missed his exit.
Lil' Pod's well on his way to his father's decayed state, and suffers from the same malady: the delusion that people should listen to his opinion, even though he's as ignorant as my pug dog, whose underpowered brains can't tell the difference between a hot dog and a cat turd. In a recent article Lil' Pod (I suspect that nickname applies in more ways than one) whirled his pom-poms in support of totally open borders, claiming it's a good thing for the U.S. because he sees "a vibrant, dynamic, extraordinarily strong and extraordinarily stable country that has dealt successfully with far more pressing domestic problems without losing a beat."
See what I mean about that plug in his head? Frosty Wooldridge has a clearer view of what's really going: "Why are we allowing millions of diseased, non-assimilating, poverty-stricken revolutionaries and agitators and criminals, who despise us with a passion and who clearly have every intent of destroying our Republican form of government, into this country? What madness is this?"
Yes, Lil' Pod, it is madness, one that can, and has, destroyed countries. His sputtering synapses apparently can't comprehend this simple fact.
While Lil Pod's father occasionally made sense when he was younger, such as pointing out that the media portrayal of poor, downtrodden blacks was the exact opposite of their predatory behavior experienced by those in the real world, Lil Pod's accomplishments consist of little more than answering the most obscure of trivia questions on Jeopardy about The Seinfeld Show
That's an example of a mind that memorizes every tiny little twig and misses the entire forest.
Just how enormous is Lil Pod's self-delusion, that he does not know what he is? At the Washington Times the column he wrote for it was read out loud, for its laughter-inducing qualities, in a ritual called Podenfreude. For a long time he was referred to as "John P. Normanson," as in "John Podhoretz, Norman's son."
That's just pathetic. And now he completely dismisses as fantasies concerns about the increase in crime, disease, and reduction in wages brought by illegal immigrants, ones who are automatically criminals by being here illegally. He also claims the 14th Amendment, which grants automatic birthright citizenship to the children of illegal aliens, is responsible for "a great deal of the advances made in the 20th century by immigrant children." Apparently he thinks all those 89-IQ Mexican grape pickers are working on Ph.Ds in Molecular Biology in their spare time, or that their children are. . .children who are confused about which flag belongs in what country.
No, Lil' Pod, the critics are not living in a fantasy world. You are. As a leftist, you, like all leftists, don't merely misunderstand human nature; you don't understand it at all. The real world is one you don't want to deal with. One you can't deal with.
What would happen if Lil' Pod's delusional recommendations were put into effect, nation-wide? The result would be catastrophic. Would Lil' Pod say he was wrong and accept responsibility? Of course not. He would blame the problems on someone else, claiming his recommendations were not followed. Even if they were, to the letter.
Such are the wages of self-deception.
If Lil' Pod ever ended up in a field picking crops, he's throw his hands up to heaven, sit down, burst into tears, and wail, "I can't do this work! My butt's too big!" Then he'd wipe his eyes, go home, ignore his minaturized genitalia, and dream a little dream of being a Vikingesque marauder.
Come on, let's be honest here. Lil' Pod is a hideously inbred nerd, the offspring of two grotesque Troksyites -- Midge Dector and the already-mentioned Norman Podhoretz. Such ghastly inbreeding has made Lil' Pod an utter incompetent whose opinion is irrelevant on any issue. Perhaps he might go away some day. Perhaps. Or perhaps he'll just hang around forever like crabgrass and turn into the Fidel Castro of obnoxious stupidity -- a dildo-headed, beady-eyed little dork.
Were he not the son of Norman, he'd spend his life watching TV game shows, yelling at the screen, "I know that answer!" and dreaming of being the center square on Hollywood Squares. And probably having nightmares in which the audience laughed at him when the late Paul Lynde made double entendres he didn't understand, while he sat there like an organ-grinder's puzzled monkey who knows something is wrong, but hasn't quite realized someone has stolen his little red cap.
Powder: Muscular Teenage Boys...Wet...Glistening
A little over a decade ago I was watching cable and chanced across a movie called “Powder.” I wasn't paying that much attention to it, when suddenly my cultural/art antennae started waving back and worth.
