Unsurprisingly, Shakespeare's Sister was right at the top of the list of "potty mouths."
I love how Bitch, PhD doesn't even get her name spelled out.
Our big, fat, potty-mouthed ranking might seem a particularly impressive feat considering that Shakes doesn't have in-page commenting, but, on the other hand, it's decidedly less impressive when one considers my uses of "cunt" or "tits" are often references to my own actual body parts, or part of a discussion of someone else using the former as an insult.
Anyhow, you can find all the idiotic details of this important undertaking at Instaputz, where Blue Texan concisely makes the case for why counting naughtywords is, perhaps, not the best way to prove "that it's the right which is still concerned with ideas while it's the left that's obsessed with the lowest kind of hateful invective."
Ohhh-kay. Let's do a trial run.Yeah. Pretty much.
Putz: What we really should be doing is killing Iranian civilians. Heh.
Malkin: Exactly. And the NY Times publishers should be locked up for treason.
Denny K: Yeah! Let's hunt them down and find out where their kids go to school.
Coulter: My only regret is that Tim McVeigh didn't blow up the NY Times.
Misha: Forget the Times, I want the Supremes. Five robes, five ropes, five trees.
Lefty Blogger: You're all fucking crazy.
InstaPunk: See? The lefty bloggers are more hateful.
…[W]hy not run a few chapters of Mein Kampf or The Turner Diaries through your little Shrill Detector, and then compare those results with a Richard Pryor set from the '70s.
This whole thing reminds me of nothing so much as the whole person of faith vs. person of genuine good will dichotomy, in which, as long as one asserts to be "a person of (an approved) faith," one is presumed to be a person of genuine good will, often in spite of all evidence to the contrary. People of genuine good will are either religious or they're not, but it doesn't matter because that's not what defines them; their behavior does. Here, it's not the actual ideas being expressed that matter; it's whether one uses naughtywords. In either case, content and belief count far less than appearances. May you be known only by your façade.
I have indeed used the seven dirty words—and lots of other objectionable vocabulary, when the legendary seven won't do—in plenty of instances. You see, I find the Bush administration, the modern conservative movement, and its assorted accomplishments, including war, torture, and an astonishing contempt for the rule of law, absolutely obscene, and obscenity of that magnitude deserves, at minimum, the occasional verbal obscenity in response. I'm not interested in being polite about an unjust war. I don't feel particularly inclined to be polite about state-sanctioned torture. I'm not compelled to be polite about the determined dismantling of our Constitution. But being impolite is not the same as being hateful.
That distinction isn't, however, something I expect those who celebrate the same things I abhor to understand.
Much has been made, since Bill Donohue took notice of me, of my moniker Queen Cunt of Fuck Mountain, the ultimate evidence, natch, of what a filthy, horrid little person I am. Well, it's as good a time as any to revisit from whence it came:
Too many of us speak in calm and measured tones when there’s so much at stake. You won’t find that here. …This blogger, this American, is as mad as hell, and she’s not going to take it anymore.If the worst thing anyone can honestly say about the writers of Shakespeare's Sister is that we can be foul-mouthed because we're passionate about defending our vision of America from thieves and thugs, well, fuck—I'd say we're not doing too badly.
On a related note, fearing that we face a whole new level of bullshit about which we will, and should, be visibly angry, and preparing myself thusly, comments and emails composed specifically to tell me to stop using bad language or to start being less aggressive, less hostile, less antagonistic, less bitchy, less arrogant, less belligerent, less vitriolic, less nasty, less acerbic, or less of a poopyhead, are as welcome as any other, but I feel obligated to inform all potential authors of such missives that they are, however, a waste of time.
If I get my facts wrong, let me know. If you don’t like my tone, tough. At this bus stop in the blogosphere, I’m Queen Cunt of Fuck Mountain, and I’m mean for a reason. Once we get our country back on the right track, there will plenty of time for nursery rhymes.