Repulsive Dwarf Hurls Clods Of Faeces
The most common criticism of my output here and elsewhere - beyond the obvious, fully-merited critiques that consist solely of insults and cusswords - is that I consistently fail to engage with the arguments of the people I address and instead restrict my comments to snide insults and crude mockery.
This is entirely fair, since my standard argumentative technique is to copy out a small extract from some blogger or journalist's work and then attack the author with a series of highly personal and offensive remarks. While I feel that this is the appropriate way to approach the arguments of individuals that I personally regard as being fundamentally dishonest and intentionally misleading, I appreciate that many will find this tactic childish and ineffective. I'd like to dispel this impression by considering a randomly-chosen article from yesterday's newspapers, which I intend to subject to a forensic process of logical deconstruction.
It's in this spirit that I now note the following quotation from Times writer Oliver Kamm...
In his first book, The Destruction of Dresden, he [David Irving] concluded that at least 135,000 had died. That figure quickly made its way into culture. Kurt Vonnegut, who as a prisoner of war had survived the bombing of Dresden, alighted on Irving’s figure and made this alleged atrocity — complete with a long quotation from Irving — a central theme of his novel Slaughterhouse-Five. But the statistic was bogus and was revealed as such during Irving’s unsuccessful libel suit against Deborah Lipstadt and Penguin Books in 2000.
The utility and morality of extreme violence against civilians in war is a fraught and complex issue, and one that should be cautiously approached for fear of constructing equivalences between regrettable yet necessary military operations and acts of senseless aggression and destruction.
Nonetheless, I feel it's essential to stress that Kurt Vonnegut was an immensely imaginitive and talented writer whose work was filled with pathos, humanity and a surprising, quiet dignity.
Oliver Kamm, on the other hand, is a freakish and stunted man-child whose physical and intellectual growth has clearly been retarded by his obvious tendency towards penning ferociously one-eyed justifications for mass-murder while loudly and ecstatically pounding his hideously deformed genitalia.
Indeed, when one hears Kamm speak, it is difficult for the listener to give careful consideration to his arguments, muffled as they are by the pendulous balls of Rupert Murdoch, which Kamm is required to retain in his mouth at all times. I can also confirm that the Times writer's somewhat nasal tones are the result of the media mogul's colossal member, which protrudes up the repulsive midget's piggy little nose, perpetually poking the speech centres of his brain and stimulating him to staccato squeals of random words such as Srebrenica, Chomsky and Apologism with every thrust.
I hope that readers will now concede that I am, in fact, willing to engage fully with the arguments of others, to consider their points in detail and to respond with precision and panache. I would also like to claim authorship of this particular mode of argument, which I now name the Murdoch's Balls In The Face gambit.
(For a slightly more detailed discussion of this issue, see Crooked Timber).
This is entirely fair, since my standard argumentative technique is to copy out a small extract from some blogger or journalist's work and then attack the author with a series of highly personal and offensive remarks. While I feel that this is the appropriate way to approach the arguments of individuals that I personally regard as being fundamentally dishonest and intentionally misleading, I appreciate that many will find this tactic childish and ineffective. I'd like to dispel this impression by considering a randomly-chosen article from yesterday's newspapers, which I intend to subject to a forensic process of logical deconstruction.
It's in this spirit that I now note the following quotation from Times writer Oliver Kamm...
In his first book, The Destruction of Dresden, he [David Irving] concluded that at least 135,000 had died. That figure quickly made its way into culture. Kurt Vonnegut, who as a prisoner of war had survived the bombing of Dresden, alighted on Irving’s figure and made this alleged atrocity — complete with a long quotation from Irving — a central theme of his novel Slaughterhouse-Five. But the statistic was bogus and was revealed as such during Irving’s unsuccessful libel suit against Deborah Lipstadt and Penguin Books in 2000.
The utility and morality of extreme violence against civilians in war is a fraught and complex issue, and one that should be cautiously approached for fear of constructing equivalences between regrettable yet necessary military operations and acts of senseless aggression and destruction.
Nonetheless, I feel it's essential to stress that Kurt Vonnegut was an immensely imaginitive and talented writer whose work was filled with pathos, humanity and a surprising, quiet dignity.
Oliver Kamm, on the other hand, is a freakish and stunted man-child whose physical and intellectual growth has clearly been retarded by his obvious tendency towards penning ferociously one-eyed justifications for mass-murder while loudly and ecstatically pounding his hideously deformed genitalia.
Indeed, when one hears Kamm speak, it is difficult for the listener to give careful consideration to his arguments, muffled as they are by the pendulous balls of Rupert Murdoch, which Kamm is required to retain in his mouth at all times. I can also confirm that the Times writer's somewhat nasal tones are the result of the media mogul's colossal member, which protrudes up the repulsive midget's piggy little nose, perpetually poking the speech centres of his brain and stimulating him to staccato squeals of random words such as Srebrenica, Chomsky and Apologism with every thrust.
I hope that readers will now concede that I am, in fact, willing to engage fully with the arguments of others, to consider their points in detail and to respond with precision and panache. I would also like to claim authorship of this particular mode of argument, which I now name the Murdoch's Balls In The Face gambit.
(For a slightly more detailed discussion of this issue, see Crooked Timber).
posted by FlyingRodent at 4:05 PM
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