Friday Breastblogging

In news that will surprise no one, no one at all, Ann Althouse continues to be a lying, spiteful sack of shit. A lying, spiteful sack of shit who hates boobs.


That's just un-American, is what I say. I also say, echoing zuzu, "Fuck you, Ann Althouse."

Won't it be cute the next time she goes crying for feminist support? Why, yes! Yes, it will be very cute. Indeed.

UPDATE: Lauren mentioned bad rap earlier. That was a bad idea. Very, very bad.



We like the boobs; the boobs that go BOOM.

NOT THAT THIS WILL DO ANY GOOD, BUT, AN UPDATE: Ann is now complaining in her own comments that none of the feminazis haters answered her question. I refuse to link to that brainless crone, in keeping with a vow I made after my last go-round with Instapundit's umber whunnnn fayunnn, but here's what she sez about it (emphasis mine):

Well, all you folks who took advantage of this comments section to attack me, in fact, you've made the argument against yourselves. Despite repeated requests, you never addressed the question asked. You mightily tried to put up a smokescreen, but no one serious is fooled. You did not address the question. I'm going to have to give you an F and deem all the things you haven't addressed conceded. I hope you understand that.

So I went looking for the question, because I thought it'd be less messy and less painful than taking the nail-pulling end of a hammer to my skull. I was wrong, of course, because THERE IS NO QUESTION, or at least not one I deem "serious," and please forgive me for getting even that close to trotting out the old "unserious" accusation that the rightwing bloggers have been making a mockery of FOR AT LEAST THE LAST THREE YEARS, if not longer.

But don't take it from me; you be the judge. Here is every last sentence in Ann's post that ends in a question mark, and yes, this was painful for me to do and almost, but not quite, necessitated the imbibing by me of strong spirits:

I wanted to elevate a discussion from the comments section of a post from Wednesday, you know the one with the photo of the Daou-wrangled bloggers posing in front of Bill Clinton?

Yeah, we know.

The first commenter, Goesh, picks up on my prompt -- "Let's just array these bloggers... randomly" -- and wisecracks: "Who is the Intern directly in front of him with the black hair?"

That was technically someone else's question, so I don't think this is what Ann's demanding a "serious" answer to, either. Then again, who knows. This is Ann Airhead we're dealing with.

Making this colloquy into this new blog post, I actually click over to Jessica's blog, and what the hell?

THE CALLS ARE COMING FROM INSIDE THE HOUSE!

Wait--that was only a movie, and much less scary than the prospect of Ann Althouse teaching anyone about anything. Also I don't think that was her question, either.

Then, when she goes to meet Clinton, she wears a tight knit top that draws attention to her breasts and stands right in front of him and positions herself to make her breasts as obvious as possible?

Finally, something I can answer! Except Jill already answered it:

It’s fairly clear that the photo is arranged by height, with the shorter people in the front. Jessica, one of the shorter people there, is in the front row. She stands, back straight, with her hands at her sides like everyone else. She moves slightly over so that she’s not blocking the former President.

But she wore that sweater! And here is where Althouse gives away her true objection to that photo because, like all vapid gasbags, she's not smart enough to lie well. In fact let's answer my question: What the fuck is this demented old crone on about? She's on about the fact that it fucking kills her that Jessica is young, talented, and beautiful. Ann in her prime could never have been such a knockout. And I might have a grain of sympathy for Ann if she'd just admit that, because you know something, I'm a fat old bag myself and sometimes it's hard for me to see beautiful younger women achieving things I never even dreamed of--I mean, whatever you think of William Jefferson Clinton, he WAS President once. I'd be thrilled to meet him just to say I did it. Regardless, I am no stranger to jealousy and I get those little pangs of envy for youth myself sometimes. I do!

And then I endeavor to keep my grousing to myself because whatever else I am, I am not a vain, petty old scag like Ann Althouse.

Or are you going to say she's some kind of Karl Rove plant?

Now who's being unserious? Wait, that didn't come out right. I meant to ask, "Now who's being a total fucking retard?"

Case in point?

I was going to give you the context for that question, but please, just take my word for it that it makes no sense whatsoever and is DEEPLY UNSERIOUS to boot.

I might note that apparently now if you pose for a photo with the President and you aren't clad in attire Ann approves of, it counts as "breastblogging." I only wish I were making that up, but that's logic on Planet Althouse for you.

What are you going to do?

Drive the knife in and twist.

So am I for giving her the publicity.... but what the hell?

I haven't looked at Feministing's traffic lately but I think it'll be a cold, lonely day in hell when the gang there are dependent on ANN ALTHOUSE for publicity of any sort.

And THAT'S IT for Ann's questions. You want to know the truth? I think she did too many hallucinogens back in the day and actually thinks she has asked serious questions that she only asked in her mind. Just to be sure, though, because I am much fairer to my opponents than is this useless dimwit, I went back and checked the previous post. NO FUCKING QUESTIONS. AT ALL.

Maybe she asked one in the comments, but last I checked that comments thread was over 275 comments long and besides my fairness has run out, so you know something? I'm not counting questions asked in her comments. If you're such an almighty A-list blogger, Althouse, ask the question in a post. Because this is, I suspect, her question:

"How can you call yourself a feminist when you're cozying up to a former President who was so abusive to women?"

Right, Ann? That was the fucking question, wasn't it? Here's a tip: Next time, lay off slagging other women for the crime of looking better than your wilted crumpled self and JUST ASK THE QUESTION. IN A POST, ANN, NOT IN YOUR MIND.

And as for the answer here is my guess: Because we all make compromises sometimes and it's an honor to meet with any former President and since Ann knows and I know and everyone with an IQ over 70 knows that Ann isn't really concerned about feminism at all, why don't we just stipulate that this is a bullshit (and, I repeat, UNASKED) question. What you were really interested in doing, Ann, was taking that hot young thing down a peg or two. Too bad you're the one who landed face down in the mud in the attempt, you fetid old bat.

Quick! Someone call Dr. Helen! I see a woman behaving badly on the internet, and her name's Ann Althouse.