Here's the scene that did it: there are some teenage boys...shirtless...muscular...hairless...with water in slow-motion running down their chests...wet....glistening.
Who's the pervert making this film? I thought. This wasn't merely homosexuality, this was pederasty, possibly pedophilia. There was a similar scene is which another teenage boy, wearing low-cut jeans, has an invisible force (that would be Powder) start to undo the snaps on them. Slowly and lingeringly.
I didn't watch the rest of the film (it was that bad), and then forgot about it. I figured this is Hollywood, which is full of a bunch of perverts, anyway.
A few years later, I found the movie had been written and directed by one Victor Salva, a convicted child molester who had served time in prison for video-taping himself having oral sex with a 12-year-old boy, whom he had molested since the boy was seven. My antennae were right on the mark.
Shamefully, this movie was put out by Walt Disney Studios, of all companies. How did this company go from “Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs” and “Fantasia” to “Powder”?
Intrigued, I rented the film, and found it to be one of the creepiest movies I've ever seen, because it is a window into the mind of a child molester. And if most child molesters are like Salva, they don't see anything wrong with what they are. In their minds, everyone else has the problem.
By the way, Salva only served 15 months of a three-year sentence. Three years for five felony counts? And he was a former child-care worker?
“Powder” is the story of a misunderstood genius (that would be Salva) who may in fact be the Messiah. This is what Salva thinks of himself. In his mind the Messiah gives blowjobs to 12-year-old boys. And it's a good thing.
Powder (who goes by the name Jeremy Green in the movie) is a bald albino 16-year-old whose grandfather, his last remaining relative, dies, leading authorities to find Powder living under the floorboards. That's some grandpa who sticks his grandson in the basement for all 16 of his years.
Powder is immediately stuck into the local school, never mind what he looks like. And what happens? All those shirtless...muscular...wet....glistening jocks begin picking on poor ol' Powder. Why? Because otherwise there wouldn't be a movie.
But Powder shows all of them. His IQ test shows him (that would be Salva) to be the smartest person on the planet. Like I said, he's the Messiah. He also has magical Jesus-like powers. He raises the dead. He reads minds. Wow. So what if Salva blows 12-year-old boys? Doesn't resurrecting dead people make up for that? Of course it does.
Being a child molester, Salva is obsessed with the young... firm...wet...glistening...hairless…genitals...of young boys. In one scene all those mean jocks strip Powder (that would be Salva) naked, and then crow, "Bald as a baby!" I think it's safe to say Salva doesn't like body hair. Kids don't have any body hair. In the world of the Messiah, there is no body hair. It interferes with the Messiah's (that would be Salva) sex life.
Here's a telling comment I found: "Sandra Baker, executive director of the Child and Family Institute in Sacramento, Calif., said child molesters think 'they are more perceptive and beautiful than other people. They feel misunderstood.' Salva's having made Powder a pale, hairless, sensitive outcast fits 'what pedophiles can relate to,' she adds. 'They want their victims to be hairless usually. They don't want adult sex characteristics.'"
Here's what Sgt. Gary Primavera, the police officer who worked on Salva's rape case, said: "Victor has every characteristic of a pedophile that I know of -- and I've worked with enough of them. There was no remorse. The only sadness on Victor's part was that he got caught."
In the movie Powder (that would be Salva) passes on to Heaven (I suppose), courtesy of a lighting bolt. Poof, he just disappears. I wonder: is Salva's Heaven full of hairless 12-year-old boys that he can blow for all of eternity? Or maybe wet...glistening...muscular....hairless jocks? Or maybe Salva's Heaven has both of them Woo hoo!
I'll bet this move is played at NAMBLA gatherings all the time.
Salva is still directing movies. Are there no morals at all in Hollywood? Do we have to nuke the place?
Not long ago he did “Jeepers Creepers,” which has scenes of shirtless, muscular, hairless teenage boys who are caressed and licked by the villain.
Where's a nuclear bomb when you need one? Even the Messiah (that would be Salva) couldn't handle that.
