Moreover, I’ve learned that everyone thinks their class was the last smart class ever to have gone to the University. And that will be the case from now until the day that Brown decides to remember the standards it was once known for with regard to selecting students. Alas, being an inferior science school (like Ruth Simmons wants) rather than improving our Classical, Liberal arts tradition will have a chilling effect on the kinds of students that apply to a school like Brown – no matter the school’s name recognition.

In my day, the walls of the bathroom’s stalls were painted in anti-George Bush rhetoric. And, while I got a kick out of all the unintelligible platitudes (“No Blood for oil”, “Bush lied, people died”, “Education is a right”…”3=====D”) that I’d regularly see all over the wall, I much prefer the bathroom poetry that I’d occasionally run into: Here I sit all broken hearted/Came to $#I%/But only farted; pure Shakespeare. (Yes ladies and gentlemen, I used a colon and a semicolon in the same sentence. I am Ivy League Edumucated.)

Description: Join us for our grand Sex Week finale! We’ve built up the anticipation for a week, and now that we’ve had our fun, it’s time for a delicious climax. Metaphorically, of course. In addition to a performance by The Wet Spots, we’ll announce the winners of our Brown Erotica Competition and raffle off a ridiculous amount of products from our awesome sponsors. (We guarantee there have never been this many sex-toys in Salomon 101 before.) If you haven’t gotten any raffle tickets yet, you can still get them at this event, so bring cash, come early, and get ready for a red-hot evening.

Performers: Picture a husband and wife team from the golden age of comedy. Now picture them singing sweetly about threesomes and taking it in the ass. Internationally acclaimed cabaret duo The Wet Spots (Cass King and John Woods) write the most elegant songs about sex that you will ever hear. The pair presents an image that is vaudevillian, oversexed, and weirdly Canadian: Think sex club by way of Monty Python. Using a lively blend of original songs, audience interaction, spankings and singalongs, The Wet Spots draw their fans into a world where the libido is celebrated and satirized. Their songs have been licensed for TV shows like The L Word and live credits include The Center for Sex and Culture (San Francisco), The Museum of Sex (NYC), and many Pride events including the first ever queer comedy showcase in Africa (Cape Town Comedy Festival).

By the way, if I have to explain why Affirmative Action is racists, then maybe you and I just won’t ever agree.

Thank you Tavis the racist for saying nothing of substance, at least you said it very well.

So ladies and gents, if you care enough to be intellectually honest, visit the site. See what you were never told the Republicans proposed.

One may justifiably describe loyalty by what it induces a man to do, but the claim that one is loyal involves far more than an occasional offering to maintain appearances, for the duty to be loyal is grounded in the very nature of certain relationships – whether naturally arising (through blood or circumstance), or because of conscious choice.  The truly loyal man should never even consider what appears to be loyal, but rather should devote himself in thought and action to that bond which unites him to another.

As with many of life’s enduring lessons, athletic contests are the ideal way in which to learn genuine loyalty, which perhaps explains why one who never took to the field, ice, or court, could also never learn true loyalty.  The baseball pitcher who plunks a batter from another team after one of his men was purposely beamed, or the hockey defenseman who risks ejection by shoving the forward who interferes with his goalie, are paragons of loyalty.

They risk themselves and their reputations because duties borne of relationships, even if those duties be arguably abstract, are sacred and through which are the closest to God a man could ever reach.  The loyal man seeks not his own interest, but rather a cosmic balance whereby an action over which he had no control is corrected, and a bond reaffirmed, through his devotion.

Loyalty involves no calculation, no obvious self-interest.  The price of loyalty may very well be that one looks weak or undisciplined, but such are the cries of those hyper-modernists who belittle a Sparta or ridicule a medieval village.  Those persons know nothing of permanent attachments, of participating in God’s life by foregoing image for the sake of affection, of risking wound by the sword so that a friend may emerge unharmed.  In a word, they know nothing of brotherhood, and are all the more inhuman because of it.

I recall a lazy Saturday afternoon at a friend’s house, when, to escape punishment from his father, he blamed (correctly, I might add) a basement mess on another friend.  His father simply asked that he then rectify the situation, although his elder brother, later, excoriated him.  He shouted, You blamed your friend to avoid grounding?  He then added, A real friend would never have thought of the consequences and would have in an instant accepted responsibility!

