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Cage Match!!!

Finally!  It’s the announcement you’ve all been waiting for!!!


The Religious Right’s evangelical “kingmaker,” the Reverend James Dobson, reluctant to undertake a lengthy four or five year recovery project to save Ted Haggard’s soul from teh gay, has proposed instead a revolutionary new “shock and awe” rehabilitation technique to save Ted’s life once and for all:

A manly, virile, über-heterosexual Steel Cage Match against a certain feral, spectral, and extremely dangeral Liberal Professor!

And so . . .

The battle unfolds as you, the cadres and fellow travelers of the We Are All Nuclear Fireball Now Party, chronicle it!  This means that all of you get to call the action, play-by-play style, in this very comment section!!!  With exclamation points aplenty!!!!!

In the spirit of this group event in which we are always already splitting and always already fused (Communislamofeminiliberamexicadisabilitifascistically speaking), please allow others to respond creatively to the beautiful set-ups you give them. You may of course post a response to one of your own action-packed posts (because your idea is so brilliant and no one else has thought of it yet), but you might give others a chance to respond first.

There will inevitably be multiple story lines happening as people post and respond to posts in a myriad of ways. Embrace the chaos and go with the flow.

You are not allowed to declare either of the participants to be “dead” or no longer able to continue in the match.  And when one combatant compares another to Hitler . . . the thread is not over!!!!

If you would like to post graphics, please link to images that are hosted off-site.  Because these giant nuclear illustrations and norquist particle accelerators don’t come cheap!

And have fun!

Oaktown Girl
Minister of Justice


Cage matchup by Oaktown Girl

Cage match poster written by Oaktown Girl, artistically executed by peter ramus
Technical consultant: Bill Benzon
Ongoing thanks to: Michael Bérubé

Posted by on 12/08 at 11:00 AM
  1. Thank our libsecular nondeity that WAAGNFNP has no sanctions against performance-enhancing drugs.  No other way Haggard would stand a chance against eight, nine Bérubés.

    Captcha: city.  Not the Thrilla in Manila.  Oaktown Smackdown?

    Posted by  on  12/08  at  12:13 PM
  2. As a point of interest and information, I note that today is Buddha’s Enlightenment Day.

    Can their be any greater celebration of the void than this Cage Match? One contestant has a void where other creatures have brains, the other seeks to make us all One with the Void in the glorious GNF.

    Let the games begin!

    Bill Benzon
    Minister of Visual Propaganda

    Posted by Bill Benzon  on  12/08  at  12:17 PM
  3. The bell sounds and we’re off! The fighters circle each other warily, Berube moving to the left, as he usually does, Haggard to the right. No surprises here in the early going.

    Posted by John Protevi  on  12/08  at  12:17 PM
  4. I don’t know. I look at those gleaming teeth on the Reverend Ted as the two of them cirlcle each other in the cage and I can’t help but think a weaponized smile like that will be awfully hard for the Professor to ironize.

    Posted by  on  12/08  at  12:22 PM
  5. Wait! What’s this? Ted is levitating! How will Bérubé respond?

    Posted by Orange  on  12/08  at  12:23 PM
  6. After a half-circle each, the fighters collide with each other!! Berube is stunned by the heat of Haggard’s MNF (Mini Nuclear Fireball), but summoning images of Rod Gilbert, Vic Hadfield, and Jean Ratelle he unleashes a GAG line of his own: “I’ve seen better fireballs on a runaway Zamboni!” Haggard is befuddled and looks to his corner for help.

    Posted by John Protevi  on  12/08  at  12:29 PM
  7. Haggard tries a new tactic as he seeks to corner Bérubé in the “no-spin zone.” Will he try an exorcism?

    No! The Floating Head deftly glides to his left.  But wait!  He has stumbled while striking a “Heisman” pose.

    Posted by John H.  on  12/08  at  12:39 PM
  8. In Haggard’s corner sits a wily Mike Jones (the male prostitute with whom Haggard had an alleged relationship for three years). He whispers to Haggard, “Tell him he might know a thing or two about *levitating* head, but what does he know about *giving* head?”

    Charity is the best defence. Nothing beats good head. (I can’t believe I just wrote that). smile

    Posted by  on  12/08  at  12:41 PM
  9. Berube, having been tipped off to Haggart’s weakness, makes a run for him; but Haggart just grins and grins, letting his family absorb the blow.

    Posted by  on  12/08  at  12:46 PM
  10. "May you be filled with the Season’s spirit!” commands NukeHead-Ted.

    The floating head freezes, cogito-rially struck dumb. “Am I filled with glad tidings? Am I a soldier in the War on Christmas? If so, which side? Am I to don gay apparel?”

    Time. Stands. Still.

    Posted by black dog barking  on  12/08  at  12:50 PM
  11. What’s this?

    It looks like his corner is handing something to the Reverend.

    Mother of Mercy, it looks like reading material!

    Yes, yes it is!

    It’s some sort of literature, ladies and gentlemen!

    He’s waving it hypnotically in front of the Professor’s face! The Professor can’t keep his eyes off of it! He’s leafing through it now, he’s completely distracted!

