Fortunately, the car bomb did not detonate.

The terrorist turned out to be Faisal Shahzad, a Pakistan-born U.S. citizen. And, not surprisingly, Shahzad wasn’t upset about the health care bill. After pleading guilty in court he said, “I consider myself a Mujahid, a Muslim-soldier.” He was upset, as he put it, over “American occupation of Muslim Lands.”

Shortly after the attack, Bloomberg prematurely asserted that there was no evidence suggesting the bomber was part of any recognized terror network. Shahzad later told the court he trained with the Pakistani Taliban to learn bomb-making and other related skills.

Could it be that Bloomberg has underestimated the threat of Islamist terror, or is there another agenda?

The issue has again become relevant in recent days. The New York Times ran a series of articles and editorials blaming the NYPD for using the film The Third Jihad: Radical Islam’s Vision for America as part of their counter-terrorism training.

The articles calling the film “a Dark Film on U.S. Muslims” and a “Hateful Film” are riddled with inaccuracies and omissions.

Following publication of the articles, Mayor Bloomberg stated that NYPD used “terrible judgment” in showing the film, despite admitting that he had never seen it.

We were not aware that the NYPD was using the film, but when we learned of it some months ago, we were pleased that the officers would have an opportunity to learn about the indoctrination taking place in certain segments of Muslim society in America. The film reveals what viewers are unlikely to see on the evening news: What terrorists, radical preachers and Islamists are saying in their own words, in their own mosques and media, to their followers.

The film exposes how radicals employ the dual strategies of “violent Jihad,” along with a “cultural Jihad,” through which Islamist groups use coercion and non-violent means to gradually expand their influence over Western society.

Now, Mayor Bloomberg, The New York Times and others want to bar law enforcement officers from seeing the film. The question is, why?

We reject, outright, the charge that our film is anti-Muslim or that it casts a shadow over the entire Muslim community. In fact, we go to great lengths throughout the film to differentiate the radical Islamists from peaceful Muslims. The film is narrated by, Dr. Zuhdi Jasser, a devout Muslim-American, who has dedicated his life to exposing the threat of radical Islam.

Our critics have failed to mention these points and have chosen not to challenge the film on the merits of its thesis or content.

Perhaps the reason Mayor Bloomberg wants The Third Jihad banned is the same reason he insinuated the Times Square bomber was a health care terrorist — namely, CAIR.

CAIR (Council on American Islamic Relations) is one of many Muslim interest groups that purport to represent the Islamic community in America but in reality have well established ties to Hamas and other terror groups.

CAIR was designated by the U.S. Justice Department for its role in terror financing during the nation’s largest-ever trial on the subject. As a result, the FBI has officially severed all ties with the “advocacy organization.”

Outside of its support for terror organizations, CAIR works to quickly and effectively to silence any discussions about radical Islam by playing the racism card and accusing critics of Islamophobia. CAIR’s devices are effective.

As soon as the current story broke, CAIR immediately branded the film “anti-Muslim propaganda” in a press release. This was followed by a CAIR-led protest on the steps of City Hall calling for the resignation of the NYPD Commissioner Ray Kelly.

The entire episode could have been a chapter in The Third Jihad. We are now seeing “cultural Jihad” in action. In order to avoid agitating Muslim constituents, Mayor Bloomberg  and Commissioner Kelly are backing away from the film, regardless of its merits.

The net result is that CAIR, a designated Muslim interest group with ties to terror financing, is now telling the NYPD how it should go about fighting terror. If that’s not the ultimate act of subversion, I don’t know what is.

The book, like all of Stephenson’s, is extremely character driven, flipping from one viewpoint to another, often in the same time sequence, allowing the reader to experience the action from multiple viewpoints. It revolves around a growing cast of characters, starting with former marijuana smuggler, now online pole playing game mogul, Richard “Dodge” Forthrast. He brings along his adopted niece, former Eritrean refugee — now Midwestern girl — Zula Forthrast.

The motley lot expands to include an ex-Spetsnaz security expert, a Hungarian hacker, a Hakka guide, a Chinese virus righter, a Welsh convert to Islam cum-terrorist mastermind, an MI-6 agent, and an Irish American CIA agent.