Internalising that notion of brotherhood, I safely stored it away for a time when, throwing a football with a neighbour in my front yard, he nearly broke one of our house’s windows with a wild punt.  Immediately my mother came outside, demanding to know what had happened.  I knew what had to be done; loyalty insisted that I take the blame.  So, I admitted that I was at fault, taking the (admittedly small) punishment as a sign that my friend knew that our bond required such.

I point this out, friends, because the elder brother of my first friend hit the nail directly on its head.  Loyalty, for any godly man, takes no account of whether the friend defended is worthy of blame.  From the basement example, surely the boy who left the mess was at fault, as was my friend who injudiciously kicked a ball too close to the house.  So, too, is the hockey goalie who undeservedly obstructs the opposing team’s forward.

But, let me be emphatic, blame is an irrelevant detail.  The defenseman protects his goalie’s honour because of the relationship – because the goalie is his.  The friend takes blame for another friend’s mess because that friend is his friend.  To be loyal, one looks in a way past the person owed loyalty, and takes actions based on the relationship itself.  Those actions, for the loyal man, should be an automatic reflex, honed through years of devotion, and, yes, even mistakes.

For that man who cannot understand this simple truth, I can only say that he has never experienced authentic brotherly love.  For all the abstract thinking for which the hyper-modernist – jeans-wearing, light-beer-drinking, and all – feigns an adoration, he just can never seem to love that brother right in front of him.

Beware the serpent who lurks at your Six, ostensibly there to protect.

Sean Burnside Quigley

February 16, 2010

Tort wasn’t fixed, no it was protected,
Insurance can still ignore market incentive.
And while all the big corporations were maligned,
They weren’t the fat cats who got their pockets lined.

The fat Christmas pig stuffed with every request,
To feed all the knights at Obama’s round table,
May all of those windbags this Christmas find rest,
For it may be the last that anyone’s able.

What do you think about the unprecedented vote that occurred? Leave your own poem, or just leave a comment.

While he’s known for bringing in small numbers on the golf course, you have to admit, that this father/husband has certainly not taken his golfing principles to heart when it comes to women. So far, no less than ten women are suspected of being among Tiger’s impressive score. And if you think about how many women this man-slut has been with in the US, and consider how often he travels abroad, you have to consider that this might only be the beginning of a massively disgusting (possibly STD ridden) super-sized, multinational scandal.

Why am I writing about it here? Well, I want to point out the obvious fact that we tend to regard those with a public persona as having nothing but a public persona. When, in fact, it is who we are in private that makes us good or evil.

Perhaps a rant as glib as mine has no place on this blog, but I think this is a Conservative principle in action. You can buy the fancy Hybrid car, you can tell other people to give money to the poor, you can fight for gay rights and spit on the faces of those who don’t, you can even pretend to be faithful to your wife. In the end, no matter how much exuberant you are about your own moral bonafides, it’s your disposition that matters most. Sure, Tiger was a role model. And sure, he’s awesome at Golf. And sure, the dude is as rich as God himself. But Lord Almighty, looking at the mess Tiger is in right now, I wouldn’t ever want to trade my life for his.

Hand Sanatizer is dangerous because if you drink it you might get poisoned and it’s flammable. So you might catch on fire.

Really?

The first point is obvious. Don’t drink hand sanitizer. The second thing, i didn’t know. It makes me think there might be an emerging market for hand sanitizer among Buddhist monks.

A couple of years ago, however, Al Gore was given a Nobel Prize for making a powerpoint. But at least the guy had created some sort of deliverable. Obama’s done nothing but written some books, run for President, tried to enact sweeping change that would plummet our country into huge(r) amounts of deficit spending, and leave our troups confused and alone wondering why they are in Afghanistan. His policies have made the US and the world as a whole a far more dangerous (and vulnerable) place. His foreign policy has been, is and will continue to be disastrous. So forgive me if I don’t understand, but I really have only one question: How in the H$^# did he win this thing? He didn’t even make a Power Point.