30 March 2009

The Iconoclast

My oldest was showing me a sketch for his newest comic book, *Captain Underpants vs Hannah Montana*. . .it ends with Captain Underpants flushing Hannah Montana down a toilet. His mom heard us laughing about it:

“Violence against women is never funny,” she says.

She proceeds to lecture us for a long, long five minutes. My son kept looking over at me for help. Finally I say:

“Hannah Montana is not a woman. She’s not even a girl. She’s a Pop-Droid. And flushing her in a toilet isn’t an act of violence. . .it’s an act of iconoclasm. You should congratulate your son for tearing down the Tween Abomination that makes desolate, the Great Pop Beast 666 of our simpleton McCulture.”

“Yeah, mom,” my son says.

But the old lady wasn’t having any of it.

It is written:

A prophet is not without honour, save in his own country, and in his own house.


  1. Check me if I'm wrong, chief, but violence against women is sometimes funny. Witness Tanya Harding vs. Paula Jones in Fox's Celebrity Boxing. HIGH-larious.

    You took the argument in a completely different direction than I would have taken the argument.

  2. If I was your wife I'd be fucking terrified, although not because of the captain underpants vs. Hannah Montana thing. After coming across this blog by accident, I have to admit I'm surprised to see the degree to which someone who loves to go on and on about American "decadence" can write a blog that feels so much like a protracted rape fantasy. Outside of penthouse forum and the Book of Revelation I've never seen so many women called "whores" and subjected to imaginary sexual violations. Of course, on the other hand, there is the one entry where you praise the woman who threw herself in front of an Israeli tank... guess the only good bitch is a dead one, huh? In all seriousness, though,I imagine there's a sweet and tender little ego, tortured by your various failures to live up to your mommy's over-effusive praises, lurking under this brittle shell of vitriol and misogyny. And I think you have some real guilt about the fact that you're probably dribbling hungrily right now over some fetishized pop-cultural fornicator's flashing genitalia.

    I guess what I'm trying to say is this: stay strong, my valiant warrior, and I will make sure to fuck you the absolute hardest with the sword of my mouth when I descend on that blazing cloud of glory.


    Jesus Christ, with the white robes and the eyes of flame and the angry twenty-inch horsecock.