    Posted by  on  12/08  at  12:53 PM
  12. Confusion reigns. Berube aimed for Haggart - but he was just a phantom! The real Haggard ambushes him from behind in cowardly fashion. Will the floating head be able to float out of this? Stay tuned while we take a short break.

    Posted by  on  12/08  at  12:56 PM
  13. BUT ALAS… the floating head doesn’t realize that the reading material is some kind of religious wingnuttery in bullet pointed pamphlet form… floating head almost succumbs, but just as he pulls out his checkbook and begins scratching out a check to the RNC his native close reading skills combined with his years of training at Indoctrination U pull him from the grips of the Reverend’s hitherto hegemonic “reading material hold.”

    Posted by  on  12/08  at  01:02 PM
  14. In the crowds, conventional wrestling fans are crying out, “Put him in the figure-four leg-lock!” But since neither combatant has legs, the crowd begins to chant, “Put him in the figure-four head-lock!”

    Easier said than done:

    Posted by  on  12/08  at  01:19 PM
  15. Suddenly, everyone is run over by a truck!

    Posted by  on  12/08  at  01:23 PM
  16. Bérubé is suddenly rattled by cries from the crowd.  One man calls out, “You can out-class him, Michael!” Another cries in response, “No, you can out-culture him!”

    As MB intervenes to straighten them out, Haggard gives Bérubé a vicious headbutt.  Haggard then begs that we minimize use of the word “headbutt.”

    Posted by Crazy Little Thing  on  12/08  at  01:28 PM
  17. Haggard, yes, the real one, steps from the truck--filled with his ever multiplying family (metastasizing, you might say)--leaps from the truck, executes the D, DB, B, square on his controller (which should create a “backwards fireball”), but is caught up short by Berube’s secret snide card: “You’re punching above your weight, man.” Haggard reconsiders his approach. Berube takes the opportunity of the pause to grade a heap of papers. Meanwhile, Haggard drives off, bulks up--way up, in fact--and returns to a bleary-eyed, vulnerable Berube, who’s just delivered that semester’s last B+ to the registrar. There’s a victory there, but it’s not the one that Berube needs.

    Posted by  on  12/08  at  01:44 PM
  18. But wait: Michael has drawn on the strength of his party to simultaneously split and fuse with the truck. The ginormous disembodied head has gone diesel! This could be bad news for Ted.

    Posted by  on  12/08  at  01:45 PM
  19. Unfortunately, the ring judges’ interpretations of the proceedings are incommensurable. This will have to be fight to the death! The truck-driver is ticketed - it turns out he has an Illinois licence. No wonder he ran right over the fight of the century!

    Posted by  on  12/08  at  01:48 PM
  20. Speaking of disembodied heads:

    Head + PHONOH

    BTW that red post is the Post of Purification and Purgation.

    Bill Benzon
    Minister of Visual Propaganda

    Posted by Bill Benzon  on  12/08  at  01:58 PM
  21. Do what now?

    Posted by norbizness  on  12/08  at  02:05 PM
  22. Karl Marx and Bill O’Reilly attempt to battle their way into the ring to tag-team with the combatants. The referees are shaking their heads.

    Posted by Orange  on  12/08  at  02:09 PM
  23. Wait a minute, just who was that truck driver?  The crowd is making some noise that sounds like “Slivovitz.” Is Michael gonna be tag-teamed?

    Posted by  on  12/08  at  02:12 PM
  24. Uh oh, it looks like the fix may be in! D.Ho and the thought police show up and try to tag Michael with a third strike for gaywalking - they claim that truck had right of way!

    Posted by  on  12/08  at  02:17 PM
  25. Dipping into the Christmas, I mean Holiday, I mean Festivus, I mean Saturnalia, whatever; eggnog a bit early when you agreed to this one, eh Perfesser?

    Posted by  on  12/08  at  02:21 PM
  26. A dazed and confused truck driver emerges from the wreckage. A stunned hush falls over the crowd - it’s Michael Richards!

    Posted by Oaktown Girl  on  12/08  at  02:29 PM
  27. Holy Cow--what is happening???

    It looks like the ghosts of Stu Hart and his son Owen Hart have entered the arena--also in the form of disembodied heads! They are cleaning up in here, knocking out the Haggard fans and their entourage of tag team candidates!

    They have Haggard in a Cobra Twist in the corner, and Haggard is mumbling something about how he would prefer the Fireman’s Carry, instead. They are offering to toss his salad, or something to that effect…

    Posted by  on  12/08  at  02:33 PM
  28. Ted!  Ted!  Tag me in!  It looks like you could use some crank a breather.

    Posted by Mike Jones  on  12/08  at  02:53 PM
  29. Before the match begins, Harrard approaches Bérubé in the middle of the ring, looking tense and focused but amiable.  “You know, Michael,” he says, “I don’t think you have a giant, fat head.  But I’ve always wondered why you looked so pissed in every picture I’ve seen of you.  I wanted to buy and read your book, but the ghost head on the cover just looked at my disapprovingly, as if to say, ‘What, are you going to pretend like you can read and understand this book?’ So I didn’t buy it.  And whenever I went to your website, there would always be a picture of you, looking lean and dangeral and so, so haw--uh, I mean, a picture of you glaring at me.  So I never read your blog.  Who knows,” he continues, looking down, beginning to weep, “perhaps if I hadn’t been scared off by your intimidating, glowering head, I could have come to accept myself, and, and, maybe it wouldn’t have had to come to this...” He puts his head in his hands.

