Other blogospheres in other cities have successfully bred chimpanzees that no longer aspire to bang at their typewriter and make Hamlet. Instead, they pick at their crotches and flash their best "Blue Steel" at the world, as a thousand tumblrs clack along in desperation.
I had made my way through most of Chez Pazienza's biliously self-righteous and relentlessly dumb column on the (I'm not going to indulge all the self-centeredness of these people to say "now-infamous") kerfuff that occured between Tracie Egan and Moe Tkacik of Jezebel when they went on Lizz Winstead's show entitled Whatever The Fuck This Woman's Show Is Called Again. Pazienza's lickspittle can be rebutted simply by resubmitting Spencer "Reality-Tested/Wife-of-DCeiver Approved" Ackerman's defense in its entirety. That should have been sufficient. But then I got to the part of Pazienza's nonsense that got me reaching for a cold compress - that's how hard my eyes rolled to the back of my head.
[Tkacik] was a cliché. I found myself wanting to give her a fucking hug or something and tell her it's not her fault.
It's Emily Gould's.
Now, because most of my readers aren't infantile, hypocritical, assbags, let me explain. About a month or so ago, it became very popular in parts of New York City to declaim that a writer named Emily Gould was the worst thing that ever happened to America. One of the great things about DC is that, here, we fight for shit like our Fourth Amendment rights and you have to hump a country mile to find five people who even know what that last sentence means. Let's keep it that way, and say only that it was a myopic obsession with a bunch of bourgeois turds from elsewhere.
Why Pazienza's clearly a little bit more pathetic than most of the dumbassed chimpanzentsia who twiddled themselves into a froth over it, is that here he comes, breaking out a dead horse to beat it again, months after most everyone else moved on to a new shiny stick with which to savagely frappe their rectum. It's a sad attempt to wolf-whistle the rest of the monkeyhouse into a round of derision at Moe and Tracie using their last nimrod obsession as a message force multiplier.
Well, there's no reason to go on. Chez Pazienza: YOU ARE THE FUCKING CLICHE.