Monday, February 22, 2010
A kiss on the hand may be quite continental, but hardhats are a noblewoman-by-marriage's best friend
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Oh hell's bells, just consider this a visual supplement to Betty Cracker's wonderful post.
Just like poor old neglected Snarkopolitan, Betty Cracker's blog looked like Coney Island in January, before it was also jolted into life by a dimwitted neoMcCarthyite schlub who thought she'd be a convenient target, and easily intimidated. And once again, he was predictably wrong.
Now, the dimwitted neoMcCarthyite's chum, Elizabeth Cady Siskind, Voice of All Women Mostly,
is holding a "tribute" to noted Fox populist Lady Lynn Deforester, who deplores elitism unless it's a decrepit acquired-by-marriage title accompanied by an ancient pile in the very best part of London. This would be only half as laughable as it is if it weren't that Lady Lynne holds onto her tatty honorific even as Charlton Heston held onto his last gun, all the while condemning the President, who grew up fatherless and only recently finished paying off his college loans, as an elitist.
But as Betty points out, the New Agenda's pose as "Voice For All Women," is certainly belied by the behavior of its one-and-only visible representative, a woman who is not averse to a few dirty tricks,
Here's a Siskind quote Betty pulled out, which I have decorated to lighten the burden of realizing that women as puerile, snide, and just plain childish as Amy Siskind could have a rolodex full of lazy producers who accept them on short notice as viable mouthpieces for women's rights, and living rooms large enough to hold a half-dozen "prominent" dilettentes whose pretentions are enough to impress fools into parting with their money.
Behold Amy at work, answering an unfortunate who made the mistake of asking an honest question:
brought to you by Snarkopolitan, the undead blog, cataloging just some of the dishonesty and dirt, because we are only one person, and we work, but not on Wall Street!
Sunday, February 21, 2010
Oprah & Tiger, brought together by Pisscylla Herself!
Harvey Bilk, Lord of the Flies at Shillbuzz, certainly is preoccupied with the posteriors of black women! As someone who does what he does to what's left of his crowning glory voluntarily, you would think he'd know when to leave other people's physical characteristics alone! But no essay on Oprah's butt would be complete without talking about Tiger Woods...for some reason. At least not at "freelance events-coordinator" Harvey's One Stop All-You-Can-Hate Shack. I suppose the Daily Hate does count as an event, of sorts.
Brought to you by Snarkopolitan, the undead blog, cataloging just some of the stupidity at Shillbuzz, since we are only one person! (And we have a job.)
Saturday, February 20, 2010
Especially fascinating how you, a gay man who incessantly moans about the horrible times you have had dealing with homophobes, love to slam the president for "effeminacy." But now that you're getting traffic from all those new right-wing friends you've made, got to keep them happy somehow, and what better way than to make them feel at home with a little homophobia?
But, after all, you are running another fundraiser. I suppose "freelance events planners" can't be choosers.
brought to you by Snarkopolitan, the undead blog: we can't catalog all the stupidity at Shillbuzz, because we're only one person! (and we actually have a job)
Thursday, February 18, 2010
Perennially stuck doorbell of intolerance Harvey Bilk of Shillbuzz thinks Michelle Obama is no Jackie Kennedy! Well, we think * Harvey Bilk is no Lloyd Bentsen, either. Though he may be a Bentson, though that is a matter upon which we prefer not to speculate.
Posted without links, begging your pardon. Ever since Shillbuzz shocked poor old neglected Snarkopolitan from a ten-month coma into painful hyper-vigilance, I, I mean, "we," have been averse to linking to the easily-located drive-up window of deep-fried foolishness at Harvey's One-Stop All You Can Hate Shack.
Nevertheless, Snarkopolitan is, thanks to the signal service of Harvey Bilk, awake. And not particularly pleased with him or his little coterie of garbled armchair Marples. So Snarkopolitan will from time to time pop in to Shillbuzz's little enterprise, though don't expect me, I mean us, to keep up with all the nonsense, the vapidity, and the smearing. I am only one person.