    “There, there,” says, Michael, moving swiftly to the center of the ring.  “All I ever wanted to do was educate the folks!”

    And at that moment...you can barely catch a glimpse, through Haggard’s fingers, of a malicious gleam in his eye.  Now, Bérubé’s guard is down...and Haggard wallops him!!!!  Oh, no, Bérubé is on the ground!!!  Haggard is kicking him--he’s showing no mercy!!!  “I’m gonna finish you off like the last bit of meth, boy!!!!” Now Haggard rips away an adjoining internet tube--and a horse and jockey spill into the ring!!!  “What the hell?  We’ve got to get out of here, She’s The One,” says the jockey. 

    Meanwhile, Haggard is savagely beating Michael with the internet tube.  Michael cries, “Enough! Enough! Uncle!” Haggard lets up.  “Ha, ha, that was easy, you godless liberal.” Bérubé gets to his feet--"That was just the famous Bérubé irony, you speed-tweaked fool!!!  Ha, ha, ha!!!  No one can tell when I’m serious and when I’m ironic, remember?  I mean, I’m obviously not being ironic right now, am I?  That’s my secret power, Ted.  You need to spend less time worrying about sex acts and more thinking about speech acts!!”

    “How dare you, Bérubé!  Why, there’ll be a cold day in hell before I read one of your Theory Tuesdays!  Prepare to die!!” But Bérubé rips out an internet tube of his own, and hurls it mightily at Haggard.  It impales him, and pins him to the wall behind him (what wall? I thought they were in a cage?).  Steam is flowing out of the tube.  Bérubé says, in his best faux-Austrian accent, “Hey, Haggard, blow off some steam!”

    But as Haggard hangs there limply, the malicious gleam returns to his eye…

    Posted by Heraclitus  on  12/08  at  03:13 PM
  30. Seemingly out of nowhere a cry of “hypocrisy” splits the steamy air. Ted follows up his rhetorical roundhouse with, “How can you can you claim to be tolerant and inclusive while simultaneously bashing a gay man?” Berube looks shaken! His eyes are glassy and his orbit is wobbly!

    Posted by  on  12/08  at  03:15 PM
  31. It looks like this may be a good occasion for the “Family Values” half-time show, brought to you by the Virgin Lutheran Church of the Flaming Christ:


    Bear with us, audience, while our teenaged pages and staffers start winding their way through the bleechers to offer you an autographed piece of crank. All proceeds will go to the Haggard Rehabilitation Fund. God bless and happy holidays.

    captcha: called, as in “He called and I was saved.”

    Posted by  on  12/08  at  03:16 PM
  32. Bérubé starts out strong with a deft series of arguments followed by several strong rhetorical blows. Haggard counters with a stunning display of humility: “You might be right, Michael,” followed by, “I never thought about it that way.” Is Michael winning, or is this some sort of Christian jiu-jitsu? One thing’s for sure—none of Bérubé’s punches are landing. The Professor in desperation unleashes a torrent of satire! Not since Doug Piranha took on the British underworld has this writer seen such a display of brutal wit. Haggard seems stunned, but then he begins to laugh. Slowly at first, and then gales and gales of laughter.

    Bérubé steps back, shocked by the unusual response. Haggard steps in for the coup de grâce: “My goodness, you’re hilarious!”—Bérubé’s looking nervous—“Do you have any books currently in print that I might buy?”

    Exhausted, Bérubé staggers backward. It looks like it’s all over. Haggard is barely ruffled, while Bérubé is breathing heavily, his bare chest heaving. Sweat drips from his body, and every taut muscle in his lean, rock-hard body glistens in the amphitheater’s bright lights.  He looks like some savage man-beast, all fury and desire. A breeze blows in from an open doorway, and Bérubé’s skin seems to ripple like a jungle cat’s.

    The referee steps in to hand the victory to Haggard when—what’s this?—a clearly distracted Haggard has fallen to his knees! His eyes screwed tight, he licks his lips, and emits a high, girlish whimper. Struggling mightily to shake himself from his reverie, Haggard bolts upright, leaps from the ring, and runs screaming for the exit!

    Posted by  on  12/08  at  03:17 PM
  33. Sitting up here in the really cheap seats where we can’t quite see the cheap shots very well (that below the belt knee jerk did seem to take the breath away from Teddy for a moment), i couldn’t help but pay some attention to the trio of the holy trinity sitting down to my left.  Lennon was talking to Hendrix and Garcia about classism and racism; and rambling on muttering about the post-structuralist frenchified hero as the salt of the earth spicing up the beggers banquet, dining on american bourgouise theocats, or some such thang.  Then i caught this one:

    In my case I’ve never not been political, though religion tended to overshadow it in my acid days; that would be around ‘65 or ‘66. And that religion was directly the result of all that superstar shit--religion was an outlet for my repression. I thought, ‘Well, there’s something else to life, isn’t there? This isn’t it, surely?’

