GOD BE PRAISED! A "tranny" goes to the bughouse

A "tranny" (as I call 'em) named Michael Cook is -- or rather was -- a special educator for a school district in Kentucky. He is now incarcerated in a mental institution. The reason? He and his defenders claim that his troubles began when he proclaimed his belief in the inane "controlled demolition" theory of the fall of the Twin Towers -- a belief he holds despite the fact that the collapse began AT THE POINT OF IMPACT and despite the fact that not one single expert in controlled demolition in the world favors this idea.

(Note: "Tranny" is my derisive nickname for the CD-ers. If the nomenclature puzzles you, ask someone hipper than you are what the terms "CD" and "tranny" signify in the sexual underground.)

The 911 Tranny Movement has tried to turn the Cook case into a Dreyfuss-esque cause celebre, although their write-ups of the affair neglect to mention one key fact: Cook, who legally carried a concealed weapon, had invited the attention of the Secret Service when he called for the "execution" of George Bush.

Of course, one wonders why the SS didn't go after Ann Coulter, who once voiced a longing for the assassination of Bill Clinton. She later claimed that she meant her words poetically. Personally, I think Ann belongs in the ladies' ward of the same fine institution which Mr. Cook now calls home. Or maybe not the ladies' ward. (The tranny ward...?)

If you had brought a matter like this to my attention a few months back, I might have sympathized with Cook. But after the ghastly way I've been treated by the trannies -- after dealing with their mad accusations, their agent-baiting, their presumption of bad faith on the part of anyone who won't share their hallucinations, their obscenely bad behavior, their endless repetition of long-exposed lies, their pretense that I have never addressed issues that I've discussed ad nauseaum -- I have NO sympathy for any examples of the breed. Go look at the comments I received back in December, and then tell me I have no right to my venom.

It's not really fair to say that the trannies are entirely responsible for my decision to leave this blog. They are but one symptom of the problem. Belief in CD is growing, but so is belief in Creationism.

A post I wrote as an obvious prank (in honor of the time-honored Day of the Pulled Leg) has received widespread credence. Each and every day, some new idiot reprints or links to the thing; one "investigator" has announced plans to include the "data" in a formally published book. Meanwhile, articles in which I try to tell the truth are routinely ignored.

As a fairly well-known Frenchman once told me, "People believe what they WANT to believe."

I close my eyes each night and see, in my mind's eye, a truly horrifying sight: The sneering, arrogant mug of Alex Jones, vomiting daily lies with total jackass self-assurance. This is what America wants: A noggin without a niggling doubt, a mind without a "maybe." He is certain that the Illuminati are real, that secret societies run the world, that Bush is an occultist, that devil-worship occurs at the Bohemian Grove, and that hidden bombs brought down those damn buildings. I see Jones and I think of the immortal words of R. Crumb:

MEET THE SNOID! Now here's a dude with absolute self-confidence! Never had a self-doubt in his entire life! And no qualms of conscience have ever stood in his way!

Soon, all political debate will be reduced to a battle between left-wing and right-wing versions of Alex Jones. He is our future.

In a sense, he is a Bush by-product. We have a Snoid President and a Snoid Veep, supported by a well-funded infrastructure of Media Snoids such as Snoid Limbaugh and Snoid O'Reilly. Bush opponents have learned that one can combat the Snoids only by becoming a Snoid. Let us have no more weighing of possibilities; no more concessions; no more qualifying clauses; no more perhapses; no more conditional phrases; no more admissions of error; no more recognition of the world's uncertainties. This is war. A war of the Snoids. My Snoid versus your Snoid, and may the loudest Snoid win.

In a world where fact no longer matters, where reality itself takes on a taffy-like malleability, writing non-fiction loses all meaning. In recent times, I've turned down invitations to write for three periodicals whose names you would recognize. I've also turned down invitations to appear on the radio. (Side note: Why do we use the term "appear on the radio"? It doesn't make much sense. Yet "speak on the radio" sounds wrong -- unless your initials are FDR.) Why try to serve up facts? People don't like 'em. They want myth. Writers who hope to puncture the prevailing mythologies should combat them with counter-myths, not with unlovable and detested reality.

You need a Jesus to displace a Jove. A Darwin can't do the job.

Daniel Hopsicker privately told me that "Truth is addictive." I reminded him that when he and I were boys, only a few snake-handlers in Tennessee believed in the literal reality of Genesis. Hopsicker is wrong: Lies are addictive. Truth is a detox center, and most Americans would rather stay high.

And yet: The fate of Michael Cook gives me some hope.

Do I sound mean-spirited? Then so be it. After receiving so much abusive behavior from the trannies, I am no longer capable of my former Voltairian zeal to defend an opponent. My heart is now as hard as Superman's fist, my spirit as bitter as an unsweetened mug of the 48-hour blend. There's no Freude like Schadenfreude.

Ah, what a lovely image: Michael Cook shambling down those linoleum hallways in his ill-fitting white uniform, lining up to take his daily pills from Nurse Ratched, trundling off to play Crazy Eights with Scooby Schiz and his invisible friends, trying to sleep at night while Dr. Lecter howls in the sub-basement. Do they still use the hoses? God, I hope so!

No comments of any kind will be allowed for this post. Don't even think of sneaking them in elsewhere. Trannies, I am what you have made me -- the acrid product of your calumnies. If you don't like what I have to say in these last days, just go away.