*and by "we," I mean "I," but if Harvey insists on using the plural, I may as well avail myself of it as well. Though isn't it eerie that all the writing on Shillbuzz is in the same reedy, nasal, querulous drone?
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
We've yet to hear from God's Mouthpiece Pat Robertson on just why He (that is, God) decided to spare the Big Apple while coming down so hard on Washington and points west, which are actually going to be smacked again. Look, God, it was funny the first time (well, actually, it wasn't). But now it's just getting stale.
Cross-posted at Rumproast, America's Meatiest Blog.
Sunday, February 7, 2010
Pardon me for enjoying this all a little too much. But since Sarah Palin couldn't manage pre-screened, canned questions from the friendliest audience since Edger Bergen was in vaudeville, without studying whatever was written on her palm, I am declaring that from now on, hands shall be known as "Wingnut Teleprompters."
Palinophiles should just be grateful; I could have titled this post something else.
Hand jive with Sarah Palin, the video:
~~SECOND UPDATE * SECOND UPDATE~~EXCLUSIVE FROM THE SNARKONEWSROOM
Citing "just being sick and tired of dealing with Mo--you're not recording this, are you?", an anonymous source within the Palin campaign slipped us this photo from the Opryland greenroom of what was on Sarah's hand BEFORE she wiped some of it off!
X-posted at Rumproast, America's Meatiest Blog.
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
That being the case, I have decided, at great personal risk, to publish his picture, that his physiognomy be available for study to other innocent people.
Proprietor of Shillbuzz with Exhibit A
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It seems he is having a continual party over there at his place in the form of a witchhunt/blegathon (that's a blog begging for money, for those of you who are not aware of all internet--Hi Mom!--traditions).
What is the shortest day in the year? The day between Harvey Bilk's last fundraiser and his next one.
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I got my own graphic and gory tabloid front-page treatment full of fervid, ludicrous speculation that would have made Jonathan Swift pinch himself: was I funded directly by the DNC? Who ran me? How was I connected to an assortment of other hapless innocents? How were they connected to everything? Shillbuzz even ran a chart of the web of lack of connectedness that seemed to have been drawn by the Underpants Gnomes from South Park; at the heart, where the connectivity should go, it is just "?????????" It looks like it was drawn by somebody who had no idea that when you connect the dots, you're supposed to end up with a picture. Because it was:
A taste of crazy cocktail courtesy Shillbuzz's Moonbat Mixologist
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Since, in their eagerness to hunt me, these ninnies have posted names of people in my apartment complex (and married me to one of them, because there are only 6000 people in my complex, and they knew the names of two!),I am not comfortable linking to great rattling nutjob Harvey Bilk's Emporium of McCarthyism and Dubious Fashion Criticism, Shillbuzz. If you desire to see this lunacy for yourself, you can just put poor old neglected Snarkopolitan into a search engine. What comes up is entirely astonishing considering:
- that this blog was moribund, stagnant, que pasa nada mas, in the weeds, bereft of life, inert, and, what really distinguished it from Shillbuzz, I wasn't posting on it. At all. Since MARCH of last year.
- if this blog got fourteen hits back in the day, then it was a good day. My server would probably have gone down at twenty hits; it's Blogger's basic, and you may have noticed that even commenting is a heroic act merely because Blogger can't handle your request the first time, usually. You have to ask everything twice, while it stands there like a sulky teenager, blinking at you and wishing it were somewhere else.
- it was really just for myself, trying out this and that; a comic strip, a painting, some commentary of an obvious, amateurish sort, because I was just a private person. Not that the content was private, but it wasn't meant to be scrutinized through a prism of no-holds-barred political machination and dirty tricks; I could have been writing about tomatoes or grandchildren, but I didn't have tomatoes or grandchildren.
