As much as I didn't feel like revisiting this issue, there's just a little too much to say to let it go by, so you'll forgive me if I decide to rip Canadian wanker Steve Janke a new one for being the insufferable dick that he is.
First (and I'll try to keep this part brief since there's so much more that needs to be said), it takes a special kind of right-wing assholitude to be waxing apoplectic these days over the appalling and totally unacceptable sentiments of one Deb Frisch, who dumped a pile of disgusting comments in the comments section of one Jeff Goldstein. (You remember Jeff Goldstein, right? You better, otherwise you're in for a serious cock-slapping. But I digress. Onward.)
It's fairly amusing to see the entire citizenry of Wankerville working themselves into a high dudgeon over the comments of one complete non-entity that most of us had never even heard of before. To read Steve's bullshit, you'd think he'd only just now ventured forth from his comfortable bubble to find that, heavens to Betsy, the blogosphere can be an unpleasant place! All that profanity and vulgarity! Why, it's enough to purely give one a case of the vapours, isn't it?
That's some nerve you've got there, Steve, considering the toxic cesspool you and your neo-con wank colleagues live in, with a constant stream of hate-filled bile from some of your best friends. I mean, really -- Ann Coulter, Michelle Malkin, Bill O'Reilly, Rush Limbaugh, Kate McMillan ... oh, my, the list does go on, doesn't it? And yet, here you are, clawing your way through all of that right-wing nastiness and getting your nutsack in a knot over some utter nobody. That's some pretty selective outrage, don't you think, Steve? But that's not why we're here. Oh, no, there's a bigger issue at hand.
As I mentioned in an earlier post, you have to be pretty much a complete jackass to have written the following:
But back to our friend [Robert] McClelland. In my response to McClelland's nastiness, I mentioned my 5-year-old daughter in the context of knowing right from wrong. I wish I hadn't now. For the first time, I feel nervous knowing that McClelland knows I have young children.
To which one can only respond, fuck you, Steve, you lying sack of crap. As I already suggested in an earlier post, there is not a single person on the planet that genuinely believes that you're afraid of Robert McClelland. Not you, not me, not anyone. You know as well as I do that you don't have the slightest fear of Robert doing anything to your precious family but that doesn't stop you from being the despicable douchebag you are and throwing the suggestion out there.
No one's afraid of Robert McClelland, just as no one is legitimately concerned for their personal safety from Deb Frisch. You can think whatever you want of them in terms of wingnuttery or moonbattery or whatever catchy phrase the kids are using these days, but to suggest that you're actually in fear of them is indescribable rubbish. Because when it comes to fear, Steve, no one knows actual fear like those of us on the Left.
You want fear? Let me explain fear, Steve, you pompous prat.
Fear is wondering whether a bumper sticker on your car is going to get you fired. Or maybe arrested.
Fear is wondering if wearing the wrong kind of t-shirt is going to land you in handcuffs.
Fear is wanting to exercise your right to free speech and free expression in the United States, but ending up in a razor wire-surrounded detention center instead. Or maybe just getting the crap kicked out of you by an unhinged neo-con supporter while being held down by three Secret Service agents.
Fear is to want nothing more than to be treated with fairness and consideration, and being driven out of town by a wave of psychotic, religious whackjobs.
Fear is just doing your job as a journalist, and suddenly having your personal information splashed all over the Internet, with suggestions that you should be "hunted down" and taught a lesson.
Fear is never knowing if you're going to be murdered just because you're gay or because you're the wrong kind of doctor.
And, finally, fear is being a judge in the United States when prominent right-wing bloggers are openly calling for your execution, while others are simply murdering your family members.
Don't talk to me about fear, Steve, you insufferable twit. You don't have the foggiest idea what the word means, when one of the biggest issues for you and your brain-dead friends is whether two guys you've never met and will never know have the right to get married. Ooooooh, that's frightening, isn't it, Steve? One wonders how you and your buds can even sleep at night, lying there in mortal dread for the sanctity of your marriages, or scared witless that someone is going to force your kids to learn about evolution, or something equally horrific.
Don't talk to me about fear, Steve. Not until the day that you are genuinely afraid that some crazed atheist who doesn't like you will actually try to murder your kids. Then, and only then, will you have the right to join the discussion.
Until then, Steve, do us all a favour and shut the fuck up.