THE PALEOCRAT TRIBUNE

Little more than a gaggle of hacks and geeks.

Posts Tagged ‘Paleocrat Tribune

The Stench of Modern Feminism

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By Velleitaire
Jan. 9, 2007

On the first day of my Writing and Rhetoric II class, my professor took us for a field trip to the bathroom… yes, the bathroom. We walked down the hallway and when we got to those bathroom doors he asked if we noticed anything different about them. I looked at the doors in front of me and all I could think to say was that they were opposite of each other, one opening to the left and the other to the right.

Apparently I was way off track. He looked at me, pointed to the doors and said,

“This one says men and this one says ladies.”

Well, of course. I had taken notice of this, but I really didn’t consider it to be of any real significance. He went on to ask,

“Well, why don’t they say men and women or ladies and gentleman?”

We then walked back to the classroom in order write about what we thought it meant. Was it significant? Why?

My mind was in a whirlwind. The topics he was getting at (gender sensitivity and feminism) are issues that get me a tad ticked off.

While I failed to voice my opinion in class, I did make sure to write what was on my mind. It seems like almost anything offends women these days, and it has become quite dangerous.

The question that stuck in my mind revolved around the hypocrisy of the whole thing. I mean, why are the very people who say we have to accept people for who they are so intolerant of people who don’t believe the way they do?

Here is a good example: The Vagina Monologues. Olivet College, where Paleo and I attend, is putting on a rendition of the Vagina Monologues this year. I guess they have done it for many years now.  But why is it that colleges like ours, and those all around the country, have no problem with The Vagina Monologues, but students have to be careful when talking about the Bible or religion in class? For that matter, why is it that the Women’s Resource Center has plenty of “safe sex” material and more than a handful of condoms for the taking, but finding pamphlets about abstinence or the dangers of abortion are almost non-existent?

All of this is really peculiar coming from Olivet College. Olivet was  founded as a Christian college. Just looking at the college’s sticker on my laptop I can clearly see the words, “Pro Christo Et Humanitate,” which is Latin meaning “For Christ and humanity.” The seal also has the word Torah in Hebrew! I can only wonder what the founders, and especially Father Shipherd, would say about the current state of affairs. More on that in my next post.

But let’s get back to the bathroom doors. I highly doubt that it was put there by some sort of egotistical womanizer who expressed his chauvinism by referring to women as ladies. The likelihood that the person intended to make women feel inferior to men by referring to them as ladies is rather slim.  Actually, I think it is kind of a compliment.

I am curious to know if anyone considered the possibility that it was done in good will. What if it was meant to make a woman feel respectable and dignified? Who really knows?

It’s one thing to fight for a woman’s right to be treated fair. It is another thing to take exception to being referred to as ladies rather than women on a bathroom door. As for me, I am glad they chose to refer to us as ladies. If only more began acting ladylike.

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Mr. Wizard Misses Mr. Snuffleupagus (3x’s fast)

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By Velleitaire and Paleocrat
Dec. 15, 2008

“Sir, how much for that woolly mammoth over there?”

I guess woolly mammoths have been extinct for a while now…or so I’ve read. Leave a woman at Green’s Tavern on “Boozeday Tuesday” and one may think otherwise. Then again, woolly mammoths typically had teeth and didn’t wear wife-beater undershirts splattered with week-old stains from coffee and Skoal chewing tobacco.

Crazy scientists announced that they have almost finished sequencing the genome of this wild, harry creature formally seen only in museums, movies, or dope houses on “the other side of the tracks.” Turns out, if these wild-eyed Dr. Wizards get their way, little Johnny Q. and Sally Sue may get to ride one of them at your nearest petting zoo.

Dale McFeatters, a class act of a syndicated columnist, thinks we owe it to Mr. Snuffleupagus to resurrect him and his pals from their icy tombs. McFeatters frames it in moral terms. This fellow believes that the mere fact that someone’s 1o,000-year-old  neanderthal relative hunted these monsters down with rocks and clubs all the way to extenction somehow requires modern humankind to give these beasts a “second chance.”