Here's the scene that did it: there are some teenage boys...shirtless...muscular...hairless...with water in slow-motion running down their chests...wet....glistening.
Who's the pervert making this film? I thought. This wasn't merely homosexuality, this was pederasty, possibly pedophilia. There was a similar scene is which another teenage boy, wearing low-cut jeans, has an invisible force (that would be Powder) start to undo the snaps on them. Slowly and lingeringly.
I didn't watch the rest of the film (it was that bad), and then forgot about it. I figured this is Hollywood, which is full of a bunch of perverts, anyway.
A few years later, I found the movie had been written and directed by one Victor Salva, a convicted child molester who had served time in prison for video-taping himself having oral sex with a 12-year-old boy, whom he had molested since the boy was seven. My antennae were right on the mark.
Shamefully, this movie was put out by Walt Disney Studios, of all companies. How did this company go from “Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs” and “Fantasia” to “Powder”?
Intrigued, I rented the film, and found it to be one of the creepiest movies I've ever seen, because it is a window into the mind of a child molester. And if most child molesters are like Salva, they don't see anything wrong with what they are. In their minds, everyone else has the problem.
By the way, Salva only served 15 months of a three-year sentence. Three years for five felony counts? And he was a former child-care worker?
“Powder” is the story of a misunderstood genius (that would be Salva) who may in fact be the Messiah. This is what Salva thinks of himself. In his mind the Messiah gives blowjobs to 12-year-old boys. And it's a good thing.
Powder (who goes by the name Jeremy Green in the movie) is a bald albino 16-year-old whose grandfather, his last remaining relative, dies, leading authorities to find Powder living under the floorboards. That's some grandpa who sticks his grandson in the basement for all 16 of his years.
Powder is immediately stuck into the local school, never mind what he looks like. And what happens? All those shirtless...muscular...wet....glistening jocks begin picking on poor ol' Powder. Why? Because otherwise there wouldn't be a movie.
But Powder shows all of them. His IQ test shows him (that would be Salva) to be the smartest person on the planet. Like I said, he's the Messiah. He also has magical Jesus-like powers. He raises the dead. He reads minds. Wow. So what if Salva blows 12-year-old boys? Doesn't resurrecting dead people make up for that? Of course it does.
Being a child molester, Salva is obsessed with the young... firm...wet...glistening...hairless…genitals...of young boys. In one scene all those mean jocks strip Powder (that would be Salva) naked, and then crow, "Bald as a baby!" I think it's safe to say Salva doesn't like body hair. Kids don't have any body hair. In the world of the Messiah, there is no body hair. It interferes with the Messiah's (that would be Salva) sex life.
Here's a telling comment I found: "Sandra Baker, executive director of the Child and Family Institute in Sacramento, Calif., said child molesters think 'they are more perceptive and beautiful than other people. They feel misunderstood.' Salva's having made Powder a pale, hairless, sensitive outcast fits 'what pedophiles can relate to,' she adds. 'They want their victims to be hairless usually. They don't want adult sex characteristics.'"
Here's what Sgt. Gary Primavera, the police officer who worked on Salva's rape case, said: "Victor has every characteristic of a pedophile that I know of -- and I've worked with enough of them. There was no remorse. The only sadness on Victor's part was that he got caught."
In the movie Powder (that would be Salva) passes on to Heaven (I suppose), courtesy of a lighting bolt. Poof, he just disappears. I wonder: is Salva's Heaven full of hairless 12-year-old boys that he can blow for all of eternity? Or maybe wet...glistening...muscular....hairless jocks? Or maybe Salva's Heaven has both of them Woo hoo!
I'll bet this move is played at NAMBLA gatherings all the time.
Salva is still directing movies. Are there no morals at all in Hollywood? Do we have to nuke the place?
Not long ago he did “Jeepers Creepers,” which has scenes of shirtless, muscular, hairless teenage boys who are caressed and licked by the villain.
Where's a nuclear bomb when you need one? Even the Messiah (that would be Salva) couldn't handle that.
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