In other words, this is not a DNC/ACORN/SOCIALIST tentacle reaching into the blogosphere, and I had no interest (and still don't) in the private life of one of the planet's most tiresome manufacturers of acid reflux-flavored "snark," Harvey Bilk, Lord of the Flies at Shillbuzz. In fact, the private life of which he complained he had been robbed when he was exposed by somebody unconnected with me, was about as private as a ticker-tape parade, in that he was on TV and in the paper in his capacity as a political operative, yammering away about defeating Obama, a position hardly likely to win many friends in Chicago.The Shillbuzzers took to their assignment of routing out all the information they could regarding me like an ex-husband takes to the tree outside his ex-wife's window with his Loompanics manual. Some of them obviously were aching to exercise talents that had gone wanting since their spouses got that order of protection. They went through my blog, pausing to use my father's last illness to try to pinpoint my age, and sniffed at the drawings in my Flickr account. "Cartoonist," one said. "Couthless," said another.
Nevertheless, the Get Polly page ran out of steam, and was pushed, thankfully, off Shillbuzz's front page, almost by design it would seem; stories that had run before, like the very popular Class V Crass article (another gloriously idiotic pool of Buzzbile aimed, as usual, at Michelle Obama, where she is labeled an angry affirmative action Sasquatch and poor drunken fifties housewife Mamie Eisenhower is held up as the model of deportment).
In fact, there was a certain verticality to the flurry of posts thrown up by Shillbuzz; all that was missing was a picture of the Burj Khalifa in Dubai. So with one last half-hearted swipe at advertising giant Saatchi and Saatchi, the entire screaming mimi about the conspiracy against Harvey Bilk was over faster than you can say "Cyber-stalking is a Fourth-Class Felony."
So the hysteria had died down, my good name had not lately been coupled with the affectionate designation "b***h," and I began going whole hours together without checking the Get Polly page to see whether they had done rifling through my father's last illness (scroll down)in their compassionate Shillbuzz way.
And then along came Amy. Siskind, that is, the erstwhile feminist Spokeswoman for the Voice of All Women whether they know it or like it or not, the New Fourth-Wave Woman's Group, the New Agenda. Their mission statement includes "Safety" for women, which is also part of their somewhat tortured acronym, S.O.U.L. Not that there is anything objectionable about a women's group focusing on Safety, Opportunity, Unity and Leadership, but a visit to the blog posts shoehorned into those four categories will often yield disappointing results: under "Unity," today, for instance, the subheading was, "It's very complicated." "You bet it is!" I said, and clicked, only to find that the article was a review in a rather querulous tone about a Meryl Streep movie called, "It's complicated." It had not the slightest thing to do with Unity.
Unity, is, in fact, the New Agenda's main platform. They are a "non-partisan" woman's group, with the express intention of getting women elected, no matter what their beliefs: just elect'em, and let constituents sort it out later, or what I call, "tissues before issues."
Toward a more perfect union: Shillbuzzers and TNA
*** *** *** ***I have had plenty of tangles with Amy Siskind, the founder of the New Agenda, over her unwavering support of Sarah Palin, someone I consider no better than McCarthy in a beehive, although fortunately she turns out not to have his work ethic. That Siskind is a pawprintless PUMA with something of a national platform, doesn't help matters.
We have clashed on threads at Huffingtonpost, where she or someone very favorable to her is able to wipe some but not all negative comments, and we've clashed at the Daily Beast and More magazine, (sorry, can't link to specific comments, but the whole disaster is fun) where she has no power to delete, and where her coterie of regulars can't save her from general puzzlement if not downright scorn. About the only place outside of her own blog that's safe for Amy is the blog No Quarter, home of smear-peddler Larry Johnson, inventor, merchandiser, and non-producer of the infamous Whitey tape. There she cross-posts her articles to much more acclaim than they receive at any of her big media outlets.
Siskind is, or is trying to become, head of a nationally known womens' organisation. She is in print and on television, visible, nameable. She is a public figure. When she decided to seek this leadership role, she couldn't very well do it anonymously. A large amount of negative commentary has been aimed at her, sometimes by me. This is what comes with taking a public position: criticism.