Have these people not seen Jurassic Park? The late Michael Crichton would have punched them in the face. What is the old saying? Mr. Snuffleupagus may have been cool to watch on TV, but don’t invite him over for dinner? Something like that… either way, this whole thing is crazy.

Blessed Virgin Mary in Playboy???

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By Aleebannister and Paleocrat
Dec. 14, 2008

Every year I hear about Christmas catalogues that go over the line with sexual images. I have never figured out why they do this. I don’t personally know of anybody who bought from any of these stores because of the half-naked anorexic woman or the male models who look like they cam out of a crack house. But I guess I’m just not artistic enough to understand.

But Hugh Hefner is!! The pervert from Playboy decided to outdo the bulimic supermodels and heroin addicts in other catalogues. He was going to depict the Virgin Mary posing naked for the Christmas edition of his magazine. I’ve always known Mr. Hefner was a pervert and a polygamist (see Editor’s note at bottom), but this is just wrong.

I guess the irony of the story is that he decided to make it the Christmas edition of Playboy in Mexico! In case he didn’t know, Mexican Catholics have a special devotion to Our Lady.

I would love to hear of Mexican churches and communities burning piles and piles of this magazine. They need to let Mr. Hefner know that nudity is bad enough, but depicting Our Lady like this is taking things way too far.

Pray for Hefner and the end of pornography.

Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou amongst women, and blessed is the fruit of they womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death. Amen.

EDITOR’S NOTE: Hefner has dated numerous women at one time, but he only “marries” one at a time. He was recently dating three women. One of them was 19 years old, the other two being twin sisters.

The Day the Playground Died

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I’m so sick and tired of being sick and tired. Sure, it is a overused cliche, but when the shoe fits, wear it. 

The cough and sleepless nights make it hard to think, but my fingers on the keyboard typically do that for me. I could be caught up in another of my daydreams and yet my fingers would continue pounding out yet another mediocre blog aimed at the peanut gallery.

These daydreams have become rather problematic though. It’s hard to imagine that I’ve never been given some diagnosis for it. Daydreamitis? Understimulatia? At any rate, it feels that I am always neck deep in these wild-eyed imaginations… most of which occur at the most inopportune time.

Who is to blame? I mean, the blame has to stop somewhere, and I certainly can’t take the fall.

Why not blame the media for this set of affairs? They are the perfect scapegoat, really. Enough baggage to make the blame stick, but enough innocence to make it a worthy sacrifice. I readily admit that blaming the media is a cheap (and common) way out of taking personal responsibility where personal responsibility is due. But for the sake of this particular entry the media shall do just fine.

Start with television. My youth was spent in TV Land. Or was it TV Wonderland? Cartoons were just the beginning, or at least the beginning of the day. My day gradually turned into a blur of channel-flipping, confident that there was always something worth watching. Of course, by “worth watching” I mean what I considered to be the best thing on at that particular moment in time. It could have been 90210, You Can’t Do That on Television, or even Xena the Princess Warrior! All that mattered was that it was on the TV and that I was watching.

Then the Nintendo hit the shelves. That was really the straw that broke the camel’s back. Nintendo, Gameboy, Sega Genesis, Super Nintendo, GameCube, Playstation II… on and on it went, system after system, hour after hour down the drain. All the while my brain was working at a pace just above death and just below comatose.

Gaming was really the beginning of an extraordinarily fast decline. The ramifications of its advent into human history was visible for any eye willing or able to see. The neighborhood basketball courts, baseball fields, and parks became ghost towns as kids traded worn out shoes for calloused thumbs and that wretched feeling one gets from having stared at a television screen far too long. GI Joe figures collected dust, Erector sets and Lego blocks were stored away… but at least we had Super Mario, the Double Dragon twins, Soda Popinski and Zelda. 