One of Stephenson’s greatest talents is on display in this novel. He has an uncanny ability to take normal people and show how they are able to achieve extraordinary things when put in extraordinary situations. Unlike the ubermen of Heinlein and Hubbard, Stephenson’s protagonists are completely fallible. They make mistakes, break nails, fall over, and land face first in the mud. Yet, they still manage, barely, to make it out alive. Well, most of them.

This novel isn’t as groundbreaking as the one that put Stephenson on the geek radar, his cyberpunk thriller “Snow Crash,” based in a dystopian future. Nor does it deliver with the super technical red meat of cryptography that defined “The Cryptonomicon.” With a few minor forays into talk of secure network protocols and some other technical minutiae, “REAMDE” is much more accessible to a broader audience than most of his other works.

What really helps set “REAMDE” apart, though, is its take on religious extremism. There are bad guys in the book. There is no mistaking who they are and why they are doing what they are doing. The villains are Islamic terrorists who have no qualms murdering innocents, rape for ideological reasons, and kill whoever gets in their way. It was surprising, actually, as every other potentially bad actor is given a positive spin. Russian mobsters, Chinese hackers, CIA network specialists, they’re all good guys, regardless of their foibles.

On the opposite end of the spectrum are the Christian isolationists living off the grid in the Idaho panhandle. They happily refer to themselves as wingnuts and don’t take themselves too seriously. They do take their individual rights and religious beliefs very seriously. The only really derogatory mention of them is by one character who refers to them as “Christian Taliban,” but he, too, goes to them for help and appreciates their frontier spirit in the end.

The book comes in at a whopping 1,056 pages, but the action never stops and the enjoyment never lags. The characters are believable, the story implausible and the little details that Stephenson fills the book with are, as always, breathtaking.  If you have a few days to spare and don’t mind getting nothing else done, I highly recommend it for some good fun.

Content Warning: There are frequent uses of coarse language and very graphic descriptions of violence.

Thankfully, that is certainly not the case here and as expected, the very same leftists who would praise the bravery of anyone trashing Christians, are now screaming “Islamophobia!”:

—–

Gothamist:

While Leary is probably trying to shock his fans out of their pre-holiday stupor—fueled by a never ending stream of wallpaper Christmas tunes—we had a very tough time sitting through this particularly xenophobic one-note joke.

Islamophobia Watch:

A jaw-droppingly Islamophobic video has been posted by Irish-American comedian Denis Leary on WhoSay. Some years ago Leary took a firm stand against Mel Gibson’s antisemitism. But apparently crude anti-Muslim stereotyping is fine with Leary.

Please note that neither one said anything objecting to Leary’s shots at Christianity.

Who’s the “phobe” now?

Screaming “Islamophobia,” “xenophobia,”  “homophobia,” “bullying,” or anything of the like, is just the cowards’ way of telling the satirist to shut up.

Repressive tolerance.

These awful people hide their desire to silence free speech with the not-so-velvet hammer of political correctness.

If Leary was on record only ever trashing Muslims, then these crybabies might have a point. But that’s just not the case, and what you have is a reenactment of what we see every time gays are in any way satirized: humorless, sanctimonious, censorious prigs demanding those groups more equal than others receive inoculation from satire.

Good for Denis Leary and please thank Weasel Zippers for for digging this up.

What the formerly relevant singer said is not surprising, but then again, it’s never surprising to hear a celebrity disparaging Christianity. Remember this gem from Rosie O’Donnell?

I have news for Hollywood. It’s not risque to attack Christians, and it’s long been a cliché even for our side to say it’s overdone. If you want to be risque, attack Islam, atheists, or agnostics. My husband is a cradle Catholic (meaning raised Catholic), and he says most of these attacks just roll off his back. Most don’t offend or bother him anymore because it’s simply become the norm. But that doesn’t mean it should be ignored or criticism should be spared for trite offense-mongering like Lady Gaga’s “Alejandro” video.

If you don’t want to watch the video, I understand. Lady Gaga is dressed in a blood red habit and swallows a rosary. This desecration of the rosary is offensive to Catholics because of our veneration (not worship) of Mary, mother of God. The director of the video claims Lady Gaga just wanted to take in the Holy. As a lifelong Catholic, Miss Gaga should know better than that, and if she wanted to “take in the Holy,” there are ways of doing it that won’t cause as many digestive problems, like attending Mass and taking Communion.

