The Weekly Standard has long served as a showcase for our republic’s more interesting commentators, not the least of which is the magazine’s own founder and editor William Kristol, who is superbly interesting insomuch as that his notorious track record of failure has left him rewarded with columns in both Time and The New York Times, which is itself a very interesting thing insomuch as that it provides us with evidence that our nation is in the habit of blinding itself at the very time when clarity is most needed, and of course there is nothing more interesting than the prospect of a republic destroying itself from within.
Ethan Epstein does not, to my knowledge, have any such track record of predictive failure, and so has a long way to go before he himself is given a column in some major national publication – which he likely will, given time, time having lately become the foremost enemy of our republic. Still, he has already demonstrated other talents common to the nation’s most celebrated and prominent pundits, such as an inability to remember whether sentiments he has expressed just a few weeks ago might demonstrate his latest expressed sentiments to be put forth in service to something other than what he would like us to believe.
Yesterday, or today, depending on what day today is, Mr. Epstein wrote a piece on the matter of Mel Gibson and certain failures of etiquette that this purveyor of Papism may have displayed in the midst of helpfully warning an estranged lover that she is running the risk of being “raped by a pack of niggers” by virtue of being an attractive white woman with a penchant for skimpy outfits. Now, this is certainly a touching and legitimate concern; I myself have spent an oddly large amount of time living among blacks, both in this country and Africa, and on such occasions as I would attempt to set up a date with a white girl, she would always arrive an hour late, her dress torn and her forehead inscribed with a bloody “B” in commemoration of our black president. Eventually I just gave up and started exclusively dating black women, who are more punctual and have been so for some hundred and fifty years, no longer being subject to the gentlemanly advances of white slave owners, who conducted their rapes in a more civilized and singular fashion. Seriously, though, I date Asians and Jews and Mexicans, too. I am a notorious race traitor in my sexual inclinations, like the late Strom Thurmond.
But enough about me and my sexual inclinations. I was making a point about the virtues of Mexican girls, or rather that’s what I wish I had been doing rather than analyzing the output of some Weekly Standard contributor to which I am only slightly attracted sexually. In his defense of Mel Gibson – which, as we shall see, is really a defense of something larger and more significant – our handsome correspondent asserts:
Nobody deserves to have their private anguish broadcast publicly – least of all, private citizens.
Although only vaguely peripheral to the point I intend to make as soon as I remember what it was, I will note that this single assertion constitutes two bits of nonsense, almost as nonsensical as the nonsense I have just finished writing myself. Perhaps people do indeed deserve to have their private anguish broadcast publicly. I, for instance, am a jackass, and this anguishes me quite a bit, or at least it would if I were not so fond of being a jackass, which has long been a hobby of mine. Do I not deserve to be mocked for this, and publicly at that? Frankly, I don’t know, and neither does Epstein, who has simply thrown out some broad assertion regarding the subject of justice without bothering to back it up, like some sort of anti-Socrates. Meanwhile, he provides it as a given that Mel Gibson is a private citizen. Certainly he is not a member of Congress or anything of that nature, and in fairness to Epstein, the term “private citizen” is indeed often used to denote someone who holds no public office. In fairness to fairness, though, Epstein is only concerned about the broadcasted anguish of private citizens when the private citizen in question happens to be someone of whose socio-political stance he approves, which is why he himself recently commemorated the extraordinarily important “one-year anniversary of the The Daily Dish’s Andrew Sullivan’s arrest in Massachusetts on a marijuana charge.” Sullivan, though a prominent fellow, holds no public office and is less well-known than Gibson, having never been in any awesome movies or proclaimed to his own arresting officer that Jews are responsible for all of the world’s wars. Why, then, must his private anguish at having been arrested for possession of marijuana in fucking Massachusetts, of all places, be not only “broadcast,” but turned into some sort of nascent holiday by Epstein (who, incidentally, is one of those fellows who portrays himself as a defender of liberty while at the same time making bizarre and poorly-written arguments in favor of our nation’s fascist “War on Drugs,” which has made criminals of tens of millions of those private citizens whose “anguish” must never be broadcasted but whose liberty must apparently be constrained). The answer, of course, is that Epstein has used up all of his compassion on Mel Gibson, who coincidentally is more in line with Epstein’s own disorganized views.
The Gibson tapes present the image of a man in profound emotional anguish. Disregard the profanity and the few (and indefensible) racial slurs, and you find a man who is genuinely suffering.
Very well; let us disregard Gibson’s contention that his girlfriend will inevitably be “be raped by a pack of niggers” and instead concern ourselves with the suffering of Mel Gibson, who is haunted by visions of savage negroes raping his ex-girlfriend. A moment of silence, please. And now, let us see if Epstein is generally in the habit of excusing racism on the part of those with whom he is not allied politically; to find such telling hypocrisy, we are required to thoroughly examine all of Epstein’s past work, unless of course we simply go back to a post he wrote just last month on the subject of soccer and find it there:
I was in South Korea during the last World Cup, a country famous for its jingoistic outbursts, and was genuinely taken aback by the proud racism and xenophobia expressed during the tournament.
Now, if Epstein is a consistent thinker rather than a mediocre shill for his allies, we may expect this line to be followed by some explanation for such racism; we would perhaps fine something to the effect that many South Koreans know their extended family members to be living under the world’s most terrible and murderous regime, or that the country was brutally occupied by the Japanese in the memory of many still living and torn asunder by war almost immediately thereafter, or that its own march towards liberty has been slow and difficult. Let us see what he writes next, then:
But there is also something inherent to the game of soccer that leads to such astounding levels of violence. There is a reason that the Olympics, the World Baseball Classic, and the Rugby World Cup do not lead to the kind of violence that is typical of soccer competitions.
It has to do with how utterly boring soccer is.
There is a great more to mock in Epstein’s incompetent attempt to portray Gibson as being “crucified” by the director’s dastardly opponents, but I’ve got to go see Inception, which I hear is very good.