Everything sounded like a good trade-off at the time. Life was easy and entertaining. Better yet, we didn’t have to entertain ourselves. No more demand for energy, creativity, and a relatively stable sleeping routine. No of that awkward silence that accompanied reading. No more lead-stained palms from shading your most recent piece of comic artwork. Everything was so easy… too easy.

Fast forward to the present. Here I sit in front of yet another machine with flashing lights and cool background music. My fingertips are still calloused, though I can only but imagine that my thumb appreciates the space bar over against the four-way Nintendo directional pad. And my sleep schedule is still erratic. Caffeine, eye drops, and high gravity lager may not keep me on track, but they’ve managed to keep me in the same zip code.

I can only wonder what life would be like without 24-hour television and video game systems. What would our playgrounds, basketball courts, and baseball fields look like? What would I look like? 

Everything happens for a reason, or so I trust. The question, then, is what reason all of this has had in the grand scheme of human existence. Maybe somehow, somehow, all things lost or lessened will be returned and strengthened? We may be seeing it right before our very eyes, at least in part. Maybe… hopefully.

Off-the-Cuff: Eggnog Escapades

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By Velleitaire and Paleocrat
Dec. 11, 2008

EDITOR’S NOTE: There was at no point during this event, or even thereafter, where Paleocrat was intoxicated. Furthermore, the Meijer associates at no time referred to the Jews or spun recklessly on the floor. The rest has been slightly dramatized for the reader’s enjoyment.

Eggnog…we need eggnog. But where? That is the question… Aha! Meijer, of course. Most certainly Meijer.

Paleo and I jump recklessly out of the vehicle as it speeds at 76 mph towards a most frightening curb made of adamantium and dynamite. Dusting the bitter remains of failed dreams and government cheese off our clothing, we made our way to the door.

“Dang Nazis,” he said, “why are the enter doors on the left side?”

Curious question. Curious question indeed. But we submit ourselves – grudgingly I might add – to the whimsical fancy of the fascist draftsman who plotted out the absurd left-side entryway. We hadn’t passed through the automated doors once operated by low-wage immigrants before Paleo began rambling on about Koreans and how “it’s all their fault.”

“Well of course, why wouldn’t be?” I replied.

In typical Paleo fashion, he is oblivious to – or just ignores – the fact that there is a door greeter just a few feet away. She heard ever word… and was apparently made nervous by what appeared to be a racially charged accusation against all Korean people! With her gross globs of lipstick and painted on eyebrows, the elderly woman uttered what was obviously nothing more than a nervous chuckle.

Paleo turns around abruptly, looking the woman straight in the eyes. She smiled, but no amount of caked makeup or globs of lipstick could hide her sudden timidity. I can only imagine her wondering what was going to happen next. I was wondering the exact same thing. A crazed white man ranting about Koreans in the middle of the night.

“I’m talking about my wife,” Paleo explains. “My wife is Korean, and most certainly to blame for everything.”

She gives a nervous laugh, then says, “Now don’t you go forgetting about those Jews.”

For the love of all things sacred! Did she just say what I thought she said? No… there is no way… certainly the sweet, old greeter didn’t say something about the Jews! Oh well, we must move on. To the dairy section… focus Mary, Paleo certainly won’t can’t focus for himself. No, not tonight.

Ah…yes, alas, rows and rows of artery-clogging eggnog. For the first time since entering this establishment I thought all was well and good. No more Koreans, no more Tammy Faye Baker greeters… oops, spoke too soon.

“The ether is suppose to stay in the car, Mary!”  he said with the kind of frustration that comes from those who know too much when speaking to those who know too little. “For crying out loud, Mary, you have it all over your scarf.”

In most any other situation this would be no problem… but not this time. Paleo, pretending to be in a drunken stupor, just so happened to have blurted this out in front of another customer. She looked like she got a kick out of the entire thing, but she was probably confident that Paleo was on a copious amount of drugs. To make matters worse, the woman probably thought that I was also a drug addict! How to get out of this? How? I will insist that I am his designated driver!