Anyway, this scene is interspersed with shots of her in a white robe with crosses on it, an obvious take on the Catholic Saint Joan of Arc. Her male dancers are all over her and she eventually can’t resist so she turns around, rips off the robe, and lets the men sexually devour her. Joan of Arc was a brave woman and has become a very popular and well-loved saint in the Catholic church. To use her imagery in this way is in inexcusably poor taste, not to mention completely unnecessary. There are no lyrics in the song to justify its video’s blatant disrespect for Catholicism.

Beyond the music world, Christian-bashing extends to television both on and offscreen. If you haven’t read Ben Shapiro’s book Primetime Propaganda, buy it now. In his chapter “The Clique,” he brings up Patricia Heaton, an incredibly talented actress who also happens to be conservative and a devout Christian. Mark Harris, a former executive editor of shows like “The Office,” expected to hate “The Middle” because Heaton was its star. Of course, since Ms. Heaton is a conservative, that means the show has to be conservative, right? Wrong! Mr. Shapiro also reveals that in 2006, Kathy Griffin did an interview with the National Enquirer (because when you want to be taken seriously that’s where you go for an interview) and said Ms. Heaton grosses her out because she says it’s not in the Bible gays should not be together, and “those are pieces of information I can’t forget about.” Mr. Shapiro correctly states Ms. Heaton has never said anything about gay marriage.

And Hollywood’s distaste for Christianity carries over to the big screen, as shown in this article about the movie 2012. One of the film’s characters, the Italian Prime Minister, is shown as foolish because his reaction to global natural disasters is prayer. We all know praying is stupid and doesn’t work! Then, director Roland Emmerich portrays the destruction of Christian symbols around the world. First the Sistine Chapel, then St. Peter’s Basilica falls on the faithful in St. Peter’s square (See? Praying doesn’t work), and finally the famous Christ the Redeemer’s statue in Brazil. But wait! The Muslims praying at Kaaba (the heart of Mecca) miraculously don’t see their holy site destroyed! That’s because Emmerich was talked out of it by his co-writer because of the Fatwa issued on the Danish cartoonists who satirized Mohammed. But Emmerich has justified destroying Christian symbols because he’s against organized religion. Isn’t Islam an organized religion? Of course other famous landmarks could have easily been destroyed, but they weren’t shown. That’s because in Hollywood, it’s still somehow considered edgy, politically incorrect, and crazy to attack Christians, despite all the decades it’s already been done to excess.

And social media has given Hollywood bigots a brand-spanking new platform for insulting their audience. Just last week, actor David Krumholtz took to Twitter to attack Christians, mainly Mormons and Catholics (surprise, surprise!). He’s upset because the Parents Television Council called for the cancellation of his show “The Playboy Club” because it degrades women. The PTC said not everything they talk about is reported (which is true). Mr. Krumholtz, devoid of any justification for “The Playboy Club”’s objectification of women, claimed the PTC should also call out the Mormon and Catholic faiths for their many years of degrading women. Um, what? How would their organization — centered around television content — be better off cleaning up these faiths? Mr. Krumholtz changed his tone when Jay Caruso asked how the Catholic faith degrades women. Krumholtz instead brought up another red herring, the sexual abuse cases in the Catholic church.

Allow me to pause and provide a tidbit of education for Mr. Krumholtz. The Catholic Church has addressed the sexual abuse cases he referred to and is working extremely hard to make sure it never happens again. But why judge the entire Catholic faith on those few sick, disgusting men who did those awful things to innocent children? There are far more good priests and Catholics than bad ones, yet Krumholtz, bitter about his show’s lackluster ratings (it has since been cancelled), couldn’t help but overlook that obvious fact for some cheap haranguing.

Consider this social media episode compared to how liberal Hollywood gets upset when people make judgments about Islam based on individuals who did awful things to innocent civilians. Somehow, it’s okay to make absolute judgments on a Christian faith based on a few bad seeds but not Islam? Got it. Last time I checked, Islamic cultures are also very degrading towards women. At least Catholics and Mormons don’t stone women to death for being raped or whip them for driving cars.