I am not a public figure, and I blog anonymously. I do this because I'm not seeking public office, because I used to write about where I live, and I disguised the people I wrote about too. And because though the internet is full of good people in my experience mostly, even those whose politics I don't like, there are a few unhinged loons out there who don't know when to leave it onscreen. One such is the nasty piece of work who set his swarm of underoccupied $hillbuzzers on me and others of my friends and acquaintances,purely on the strength of that cluster of ???????'s on that truly wacked map of the tangles in Harvey's addled brain.
Although we have political differences, the one issue on which it ought to be possible to get women to come together is safety, which, as I have emphasized, is the first initial in the New Agenda (or NAG, as I like to call them) acronym of empowerment. Women's safety. Notice, I'm kind of hitting the word SAFETY fairly often here, you notice that?
Good. Because, just as the Get Polly post was sinking into the blessed second page of oblivion at Harvey's One Stop All You Can Hate Shack, a friend of mine went back to one of the first Shillbuzz spectaculars, and on that thread, he found this comment from New Agenda Founder Amy Siskind, which I have, as per custom, dressed up to relieve the ghastly expanse of stupidity and meanness:
That, in case it's hard to read, is the great womens' safety advocate offering to send data mined from her site and those for which she writes to a cyberstalker. She applies the term "gang of thugs" to women who don't support her point of view, and tell her about it in no uncertain terms, online. Using words. That appear before her on a flat screen. For this, she will send our IP addresses, I assume, to Harvey.
For to disagree with Amy Siskind fully merits being called a "b***h" by strangers, having people combing through the phone book looking for your real-life 3D address, and throwing nonsense terms like "defamatory" around, when Siskind has merely been confronted with the faultiness of her own reasoning.
My IP address couldn't possibly be more specific than what has been rooted up by the $hillbuzzers already, and IP addresses are easily changed. So Amy Siskind's attempt to be Quisling For A Day is for nought. But the underhandedness, the sense of entitlement (speaking against me is punishable by law!), the vengefulness, and the sheer foolishness (along with a goodly part of the right-O-sphere, she did not do even the slightest verifying before committing herself online to an unethical act) should be instructive for anyone who thinks Siskind could be a credible leader in the womens' movement.
Monday, February 1, 2010
Harvey Bilk, Lord of the Flies at Shillbuzz, is trying to out me, a private person who has never outed anybody on earth, as part of his continual fundraising efforts on behalf of himself. The Shillbuzzers have been crawling all over this blog, as they have crawled through other innocent people's, ostensibly to avenge his Lordship's "outing," an occurance with which I had nothing to do.
If the Shillbuzzers dig deep enough, they will find that I started this blog when my father was dying. I hadn't an idea what I was going to do with it; it was simply a refuge. Not that it meant to be private; I know the difference between a diary and a public blog, and I am not ashamed of anything I've ever written, or drawn, here or elsewhere. My father used to tell me "never say anything you wouldn't be proud to have on the front page of the New York Times." A tall order, to say the least, but I've tried.
So I knew my writing would be read by strangers, but I had every expectation that there wouldn't be many, and that the few that came would not be pitiless zombies on orders to exact some sort of punishment for something I had never done. Perhaps I was naive. Apparently, there is no way to protect anyone who blogs about something besides lolcats from being used as a political football.
But I'm not going to close my blog on account of the Lord Of The Flies (hobbit my rosy pink foot; he's an Orc trying to squeeze into a Hobbit suit). I've posted nothing on it since last March, if you'll check the archives; but I've had to revive it to deal with Mr. Harvey Bilk of Shillbuzz. If nothing more happens than that he becomes known by that moniker far and wide, it will be enough for me. And he will; before long, when you Shillbuzzers get hip to him, you'll be calling him that yourselves. But for now, you should see that this is a private citizen's blog. An innocent third-party being used to extract money from you. I don't go to your places and spot up the wallpaper. You don't belong here. Now get. Out. Shoo.