    But I was always political in a way, you know. In the two books I wrote, even though they were written in a sort of Joycean gobbledegook, there’s many knocks at religion and there is a play about a worker and a capitalist. I’ve been satirising the system since my childhood. I used to write magazines in school and hand them around.

    I was very conscious of class, they would say with I have a chip on my shoulder, because I knew what happened to me and I knew about the class repression coming down on us--it was a fucking fact but in the hurricane Beatle world it got left out, I got farther away from reality for a time.

    Aaahh the farther away from reality world.  That must be the look on Haggard’s face i am barely able to see, now that he has been dragged screaming and kicking back into the center of the ring.  And Bérubé appears to be readying himself for his infamous full-body cross-check, w/ slashing high stick, leap of doom.

    Posted by  on  12/08  at  03:47 PM
  34. Do what now?

    Launch ‘GNF.’

    For great justice!

    (You know who’s hated by dial-up users? Bill Benzon and Oaktown Girl!  And Foucault!  And society!)

    (No, I’m not currently using dial-up.  But I’ve been known to.)

    (Actually, though, I don’t hate Mr. Benzon and Ms. Girl.  My love for them is tempered by frustration on occasion, however.)

    (Foucault, nothing but hate for you, dude.  You could have simply apologized for performing that speech act with my sister, but noooo.)

    Posted by  on  12/08  at  04:04 PM
  35. Uh… not to seem like a cad or anything, but could mds or their sister please refresh me memory?

    What *particular* speech act did I perform with her again? Sorry: so many babes, so little time.

    captcha: yes, as in “Yes, I am probably responsible.”

    Posted by  on  12/08  at  04:07 PM
  36. "But Professor Bérubé,” says the jockey, “if you use undecidability to win the match, how can the judges decide it in your favor?”

    “I actually address that in the longer version of my paper,” begins Bérubé, suddenly forgetting about Haggard…

    Posted by Heraclitus  on  12/08  at  04:09 PM
  37. In the post GNF world there will be no need of dial-up for the intertubes will be free and open to users and all dimensions of the time-space continuum. There will be fission and fusion beyond all boundaries and beyond all reason.

    Posted by Bill Benzon  on  12/08  at  04:15 PM
  38. Suddenly Rick Santorum jumps into the ring to back Haggard up, reminding him of the patented First-The-Islamofascist-Professors-Then-The-Gays-Next-Bestiality Maneuver.


    Bérubé reels from the double punch of perversion and cuteness.

    Posted by  on  12/08  at  04:30 PM
  39. ...but what’s that that just fell out of Ted’s glove???  it looks like a mini-cast iron bust of Roy Cohn!!

    Posted by mark  on  12/08  at  04:37 PM
  40. Ted, weakened by the Prof’s head-check with an illegal Liberal Arts-laced Hockey Stick, is unable to exploit Floating Head Prof’s distraction with both the jockey and the bunnies.

    Dobson looms high above, sitting in the luxury box seats. But he’s not enjoying the match. Frustration blanketing his face, he repeatedly looks down at his watch. Nuke Head Ted should have finished off that weak-ass Floating Head long ago. He hasn’t got time for this shit.

    Dobson calls one of the many pre-teen boys he is “mentoring to manhood” to his side. Dobson slips something into the boy’s hand and sends him to Ted’s corner. An exchange is made, and Ted puts something in his mouth. Nuke Head Ted’s nuclear fireball is regenerating, growing stronger and stronger…

    Posted by Oaktown Girl  on  12/08  at  04:48 PM
  41. And NukeHeadTed stirs, and a fire comes back into his eyes, and he says “Interesting scheduling to this fight, it occurs to me. Could it be that you need to distract your readers in Rovian Style from the quagmire your prosecution in the CCST has become? Well, Mission Accomplished! I must say the Derek Smalls Flight Suit is a nice touch.”

    captcha: “shot,” as in “cheap”

    Posted by Chris Clarke  on  12/08  at  04:51 PM
  42. Posted by  on  12/08  at  04:59 PM
  43. Chris Clarke is escorted from the premises by MOOAD security, which he takes issue with.
    Ted, knowing that he can’t win without somebody stabbing the Chair in the back, launches his local nuclear fireball in a last desperate attempt to knock the professor out…

    Tribunus Laticlavius, Ministry of Offense and Defense

    Posted by  on  12/08  at  05:01 PM
  44. ... in the excessively wet and exposed action that is sure to be required!!!! ...

    Bite me, captcha.

    Posted by  on  12/08  at  05:04 PM
  45. Ken, the Deputy would like a word with you…

    Secretary to the Deputy Effectuator
    Bureau of Lost or Stolen Appellations

    Posted by  on  12/08  at  05:30 PM
  46. ... but the ghostly floating head professor blocks the piddling fireball with a 3000-word blog post! Nice move! Berube’s defensive stats are excellent this season. He was a first-round draft pick for his rock solid word walls.

    Posted by  on  12/08  at  05:41 PM
  47. Michael and Rev. Ted agree to a pissing contest off the G.W. Bridge. While they’re relieving themselves Rev. Ted says, “this water is cold.” Michael responds: “and deep too.” It’s Berube by TKO in a really masculine way that we all admire,however secretly; Rev. Ted protests saying “tis a mere fleshwound .. come back and I’ll bite your legs off.” Let’s find a bar to celebrate.

