From Ace of Spades HQ:
Did I ever tell you the slogan on the masthead -- the Mencken quote -- I got from the quote-page (you know, the epigram, or whatever, that novels start with) from the Christopher Buckley book Wet Work?
Did I also tell you the book sucked and I never picked up another Buckley book again? And when, for example, a girlfriend tried to get me to see Thank You For Smoking, I refused, knowing it would be a precious, fey pile of repressed-cum-wannabe-lurid crap like Wet Work was?
Yeah. He sucks. He's always sucked.
He continues sucking.
One can do the whole verb-inflection exercise for the verb "to suck" with Christopher Buckley.
Obama didn’t deliver a speech so much as a symphony...
Well that's not trite in the least. This rara avis just dropped a completely novel metaphor on you. A speech like a symphony.
Who but Buckley could make such an unexpected connection.
Good Lord, if I could just see inside his head, to watch the fireworks of creative foment burst and dazzle and sizzle into water...
You know what that would be like, if I could see that?
A fucking symphony, that's what.
It is hard, indeed almost impossible, not to like Mr. Obama.
Oh, you'd be surprised, Chris.
But a lot of things surprise you, don't they?
That's the advantage of being a fucking retard. The constant surprise and amazement at the unexpected glory of life.
And Nilla wafers. Retards love Nilla wafers.
In recent weeks, I’ve tried—tried my best.
To hate him, he means.
But Wednesday night he made it virtually impossible. Even discounting the perhaps 40 percent of the speech that consisted of the usual bromides and platitudes, even the most hardened skeptic must admit—the son of gun gives one hell of a speech.
Bromides and platitudes? My quibble here is that, once again, he resorts to the stock phraseology of writing about this crap.
What about nostrums, Rara Avis? At least toss me a good "nostrum." Nostrum only gets used in 40% of columns about speeches, as opposed to bromides and platitudes, which get used in 94%.
Rara avis.
Wet Work really sucked. I need you to understand this. At no point was I entertained, nor did I believe the book at all. It was about some kind of rich fat fuck (that part I believed: Write what you know) going all Rambo and shit on some drug smugglers or some other trite villain.
He got cutesy a lot, not funny but cutesy, which is like, oh, wow, the perfect tone for what is supposed to be a lurid revenge fantasy.
He was never funny and I never bought his Airwolf-level of action/military realism for a red hot second. Basically it was like Tom Clancy, minus the research, plus a cloying attempt to make his shitty style the main character, plus some queerbait punning.
When I say I put it down like six times before powering through this slight, annoying, noxious little fart of a book, I need you to understand: I finished American Psycho after putting it down only four times.
Just saying.
Just saying, Gee, it's not like he got his book deal based on his connection to his father or anything.
It's just he's a real fucking talent and shit.
You know what his books are like?
Symphonies, that's what
...Tonight Mr. Obama proved—once again—that he hears the American music and can play it like a maestro.
Christ In Heaven, here we are with the music metaphor again.
Gee, when you came up with "symphony" (nice on that, by the way), how long did it take you to come up with the metaphor-extending notion of a "maestro"? Did you, like, sweat that one, Chris? When it finally came to you, after 0.22 seconds, were you like, "Zut alors! Le bon mot!"
How, Rara Avis, do you do it? You're like playing four-dimensional chess with the written word. You're like playing chess like... well, like it's a fucking symphony, and you're a maestro, except not a real maestro, but a maestro who moves chess pieces in between writing crappy lurid wannabe potboilers that only got reviewed well because all your former conservative supporters were so desperatefor you to make it your own.
As well as Ronald Reagan.
"The Great Maestro," we used to call him. He cut taxes like a fucking symphony.
Both presidents had—have—have music in their souls.
If this fat nepot says crescendo I shall scream.
You do realize we are only like one step away from "soulpatterns" and "mindthoughts" here, right? "Soulmusic" and "mindsymphonies."
The other people in the room where I watched the speech were in tears by the end—the kind that stream down the face.
He just outed his wife and friends as mentally unstable emotionally-fragile neurotics.
This is like a symphony of tasteless personal disclosures. And Chris Buckley is like a... hmm... I'm on this symphony kick... who would be naturally associated with a symphony....? I know I had this question on the SATs...
Oh right:
MAESTRO: SYMPHONY ::
Chris Buckley: Fat Talentless Nepot Who Writes Shitty Unconvincing Books About Fat Talentless Nepots Who Go on Kill-Crazy Commando Raids In Between Homoerotic Flirtations With Their Regatta-Schedulers
I managed to hold those back.
Others cried, Chris Buckley did not. He was like a maestro of self-control.
But I could not hold back my admiration at the performance, in particular of Mr. Obama’s deep humanity, as evinced by his profound, almost Lincolnesque humor. Oh dear, are tears streaming down my face, one way or the other?
My best guess? Gun to my head?
Sure, is my answer, if I'm forced to go with one. I'd have to go with "Yes, Oh dear, those are tears streaming down your fat nepot face."
Your eyes are like making a symphony of joy or something. Like -- Oh! The Ode to Joy! That like works on two levels!
You're like a maestro of the bitch-swoon.
...Thank you, Mr. President.
An electrifying evening, all in all. Well done. And yes, God bless the United States of America.
Phew. He didn't say "crescendo."
If he had, I would have had tears streaming down my face, too.
You stupid fat fuck.
Thanks to AHFF Geoff.
Hat-Tip: I have hat-tipped this a bunch of times, so I didn't think a fresh one was due, but "beating my dick like it owes me money" is a commenter's invention, said during the Palin speech at the RNC, I believe by Warden.
I have tried to top that, riffing on it and extending it, like "beating my dick like it's Tina Turner and I just caught her on the phone with Berry Gordy," but there's no way to top that.
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