Genociding Ward Churchill for over a 20th of a century

CNews 25May08

CNews 13May08

DrunkaDewd comments adroitly on a report that UC-Boulder is gonna fix its academic problems with a "Professor of Conservative Thought and Policy" chair endowment. We're thinking an endowed chair for a "Professor of Keeping Other Professors Honest By Forcing Them To Teach Without Resorting To Lies, Sophistry, And Outright Fraud" would be more appropriate, but that's probably too much to expect from a university run by a guy named "Bud".

CNews 3May08

Some drunk Benjie claims is "Ward Churchill" practices his typing over at DBAB, in what sadly appears to be a failed attempt to write "just like Benjie". Sorry, Perfesser, but Benjie sacrificed untold thousands of restroom walls to perfect his craft; leave the sneering to the expert. (ht Fred)
Excerpts (all errors left intact, bf added by us):

After all, a pronounced inability to follow a coherent train of thought has been a hallmark of the “analyses” delivered on Pirate Ballerina since day one, and, given the intellectual impairments of it’s audience, the consistently with which it has offered self-contradictory argumentation has proven to be one of the blog’s most attractive features for readers like PhD Anthro and, er, Mickey Mouse.

[...]

It gets better. Since [Hamilton College president Joan Hinde] Stewart’s check-stopping gambit was flagrantly illegal, she—or, rather, Hamilton College—did end up paying me the full and duly-contract amount. It also had to pay my attorney. And it was stuck with the tab for all costs associated with the case, which, to be sure, included a stable of sleek—and very pricey—Manhattan mouthpieces retained to try and stave off the inevitable.

That was in the fall of 2005, [Paine], about six months after the low-rent maneuver rousing all those warm and tingly sensations in your grubby little loins. So stop yankin’ on that pitifully undernourished nub you call a “luv muscle” and listen up. Your miniature woody’s already wilted, and I promise that the tale I’m about to tell will not be told in a manner too turgid for your notoriously tasteless sensibilities.

When a man (and we're only assuming the writer is a man) spends more time thinking about your penis than you do, well... Perhaps "Ward" has spent time in public restrooms, albeit in a kneeling, rather than a writing, position. Sorry, Perfesser, but we don't like you "that way."

Returning now to the maunder at hand, we find "Ward" squandering what remains of his wit on some sort of bondage fantasy involving Stewart.

By the time all was said and done, President Stewart—or “Phoney Joanie,” as she was called by those who knew her best—had taken to emitting eerie howls over her cellphone, the result, it’s said, of noticeably spastic bowels, caused in turn by an increasingly vast sense of despair and personal humiliation—dare I say “degradation and defilement”?—that seems to have grown ever deeper—maybe even worse and worse—as the weeks rolled by.

While the onset of Joanie’s malady generated much astonishment among those unversed in such things, it came as no great surpise to who bothered to examine her situation in a rational manner.

I mean, what other outcome might reasonable people have expected to obtain from the facts that she’d authorized the expenditure of roughly triple the dollar amount the college originally owed me, all to prevent my receiving a cent, only to find herself staring in the face of the ugly prospect that she could even wind up being cuffed and jailed like a two-dollar whore for her trouble?

[...]

The Great Wheel of Karmic Justice having thus begun to turn in earnest, Joanie was reduced to a frantic spate of telephonic grovelings, imploring me to please, please, PLEASE accept her supplications—not to mention a nice fresh check, certified this time and couriered to my lawyer—rather than having her publicly flogged, shorn, and placed in stocks.

How mortifying do you reckon that must have been for someone who’d figured to establish herself as a Heroine of the Right by putting me quite firmly in my place? Ho-ho.

Worse still, at the point she was compelled to figuratively assume that posture of craven submission most commonly associated with baboons (you can look that one up, too), she’d been unable even to secure the usual quid pro quo agreement that the whole transaction would remain secret.

Really, [Paine], long before her prematurely palsied hand put pen to paper, Joanie knew she’d gone and fucked the monkey, big time. Her defeat was, well, total, her bright future as an omnipotent administrator resembling a turd swirling in a toilet bowl on full flush.

Immediately after the check was sent, Joanie’s deterioration became much more conspicuous, or so I’m told. Her slide into the abyss was grim, amazingly swift, and apparently marked by an unremitting series of barks, shrieks, and moans, eventually subsiding into mewls, then gurgles.

Yes, it’s a savage and brutal story, [Paine], even tragic by some estimations. But, what the hell? Veni vidi vici, right?

"Veni vidi vici"... That your safe word, "Ward"? No matter. After a few more paragraphs of this, um, whatever it is, "Ward" reaffixes the penlight of his intellect on PB, concluding (cue ominous soap-opera music):

There’s a lesson to be learned from all this, [Paine], but I think I’ll just let you sit around and fester for a while, trying to figure it out. You will, eventually. You can trust me on that score. I know about such things, and I doubt you’re going to find it especially amusing.