    Posted by  on  12/08  at  05:49 PM
  48. Zeke, having seen his human be escorted from the premises by MOOAD, bites Haggard in the leg, preventing Haggard from triggering the fuse on the local nukular fireball.

    Posted by  on  12/08  at  05:52 PM
  49. And then Ted hears the drumming.  It seems to come from far away, until, too late, he realizes that his back is being used as a marching field drum upon which the Dark and Dangerous Professor is using Vic Firth 3S customs to set up an arena pulsing cadence, harmonically vibrating the structural support base beams under the ring’s toney superstructure.  Ted begins to feel his own cellular structure dilate into non-corporeality, thereby defusing his head nuke.

    Posted by  on  12/08  at  05:58 PM
  50. Ahem. It is possible there was a mix-up and MOOAD actually ecorted not Chris Clarke, but his sockpuppet Lee Siegel from the premises! Those responsible are being reeducated as we speak.

    Meanwhile, Haggards LNF fizzles due to an unexplained fuse-malfunction, and the floating head recovers.

    Tribunus Laticlavius, Ministry of Offense and Defense

    captcha: good, as in “not exactly good work by MOOAD security”

    Posted by  on  12/08  at  05:59 PM
  51. This is so exciting! I wonder just how long these two can keep it -er- up?
    captcha: century
    As in the cage match of the century. Let’s get ready to rumble!

    Posted by  on  12/08  at  06:00 PM
  52. Floaty head Prof gathers his strength and is about to unleash a torrent of blistering jargon (you differancin’ metonymic scopophilic objet petit a!) when suddenly the world goes dark and quiet and somewhere a violin strikes a few long melancholic notes as Haggard’s true identity becomes clear…

    Stiffler? Berube whispers.

    Posted by  on  12/08  at  08:20 PM
  53. Oh, but it’s a lighting trick!  Haggard isn’t stiffler, and the Jennifer Holiday-like shadow that at first appeared to be Stiffler’s mom actually turns out to be a reverend’s wife who has so let herself go that there is no way Haggard will be up to deploying any Song of Solomon inspired moves in this match.  The ginormous floating head of Berube lets Haggard kiss him with the kisses of “sweet Jesus that hurts!”, for Berube’s love of the ring is sweeter than wine.

    Posted by Dr. Free-Ride  on  12/08  at  09:30 PM
  54. Giant bunnies descend upon the contestants and suffocate them!

    Posted by Hattie  on  12/08  at  11:41 PM
  55. Though it may still be too early to call this gripping match, I want to dedicate it to the memory of Ed Whalen:


    As Whalen always used to say at the end of every show: “In the meantime, and in between time, thank you for watching another edition of Stampede Wrestling!”

    Posted by  on  12/08  at  11:44 PM
  56. Golly! It’s the blogospheric analogue of the Many-worlds interpretation of quamtum mechanics on this blog today. Simultaneous parallel threads with subtle differences.

    I’m sure there are many valuable cross-disciplinary insights waiting to be discovered. Someone should write it up and submit it to Social Text.

    Guarantee that ending, you got a deal.
    I guarantee it.[/url]

    Posted by  on  12/09  at  12:13 AM
  57. As the bunnies are removed, the crowd resumes chanting “Two men enter. One man leaves.”

    They bump heads as they “accidentally” drop their chainsaws to get in a better position to look up Tina Turner’s skirt. In the ensuing clench, Michael suggests that with a little out-of-the-box-thinking and semantic negotiation there might indeed be a way out. “I’ll do the talking”, he says. “I thought you’d never ask,” the Tedster replies with enthusiasm.

    Posted by  on  12/09  at  12:55 AM
  58. As we await the final, stunning conclusion to the grudge match between Floating Head Professor and Nuclear Ted Head, please enjoy the live entertainment.

    For the WAAGNFNP supporters, there’s Vera Lynn singing ”We’ll Meet Again,” from the end of Dr. Strangelove.

    And for the supporters of the opposing team, please join us as we mock stare in amazement at the stirring anthem, ”Bush Was Right.”

    Posted by  on  12/09  at  01:38 AM
  59. For the WAAGNFNP supporters, there’s Vera Lynn singing ”We’ll Meet Again,” from the end of Dr. Strangelove.

    Ah, those were the days. A Golden Oldie. Here’s a Japanese parallel, a trailer for the anime, Metropolis.

    Posted by Bill Benzon  on  12/09  at  04:15 AM
  60. Celine Dion, bored with the sterile confines of Caesar’s Palace, decides that a steel cage match is just the place to display her gritty bad-girl chops to the world.

    Dion is determined that she and she alone will be the Round One entertainment “up in this here joint”.  Lowered from the ceiling on a gargantuan platform, Vera Lynn is sent scrambling for her life.

    The wing nuts in the audience are wary as the French-Canadian songstress is lowered into the ring. But this recent “celebrity notable” on PETA’s worst-dressed list quickly wins them over as dozens and dozens of bunnies are crushed beneath her mammoth stage. The ensuing roar of approval rocks the house to its very foundation. 

    Image Hosted by ImageShack.us

    Good morning. It’s Saturday.
    Round Two Begins.

