Oscar Maher Wiener
God I can’t stand Bill Maher. It’s not that I am offended by contrary opinion. In point of fact, I am not sure Maher and I really disagree that much if you boil down his arrogant, self-serving, pate and examine the true motivations and opinions buried deep within.
(Trust me, that’s a lot of boiling just to find something Real).
My problem is with a pellucid talk show host who stacks an audience (and panel) with ringers then smugly plays for an hour off the predictable nods, guffaws, and outright cheers of support as if the drivel he himself espouses is of obvious import and that the wit is somehow his own and not the product of a staff of writers.
Believe it or not, I truly enjoy debate. Good debate. Honest debate between – and this is critical – intelligent opponents, folks on the opposite side of a table who want to discuss the issues truthfully and respectfully. The point of good debate should be, after all, enlightenment.
Maher’s idea of a successful show is one in which he fires off 30-40 off-the-cuff, completely ridiculous and totally unfunny remarks, spouts falderal from both sides of his mouth, then basks in the applause of his home-grown moronic followers as Caligula must have lorded over his private orgies.
Last night was Maher’s post-debate show (of course). I nearly wept when I saw the identity of the keynote guest (read: ultra-“liberal” chowderhead directly to Maher’s right hand, much as young Herod must have sat, patiently waiting for his chance to wield the sword of indecency):
George Carlin.
The reason for my near-tears is threefold:
1. Carlin epitomizes the worst American: a jaded, imbecilic, angry, uninformed, and pathologically generalizing soul who hides his hatred of God, wrapped in kind of self-proclaimed “informed atheism” and anti-government rhetoric that of course gives him the right to act any way he wishes, with absolutely no accountability: damn the morality, damn society, damn them all.
2. He is, or at least was, one of the funniest men I have ever had the pleasure of listening to. Truly, when I was maybe 10 or 11, my parents had his first LP, and I played “Eleven O’Clock News” so many times it wore a groove in the damn record, and laughed so hard it hurt. He was the comedian who not only broke, but burst my cherry, and now he is an acerbic, dried-out, raisin who is just waiting to die to prove to everyone that there is nothing beyond this shit heap world but dirt and worms. It’s a tragedy. He’s not even funny any more.
3. General principle: Maher’s keynote guest, like his show, is meant to be representative of the highest order of liberal Democrat, but invariably these mealy pseudo-intellects represent the passionate Democrats I know about as well as Bill O’Reilly represents real Republicans. I have several Democrat – yes, liberal – relatives who are as passionate about politics as any people I have ever known, and they are also the salt of the earth – in my estimation, diametrically opposite of people like Bill Maher and his cronies.
Segue back to Maher and his compatriot guests, Moore and Carlin. These guys have never been in the military, have never participated in a sport (excepting the times they must have been picked last in gym class or had sand kicked in their faces at beach volleyball events), yet have obviously led troubled lives where they decided that being bitter and narcissistic was the answer, and everything in life must be fodder for ridicule, particularly areas where they’ve been excluded and/or unable to hack it.
Don’t kid yourself. Maher isn’t a liberal. He stands for nothing. He doesn’t represent any contingent other than the pathetic Untermensch:
You know them. When they don’t have a talk show and the backing of another major network or a lucrative book contract, they sit alone in the coffee shop or street corner or bus seat, talking to themselves because no one else will listen to their angry, self-absorbed, rabble.
Hollow antisocial pricks that would repulse even Nietzsche.
They are the simpletons who couldn’t find a place in society where they weren’t being ridiculed for one thing or another, so it is their lot to point the finger at everyone and everything that doesn’t suit them. There is nothing as noble as a true cause for these pumpkin-heads. Worse, they are vampires, living in the shadows, cowardly suckling off the black lifeblood of hypocrisy.
Take the stand against wealth and privilege:
Do you really believe “celebrities” like Maher and Moore and Carlin shake their heads magnanimously with palm held forth when the royalty checks are presented to them, bashfully admonishing: “Oh no, I couldn’t possibly…I plan to remain chaste in the matters of financial success. I will eke out my meager existence in the spirit of monetary celibacy.”
You can bet your last dollar that Maher get hives the night before the ratings are announced. These blowhards pontificate about the apparent evils of “oil money” and “privilege”. Fine. But do they make a stand? Do they produce their own financial statements? No. They buy the next summer home, chuckling and chortling all the way to the bank to make the withdrawal.
When I see the masses bow down to these cretins of self-serving rhetoric and hypocrisy, one word glows in soft electric pink, like the unwelcome sign of an adult bookstore encroaching on the better neighborhoods in the depths of my mind, silent harbinger of our race’s eventual demise:
Suckers.
