In reference to her dismissive quip about 9/11, Norm remarks, "Doris Lessing is a writer of distinction and achievement. But we already know that distinction and achievement don't necessarily save you from saying shameful things." Boy, do we ever know it, most especially in the crossover category of remarks from the craws of those whose distinction derives from fields unrelated to the subject of their remarks. The poster boy of crossovers is that cunning linguist Yesam Chumpsky.
But for sheer tonnage of crapunditry, you can't beat HolyShitWood, whose anthem is, "If your face doesn't mask the odor of your brains, we have just the plastic surgery you need." Whenever I encounter a whiff of what emanates from Enema Town, I am reminded of that HolyShitWood cult classic, "They Shoot Horses' Asses, Don't They?"
The most annoying crossovers, however, are not those meandering to pastures in need of fertilizer, but rather, those whose brain matter has decayed beyond recognition, were it not for its telltale aroma. Among the worthies in this category we have the peanut brain of a former president; the super-heated brain of a former vice president; the corrupted brain of an empire state governor; the gin-soaked brain of a massive senator; the cardboard brain of a pugilistic senator; the pebble brain of another senator; the double-talk brain of an anti-progress domestic; and a couple of shit-for-brains university presidents, one from a traditional and another from the southern ivy. Sadly, this list is continually replenished, for there is never a drought when you need one.
But for sheer tonnage of crapunditry, you can't beat HolyShitWood, whose anthem is, "If your face doesn't mask the odor of your brains, we have just the plastic surgery you need." Whenever I encounter a whiff of what emanates from Enema Town, I am reminded of that HolyShitWood cult classic, "They Shoot Horses' Asses, Don't They?"
The most annoying crossovers, however, are not those meandering to pastures in need of fertilizer, but rather, those whose brain matter has decayed beyond recognition, were it not for its telltale aroma. Among the worthies in this category we have the peanut brain of a former president; the super-heated brain of a former vice president; the corrupted brain of an empire state governor; the gin-soaked brain of a massive senator; the cardboard brain of a pugilistic senator; the pebble brain of another senator; the double-talk brain of an anti-progress domestic; and a couple of shit-for-brains university presidents, one from a traditional and another from the southern ivy. Sadly, this list is continually replenished, for there is never a drought when you need one.
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