    Posted by Oaktown Girl  on  12/09  at  09:49 AM
  61. Yes, that Celine is a bit of a cow. She’s not only determined to upstage the “Family” Values” half-time show sponsored by the Virgin Lutheran Church of the Flaming Christ, but she’s plagiarizing the signature pose of that earlier group!


    This raises an interesting theoretical question for the Chruch of the Flaming Christ. Can they sue Celine Dion for infringing on their copyright? Is embodied behavior protected by law? As they are mulling this over, Celine kicks the crucifix on which one of the Virgin Lutherna performers hangs suspended, sending him reeling (still pinned to the crucifix) face-first into the crowd!

    Posted by  on  12/09  at  11:25 AM
  62. Let’s try that image again:



    Posted by  on  12/09  at  11:37 AM
  63. Prof. Bérubé, one of your IvyGate nemeses, Chris Beam, interviewed Horowitz in the Columbia Spectator in 2004, when he (Beam) was an undergrad:


    And Beam puts up a good fight.  So, you’re on the same team, both fighting the good fight!!

    Posted by  on  12/09  at  12:19 PM
  64. Whoa! Thought I was having a flashback… I’ve seen that huge disembodied head before. College indulgences back with a vengance… or maybe it was last night’s Mexican food?!

    Posted by  on  12/09  at  12:20 PM
  65. And Beam puts up a good fight.  So, you’re on the same team, both fighting the good fight!!

    We were on the same team then.  But we are mortal enemies now.  As soon as I dispatch this Haggart fellow—ow!  not fair, Haggard!—I’m taking on IvyGate.  I have left them a deviously mild-mannered comment, bwah hah hah hah hah.

    Posted by Michael  on  12/09  at  12:27 PM
  66. As the dying red embers of Celine lay in the ashes center ring, Hagrad slowly climbs over the ropes and begins to sweep her into the proverbial and metaphoric dustbin (actually just a cheap, plastic grocery bag).  Teddy’s fans, always on the right, begin to sing in trashy a cappella harmony:

    There’s a dark & a troubled side of life
    There’s a bright, there’s a sunny side, too
    Tho’ we meet with the darkness and strife
    The sunny side we also may view

    Keep on the sunny side, always on the sunny side,
    Keep on the sunny side of life
    It will help us ev’ry day, it will brighten all the way
    If we’ll keep on the sunny side of life

    The storm and its fury broke today,
    Crushing hopes that we cherish so dear;
    Clouds and storms will, in time, pass away
    The sun again will shine bright and clear.
    Let us greet with the song of hope each day
    Tho’ the moment be cloudy or fair
    Let us trust in our Saviour away
    Who keepeth everyone in His care

    Keep on the sunny side, always on the sunny side,
    Keep on the sunny side of life
    It will help us ev’ry day, it will brighten all the way
    If we’ll keep on the sunny side of life

    They were doing fine until they began to lock arms round shoulders and dance that silly dance (without the proper license mind you).  Enraged, the Bérubé supporters, always on the left (though most not quite as far out there as the others), realized this was their only opportunity to nullify the entire sunny thesis.  Slowly and softly the plaintive vocals arose from their tuvan throats, calling for the great floating head to render the purest of salvations:

    Fearlessly, the idiot faced the crowd
    Merciless, the magistrate turns ‘round
    And who’s the fool who wears the crown?
    And go down in your own way
    And every day is the right day
    And as you rise above the fear-lines in his brow
    You look down
    Hear the sound of the faces in the crowd

    When you walk through a storm
    hold your head up high
    And don’t be afraid of the dark.
    At the end of a storm is a golden sky
    And the sweet silver song of a lark.
    Walk on through the wind,
    Walk on through the rain,
    Tho’ your dreams be tossed and blown.
    Walk on, walk on with hope in your heart
    And you’ll never walk alone,
    You’ll never, ever walk alone.

    Posted by  on  12/09  at  01:07 PM
  67. We’re really pleased that Keith Jackson could stop by the booth today. Keith, youv’e been a big time sports announcer for going on 85 years now. With all your experience have you ever seen anything quite like this titanic struggle before?

    K: Yes indeedy doody! Reminds me of the time Howard Cosell went after that hot dog vendor in old Madison Square Garden. “Guldens!” he was shouting. “Gulden’s!!  Give me Kosckiusko’s or give me death!!” Quite the battle cry, young fella. There was mustard all over the cheaps seats before that one was settled. It was a ding-dong dandy!

    p: Well! Do you see any parallels between that fight and today’s matchup?

    K: I don’t see the vendor’s union sending in the shock troops for this one, little guy. But I will say this. When the incommensurables come into play, there’s no holding back, the sky’s the limit, everything’s up for grabs, hold onto to your hat, and good night, nurse!

    p: But, well, Gulden’s and Koskiusko’s aren’t really incommensurable, are they? They’re both mustards, right?

    K: Tie me down and call the constable! Are you with the vendor’s union?

    p: No, no, lets, uh… what do you think about today’s big battle, Keith? Is there a favorite, now that we’ve seen them both in action?