The back seat is quiet.
(Trust me, that’s a lot of boiling just to find something Real).
My problem is with a pellucid talk show host who stacks an audience (and panel) with ringers then smugly plays for an hour off the predictable nods, guffaws, and outright cheers of support as if the drivel he himself espouses is of obvious import and that the wit is somehow his own and not the product of a staff of writers.
Believe it or not, I truly enjoy debate. Good debate. Honest debate between – and this is critical – intelligent opponents, folks on the opposite side of a table who want to discuss the issues truthfully and respectfully. The point of good debate should be, after all, enlightenment.
Maher’s idea of a successful show is one in which he fires off 30-40 off-the-cuff, completely ridiculous and totally unfunny remarks, spouts falderal from both sides of his mouth, then basks in the applause of his home-grown moronic followers as Caligula must have lorded over his private orgies.
Last night was Maher’s post-debate show (of course). I nearly wept when I saw the identity of the keynote guest (read: ultra-“liberal” chowderhead directly to Maher’s right hand, much as young Herod must have sat, patiently waiting for his chance to wield the sword of indecency):
George Carlin.
The reason for my near-tears is threefold:
1. Carlin epitomizes the worst American: a jaded, imbecilic, angry, uninformed, and pathologically generalizing soul who hides his hatred of God, wrapped in kind of self-proclaimed “informed atheism” and anti-government rhetoric that of course gives him the right to act any way he wishes, with absolutely no accountability: damn the morality, damn society, damn them all.
2. He is, or at least was, one of the funniest men I have ever had the pleasure of listening to. Truly, when I was maybe 10 or 11, my parents had his first LP, and I played “Eleven O’Clock News” so many times it wore a groove in the damn record, and laughed so hard it hurt. He was the comedian who not only broke, but burst my cherry, and now he is an acerbic, dried-out, raisin who is just waiting to die to prove to everyone that there is nothing beyond this shit heap world but dirt and worms. It’s a tragedy. He’s not even funny any more.
3. General principle: Maher’s keynote guest, like his show, is meant to be representative of the highest order of liberal Democrat, but invariably these mealy pseudo-intellects represent the passionate Democrats I know about as well as Bill O’Reilly represents real Republicans. I have several Democrat – yes, liberal – relatives who are as passionate about politics as any people I have ever known, and they are also the salt of the earth – in my estimation, diametrically opposite of people like Bill Maher and his cronies.
Segue back to Maher and his compatriot guests, Moore and Carlin. These guys have never been in the military, have never participated in a sport (excepting the times they must have been picked last in gym class or had sand kicked in their faces at beach volleyball events), yet have obviously led troubled lives where they decided that being bitter and narcissistic was the answer, and everything in life must be fodder for ridicule, particularly areas where they’ve been excluded and/or unable to hack it.
Don’t kid yourself. Maher isn’t a liberal. He stands for nothing. He doesn’t represent any contingent other than the pathetic Untermensch:
You know them. When they don’t have a talk show and the backing of another major network or a lucrative book contract, they sit alone in the coffee shop or street corner or bus seat, talking to themselves because no one else will listen to their angry, self-absorbed, rabble.
Hollow antisocial pricks that would repulse even Nietzsche.
They are the simpletons who couldn’t find a place in society where they weren’t being ridiculed for one thing or another, so it is their lot to point the finger at everyone and everything that doesn’t suit them. There is nothing as noble as a true cause for these pumpkin-heads. Worse, they are vampires, living in the shadows, cowardly suckling off the black lifeblood of hypocrisy.
Take the stand against wealth and privilege:
Do you really believe “celebrities” like Maher and Moore and Carlin shake their heads magnanimously with palm held forth when the royalty checks are presented to them, bashfully admonishing: “Oh no, I couldn’t possibly…I plan to remain chaste in the matters of financial success. I will eke out my meager existence in the spirit of monetary celibacy.”
You can bet your last dollar that Maher get hives the night before the ratings are announced. These blowhards pontificate about the apparent evils of “oil money” and “privilege”. Fine. But do they make a stand? Do they produce their own financial statements? No. They buy the next summer home, chuckling and chortling all the way to the bank to make the withdrawal.
When I see the masses bow down to these cretins of self-serving rhetoric and hypocrisy, one word glows in soft electric pink, like the unwelcome sign of an adult bookstore encroaching on the better neighborhoods in the depths of my mind, silent harbinger of our race’s eventual demise:
Suckers.
The back seat is quiet.
posted by Commish at 7:48 AM
1 comments