All these examples go to show, if you’re an up-and-coming entertainer, you can be truly controversial if you attack Islam, atheists or agnostics, or maybe — just maybe — declare your love for Jesus. However, if you wish to work your way into the industry’s upper echelons, it appears you must conform to the ingrained, cowardly hatred for Christendom that’s defined Hollywood for decades.

Meanwhile, inside a secret nuclear facility, the evil German billionaire, Emanuel Skorzeny is about to make the deal of a lifetime with the Iranians

CHAPTER 44

Qom

“Why are you alone, sister?”

These were not words Maryam wished to hear, especially from a member of the morality police.  The Iranian vice cops – “vice” in this case applying to the very existence of women – were not as notorious as the mutaween of Saudi Arabia, or the Taliban of Afghanistan, but they were plenty dangerous.

She tensed as she answered.  “But I am modestly dressed, worshipping at the sacred mosque.”

They moved closer to her, boxing her in, forcing her into an alley.  Maryam glanced around and saw there was nobody else in sight.  Whatever was going to happen was going to have to happen fast.

“Where is your husband sister?”

“I have… he is away, on state business.  But he will be here soon, that I can assure you.”

“Then where is your father?”

“My father, may Allah bless him, is dead.”

“Your brother?”

“Alas, I have no brothers.”

The two police looked at each other.  In Iran, with one of the highest proportions of young people in the world, everybody had brothers and sisters.  She was obviously lying.

“Sister,” said the first cop, “I am afraid we are compelled by force of holy law to request that you accompany us.”

Maryam kept edging backward, into the alley, away from the crowds.  She knew the religious police were lightly armed, with knives for protection and sticks with which to beat helpless women.  This is what came of a country that had reduced some of the proudest, most glamorous women in the world into servile, cringing slaves.  They had no fear.

They were about to learn different.  They were about to take a very fast trip from the seventh century to the 21^st.  And they weren’t going to like it very much.

“Perhaps,” she said, “we can discuss this in a more private place.”

One of the dirty little secrets of Iran was that whores flourished everywhere.  Probably not since Dickensian London had the world’s oldest profession commanded such a large part of a nation’s economy, or its attention, or its fantasy life.  She need not say anything, merely hint.  They would get the message.  They would take the bait.

The men grinned at each other.  Fringe benefits were part of the job.  A doorway would be good enough.

Maryam took a deep breath and said a silent prayer.  This would have to be fast and lethal.

She moved back into a doorway, letting them come to her, feeling their hands on her body.  She needed them to do just that, to drop their guard, to reach for her with a repressed passion that would dull their other senses until it was too late.

Closer… closer…

She raised her veil as one of them moved in to kiss her, and her hand strayed to the privates of the second cop.  She could feel his mouth on hers, his tongue seeking hers, feel the tumescent excitement of the second man…

Now.

She bit the tongue off and wrenched the other man down, hard.  They both screamed, but their screams were immediately cut off as she drew the knife from the scabbard of the first cop and slashed his throat.  Gurgling, he fell into the second man, who was still in agony.  As he put up his hands to fend off the falling body, she plunged the knife into his heart.  As he died, she saw the look of disbelief in his eyes, that a woman had done this to him, and then a look of bliss, as if all his suspicions of the evil sex were, by his death, finally justified.

“Fuck you,” she said in English.

She pulled both the bodies into the doorway as best she could.  They’d be found almost immediately, that she knew.  She wiped the knife clean of fingerprints and placed it back in its sheath.

She was wet with blood, but the blood would not show against the back of the chador, and in this heat it would dry quickly.  She just had to stay away from people for a while.  And wait… wait for him.

And then, in the greatest miracle of her life, for which she would forever give thanks and praise to Allah, there he was.  She knew him immediately, saw right through his disguise, knew by the cock of his head and the way he walked, the way he moved, that it could be no other.  That at last he was come, and that she was whole again, and that no matter what now happened she knew the truth.

He moved toward her quickly but without haste.  Still nobody around.

“Hello, Frank,” she said quietly.

“My name’s not Frank,” he said.

“I know it isn’t,” she said.  “Everything you’ve told me since the day we met was a lie.”

“Would you have had it any other way?”

“Do I have to answer that question now?  How did you find me?

In answer, he reached inside her chador, until he found what he was looking for.  The smart phone with which she’d signaled him.  “Thank Allah for GPS,” he said.