    K: I think the Professor’s going to have to give up on the aporia, sonny. It was effective rhetoric in the early going, but I think he’s going to have to get right down to brass tacks, roll out the barrel, bring on the big guns, go for the gold, in for a penny, out for a pound, and devil take the hindquarter.

    p: You’re talking about using&helip; udiluted scorn?

    K: It’s the big time, tiny one. All the marbles are on the table. And all the chips. And soup’s on! Go for it, is my advice.

    p: What about the hypocrisy card? The Professor’s fans were looking for big things from that part of his offense.

    K: Those are tough yards up the middle, laddie. The Reverend’s been training on the bags for years now, building up his shamelessness. I don’t see the Professor getting much yardage there.

    p: And the Reverend?

    K: He’s lucky the Professor has one hand tied behind his head, won’t take the cheap shot, won’t go there, girlfriend, pulls up before the pig wallow, is what I’m saying. That leaves the Reverend a lot of room to manuever, like a possum in a peapatch. And just look at that wardrobe! It’s, it’s…

    p: Jesus Camp.

    K: The Reverend’s going to have to reach down deep to pull this one out, small person, but not that deep. No sirree sirrah! He needs to get in there like a rabid wolverine at the bargain bin at Macy’s and fight fight fight.

    p: Words to ponder. Thanks for stopping by, Keith. A pleasure, as always.

    K: Where’s the green room?

    Posted by  on  12/09  at  01:30 PM
  68. Out of nowhere (i.e. the South entrance), Toby Keith emerges with a guitar, singing “I’m a Ford truck man.” From another nowhere (i.e. the North Entrance), John (Cougar) Mellancamp emerges with a guitar, singing, “This is our country.” Berube and Haggard look at each other, finally agreeing on something, and they head out (pun intended) to crush Keith and Mellancamp, respectively.  The crowd goes wild.

    Captcha:  “four,” as in how many horsemen can you fit on the head of a pin?

    Posted by Crazy Little Thing  on  12/09  at  01:53 PM
  69. Note from the MOJ: Crazy Little Thing is spot-on with the Ford truck reference. 
    For a treasure trove of ideas on learing how to think like Haggard (and kicking Floaty Head’s ass), check out the “Soldiers of Christ” story from Harper’s linked at the top of this post.

    Posted by Oaktown Girl  on  12/09  at  02:01 PM
  70. A little while back Oaktown Girl, Minister of Justice WAAGNFNP, suggested that I volunteer to the party.  Since I didn’t have the technical drafting skills in question and since I was a relative newbie and since I didn’t want to risk being disappeared I decided to commit to the party by emptying waste baskets, sweeping and generally tidying up around the WAAGNFNP party compound and gift shop - starting small and hoping to work my way up. 

    For the most part this has been immensely rewarding and I hope that in some small way I’ve contributed to the realization of the GNF.

    However, just one wee suggestion...stop spilling your refreshments all over the floor and throwing your trash under the seats!  This is a civilized Steel Cage Match event. Do you know how long it’s going to take to clean this place up?  And giant bunnies...do you even know what they leave on the floor - yikes.

    And what can I say about the graffiti in the bathrooms - very imaginative <b>but</i> (captcha word) it’ll take weeks to get it cleaned up before the next event.

    Humbly Submitted

    Posted by  on  12/09  at  02:06 PM
  71. And giant bunnies...do you even know what they leave on the floor - yikes.

    As a childhood joke would have it, giant smart pills. Is that joke still in circulation?

    Posted by Bill Benzon  on  12/09  at  02:25 PM
  72. Apparently, some party members - and yes, I am looking at you, Mr. Clarke - did not take the Minister of Offense and Defense’s advice to immediately go to the nearest public terminal and vote for this here blog seriously enough. The Ivy’s threatened smear campaign has put them in to the lead again. I expect better effort in the future!

    Tribunus Laticlavius, Ministry of Offense and Defense

    Posted by  on  12/09  at  05:49 PM
  73. Indeed, I am now down by 60 votes.  By Sunday night the IvyLead may be insurmountable.  Don’t make me stop grading papers and bleg again!

    Posted by Michael  on  12/09  at  07:49 PM
  74. Godzillatron-football-sign-generator.jpg

    Posted by Bill Benzon  on  12/09  at  10:09 PM
  75. Yes, that Celine is a bit of a cow.

    Will you never leave that poor girl alone, Foucault?  Haven’t you already done enough?  When the GNF claims us both, I hope the atoms of my vaporizing body strike your atoms with extra force.  And may you writhe in the bitter knowledge that even then, my heart will go on!

    m.d.s. dion

    Posted by  on  12/10  at  12:28 AM
  76. Quick.  Put up something that will appeal to the home schoolers.  With a little triangulation this might be won yet.

    Could we cash in some chips with Brad, whose traffic is like a mighty river?

    And this was *no* time to alienate the Bitch Ph.D. constituency.  As your campaign consultant I’m going to have to ask you to be more careful.

    Posted by  on  12/10  at  01:15 AM
  77. 3:41 AM

    IvyGate 805
    Bérubé 727
    Spunky 613

    Posted by Bill Benzon  on  12/10  at  04:42 AM
  78. As Floaty Head Prof stares forlornly at the dying red French Canadioan embers of Celine, Nuke Head Ted seizes the opportunity to make his move. “Enough philosophy” says he, “it’s clobberin’ time!”

