…doesn’t seem to fear having his…whatever shoved through a plate-glass window. His thoughts on Mr. Ackerman:
From his hermetically sealed masturbatorium, he can…rhetorically threaten people who have soft hands and who type about politics for a living, but who could still pound the Bad Brains out of him (punk reference!) if they ever came face to face, even if it devolved into a girls-school windmill slap-fight, which it probably would. Though they won’t come face-to-face, of course, because being a tough-guy Washington blogger is a bit like being a phone-sex operator: you can pretend you’re sexy, even when you’re wearing a ratty terry cloth robe, hot curlers, and bunny slippers. Just like as a tough guy blogger, you can pretend on the outside that you want to crease the skull of Frank Foer with a baseball bat or annihilate Ryan Lizza in front of his toddler, while on the inside, you’re a moony-eyed trembling fanboy who writes unicorn-and-silly-bandz sentences such as “Yes we did!” when your swain wins an election. Which is sooo not punk rock. But that’s where the Black Flag t-shirt comes in. It’s a symbol. And what it symbolizes is that Hackerman is a dangerous man, not to be trifled with, since Black Flag was an ur-punk band whose former lead singer, Henry Rollins, was a genuine American badass, the Attackerman of his day. You could tell this, because he swore a lot, and wore tight black t-shirts. Even now, screwing with Rollins is like making a death wish. There’s no telling what that muscled wall of menace might do. He might write a really bitchy spoken-word piece about you, then release it as a podcast.
There’s a lot more where that came from. I wouldn’t want to be these “progressive” dweebs. Of course, I would have never wanted to.
[Via Treacher]
Quake in your boots.
Word of the day: “masturbatorium.”
While not advocating violence at anyone, I admit that I’d find it highly amusing if someone were to severely beat “Mr.” Ackerman about the head and shoulders. If they threw him through a plate glass window, that would be hilarious.
Nope sorry,
If violence was brought on to Ackerman as a result of his infantile posts I would consider that a sad day for this country. Freedom of speech means to me that while I may disagree with what you say I do not have the right to physically attack you or prevent you from saying what you want to say.
What I do find hilarious is how an intellectual giant (in his own mind) is reduced to name calling and threats of violence and how those inferior to him (again in his own mind) are ripping him to shreds with words and ideas. He may not be prevented from saying stupid things but what he says can be shown to be worthless.
Violence only proves his point, making his opinion and words worthless, destroys him.
Ah, the masturbatorium, where finger sniffing dweebs disasturbate about anthropogenic climate catastrophe if their greatest watermelon green/socialist fantasies are not fulfilled immediately.
Bilwick1 wins the thread prematurely, but Labash et. al. are correct – no one who actually comes up around and survives the kind of violence he advocates talks the kind of shit he does. Attackerman is reimagining Revenge of the Nerds through the eyes of Tarantino. *cue the ironic torture music*
“Tonight on THIS OLD HOUSE: Adding a masturbatorium . . . “
Hey Bilwick1, you’ve already won the thread. No fair trying to win it twice 🙂
I’m sorry, Greg, but as you can tell that word has just captured my imagination and opened up a whole new world to me. I’m even picturing a 1950s-style EC-ish horror-anthology comic book, “Tales from the Masturbatorium.”
True story: back in the day I went with a friend to a club on Miami Beach to see Black Flag. It was a dank little place and hardly anyone was there. A tiny stage was set up in a room full of naugahyde booths and little round cocktail tables. Eventually, sometime after midnight, local band the Psycho Daisies came on. They were okay. No one pogoed or even seemed to notice. The waitress kept coming buy and asking if we wanted to buy drinks and finally told us that if we sat at the tables we had to buy a drink. So I had a rum and coke. Time passed. Some other local punk band that sucked came on. (Name forgotten. No that wasn’t the name of the band.) More time passed. The crowd, such as it was, got a little restive, in a sluggish way. Finally at around 3 am my friend and I decided to leave. I don’t know if Black Flag ever got there. I think we heard later their van had broken down.
That’s my Black Flag story. It’s not as crazy as my Dead Boys story, but that’s for another time.
“Mr. Magorium’s Wonder Masturbatorium” probably would have done better in the box office from just the ticket sales to Star Wars fan boys.
You’re supposed to call them “Massage Parlors.”
Al, you mean “Chakra Release Therapy Spas” if you want to make any kind of decent money at it, and avoid the police raids.
@Bilwick1
Well okay we’ll just call it running up the score then. Carry on.
You’re supposed to call them “Massage Parlors.”
This was a message parlor.