I walk towards the woman, signaling that I wished to tell her something. “Ma’am,” I said…

“Can you help us?” Paleo interrupted.

No, he did not just do that! He chose to use that very moment to begin asking innocent bystanders whether a jug or a carton is a better deal. “I am not good with this stuff,” he admits, “too many numbers. It’s like demanding me to Velcro my shoes! Tough stuff for any man, really.”

The woman, apparently moved by what appeared to be his drug-induced state of mind, convinces him that the best deal is to buy three cartons. She also informs him that any more than about a shot of Captain Morgan in a glass of eggnog will overpower the other flavors.

“Honestly, toots, I am not at all sure that would bother me at this time.”

Oh goodness! He called her toots! Am I blushing? The woman was, but almost in a way that gave the impression that she didn’t mind being belittled in such a way. Toots? Toots??

Check it out, bag it up, and walk towards the exit. That is all we had to do. Simple enough, no trouble, and certainly no Koreans.

It is in this comfortably safe place that Paleo began jabbering on about Rumple Minze putting hair on your eyeballs. “Everyone knows it.” Yeah, everyone… everyone except for me!

“What the heck does that even mean?” I asked. “For that matter, what is Rumple Minze?”

He stopped mid-stride, jaw hitting the floor.

“What? Are you serious? Everyone knows! Even these two broads behind the counter.”

The comfortable safety quickly vanished as the two “broads” he was referring to overheard his remark. Here it comes… we are so screwed.

“It’s a figure of speech,” one of the girls said. “It’s like the saying about how drinking Brandy puts hair on your chest.”

“And don’t forget potato  chips,” Paleo added, “those worked for me.”

The woman rubs her chest in a manner much like Paleo, admitting, “It worked for me too.”

The two of them began laughing hysterically, the woman obviously having no qualms with being referred to as a broad. Sanity had vanished. They began giggling so hard that snot was running out of their noses. The two of them hit the tiled floor, spinning wildly in circles, faces turned red with laughter over what appeared to be some kind of sick inside joke. He later told me he never met her before that time. His reaction was purely spur of the moment. He was just amazed that she was as much into the hysteria as he was.

So we head for the door… oh no, the greeter! Isn’t it past her bedtime? Doesn’t she have to get back for the Golden Girls, Murder She Wrote, or Matlock? Aren’t there hard candies or sherbet to eat?

No matter what her excuse, she was still there by the doors. Paleo chances one more encounter with this woman. He tells her that if a Korean woman comes asking for a man named “Jeremiah,” that she is to tell her that he went on a safari, and that, Lord willing, he will be back sometime Tuesday.

Finally, back to those irritating backward doors we first entered. We had our eggnog. That is all we came for… Or was it? As I looked over at Paleo, he cracked a half-smile, returning to his typical sober demeanor, only to make a snide, off-the-cuff remark about how gullible people really are.

What a sick man. Truly a sick man. I always knew public apperances with Paleo were unpredictable…unpredictable indeed… but this had been something altogether otherworldly.

Become a Tribune Contributor

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mary-profile-sepia1 angela-profile

The Paleocrat Tribune would like to welcome two new members. Well… not really.  Mary Arend (i.e. Velleitaire: French for “indecisive”) is the producer/director of Paleo Radio, and Angela Bannister (i.e. Aleebannister) just so happens to be my wife. Not too new after all…

As much as I would love to chalk this up as a decision based purely on need for their skills, the truth is that the site needed better looking contributors. I mean, I wasn’t beat with an ugly stick on my into existence, but I have a slight deficiency in the looks department.

All in all, I think the decision was brilliant.

NOTE: We are looking for any other Distributist, Corporatist,  Catholic Solidarists or Paleoconservative who is interested in contributing to this site, to Paleo Radio, or even both. If working with us is something you would consider, send an e-mail to paleocrat@aol.com. Include your name, church of attendance, and a brief bio. Make sure to include a basic description of your positions on matters concerning religion, culture, politics, and economics.

Written by Paleocrat

December 9, 2008 at 2:15 pm