    Ted rushes over to the ringside seat where Pam is live vlogging the cage match from her prime “see and be seen” location between John Bolton and Michelle Malkin. The fitness fanatic has brought much of her home gym with her (got to keep those calories burning between vlog posts!), so Ted unhooks the lat pull-down bar, goes back into the ring and delivers a mighty blow to the Prof.

    Posted by Oaktown Girl  on  12/10  at  04:59 AM
  79. I got it!

    This steel cage match is a metaphor for State School vs. The Poison Ivies in the 2006 Webloggies.

    Or vice versa.

    Posted by Bill Benzon  on  12/10  at  05:17 AM
  80. So THAT’S what all this animosity is about--Celine. Alright, I take it back. She is not a cow. She’s a very, uhm, special vocalist. She is god’s gift to Canada, and to the larger universe. Short of the GNF, she is the best thing that ever happened to humanity. Bonhomme doesn’t hold a candle next to her.


    There, are you happy now, m.d.s. dion?

    Posted by  on  12/10  at  10:48 AM
  81. And this was *no* time to alienate the Bitch Ph.D. constituency.  As your campaign consultant I’m going to have to ask you to be more careful.

    Colin, I swear Dr. B. is making shit up.  Or, more accurately, taking a sympathetic remark way out of context in order to wreak havoc with my humble blog while she’s holed up with some hottie in a motel somewhere.

    Posted by  on  12/10  at  11:52 AM
  82. Back two within 20 votes. And just to be clear: when I wrote about the Minister of Offense and Defense’s advice I used “advice” to signify order. So, go vote already (captcha).

    Posted by  on  12/10  at  12:59 PM
  83. Yes!

    Godzillatron were winning.jpg

    captcha: “hell”

    Posted by Bill Benzon  on  12/10  at  02:47 PM
  84. But this is no time for complacency. Gojira has decided to go under cover so that she might stuff the Ivy tubicles with norquist particles:


    Bill Benzon
    Minister of Visual Propaganda

    Posted by Bill Benzon  on  12/10  at  02:51 PM
  85. Notice of Commendation:
    The great Gojiratronvision screen sees the future and delivers the votes.  The Ministry of Defense and Offense commends the University of Texas, a home for the few wayward liberals in that most oppressive state, for allowing us to use its Gojiratron super vision vidscreen, the largest of its kind in the world.  We encourage those in Austin to vote for our GNF in the Weblog awards, and to continuing watching the Cage Match and the upcoming CCST. 

    May the Cage Match resume to its natural and fitting conclusion with Bérubé’s victory.  After all, the captcha word is “school,” as in Haggard is about to be schooled in the fine art of swashbuckled dueling.

    Minister of Offense and Defense

    Posted by  on  12/10  at  04:06 PM
  86. She is god’s gift to Canada, and to the larger universe. Short of the GNF, she is the best thing that ever happened to humanity.

    Oh, good lord, no.  My sister can’t sing worth a darn.  But that’s no reason to make bovine comparisons, especially since her desire to inflict her music upon the world stems back to a certain “speech act” perpetrated upon her at a vulnerable time.  Ceviche?

    And your apology, whose sincerity I somehow doubt, was accompanied by yet another bandwidth-busting picture!  By the hoary hosts of Hoggoth, people, don’t you know that every time a dialup connection stalls, God kills another kitten?

    Posted by  on  12/11  at  09:45 AM
  87. Ceviche? Are you referring to that time I asked Celine if she likes seafood, and then opened my mouth and showed her my lunch when she said yes. Get it? See food? Ha ha… she didn’t think that was very funny, either. And I agree--but have come a long way since those immature years.

    Celine has also matured and found more inspired ways to reach mass audiences:


    And I am sorry about the dial-up connection. Have you ever tried turning on your phone when the computer says, “No Dial Tone?” Back in the stone age when I still used dial-up (about two months ago), this problem used to drive me nuts. And then one day, I cracked the code by turning on my phone and waiting for the dial tone *before* clicking to connect to the Internet. I always got a connection after that--every time. Take it to the bank, mds.

    Posted by  on  12/11  at  07:21 PM
  88. Oh, gracious and glorious Minister of Justice, if you’re out there, could you provide assistance to any loyal party members who may be composing last-minute show trial lyrics and give us a quick run-down of the charges against the odious Chris Clarke?  Thank you, oh just one.

    Posted by Heraclitus  on  12/11  at  09:00 PM
  89. M. Foucault, I am just back from the bank, having taken my internet connection there, and may I just say it was wonderful.  The bank internets are composed of such powerful, thrusting tubes!  Until security threw me out, I was “surfing” and “browsing” and all that at lightning speed.  (Which, given that electrons were involved, makes sense.  But then why is dialup so lightning slow?)

    But no, it wasn’t the ever-hilarious “seafood” bit.  In fact, for a while I even had a trained sea bass that would open its food-filled mouth on command, just so I could tease Celine in a humorously meta fashion.  But I’m suddenly willing to let bygones be bygones, in a bank-inspired fit of bonhomie.  I just can’t stay mad at you, Foucault, even though you are a Nietzschean.

    Posted by  on  12/12  at  10:24 AM
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