“You’re late.”

“And they’re dead,” he said, looking at the corpses.  “So let’s ankle.”

“Home?”

He gave that look of his that she loved so well.  The one that said, are you kidding?  “You are home, remember?  And he’s here.”  She didn’t have to ask who “he” was.

“He’s looking for her,” she replied.  He didn’t have to ask who “she” was.

“Then I guess we both have jobs to do.”

“I’m not going to leave her.”

“That’s what I just said.”

“There’s more to it, right?”

“Would I be here if there wasn’t?” That was the answer she expected, but didn’t want.  “We haven’t got much time and we have a lot to do, including not getting ourselves killed and saving the world, not necessarily in that order, so let’s get a move on.”

“Where?”

He brought his face close to hers.  “As long as we’re together,” he said, “Qom is as good a place as any.”

*****

“You double-crossed me, you infidel bastard,” said Col. Zarin.

“I am an infidel in many faiths,” replied Skorzeny coolly, “so please do not think that your cheap superstitious imprecations can frighten me.”

They were in the heart of the nuclear complex on the outskirts of Qom, deep inside a mountain, where the uranium enrichment process had been taking place right under the noses of the U.N. inspectors, who preferred to look in the direction of the known facility at Natanz, rather than anywhere else, just in case they might find something.  Emanuel Skorzeny had no illusions that he was allowed admittance because he was a welcome guest of the Islamic Republic.  He was here because they were business partners, and the minute they ceased being business partners, his privileges would be revoked with extreme prejudice.

And he had a business deal for Col. Zarin.

“I have a proposition for you,” he said.

“I am not interested in your proposition,” replied the colonel.  “You have used me, and jeopardized my future and the future of my family.  They have my voice on tape, threatening this detective Saleh, may Allah curse him and his seed.  I should kill you for what you have done.”

“Not for what I have done, Col. Zarin.  For what he has done.  And I am about to deliver him – and her – to you.”

“Why should I believe you?”  Col. Zarin looked at the clock on the wall.  That, thought Skorzeny, was a measure of just how backward this country was – not only that one would look at a clock on the wall to see what time it was, but that there even were clocks on the wall.

Skorzeny ignored the question.  “I propose a trade.  One that will enrich us both.”

Col. Zarin’s glance fell upon Mlle. Derrida.  “Why do you bring your whore to a meeting of men?” he snarled.

“Because she’s not my whore,” Skorzeny answer levelly.  “And I’ll thank you not to talk about her in such a disrespectful manner.  You savages are simply going to have to learn that not all the world subscribes to your Dark Ages notion of right and wrong.  Your entire civilization is not worth a Mass, although Paris is.”

“Then why are you giving us Paris?” laughed Col. Zarin.

“Because Paris no longer worth a Mass, either.  But do not think you have triumphed.  It is I, Emanuel Skorzeny, who has triumphed, and you are a mere instrument of my will.  I am greater than any God, greater than your Allah, and I shall have my revenge.”

Col. Zarin’s hand stole toward his sidearm,  “This is blasphemy.  I should kill you for it.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” replied Skorzeny coolly.  “Because my death makes you a dead man.  It makes your wife a widow and your children orphans.  It brings down the full wrath of the West upon your pitiful heads.  For there will come a time, and soon, when your breast-beating and braggadocio will be as nothing.  I am all that is standing in the way of the West’s vengeance upon you.  So listen.”

He opened his briefcase, and took out the computer.  “This is the very latest example of NSA/CSS technology.  It was designed by their top operative, a man with whom I have come into contact, both personally and professionally, on several occasions, each of them unpleasant in the extreme.  I am prepared to make you a present of it, in exchange for Miss Harrington, who can be of absolutely no use to you at this point.”

“Do you love her that much?”

“Yes,” said Skorzeny.  It was the simplest answer her had ever given to any question in his life.

“And what does love mean?”

For the first time in his life, he felt old, tired, nearing the end. No, it could not be possible.  All his life had been devoted to one thing, to one purpose – him – and suddenly came this realization.  That there was something beyond him.  Not the ritualistic rote of some alien liturgy, but something more elemental, something more primitive than even religious superstition.

Her.

“I don’t know,” he replied.

Mlle. Derrida could sit silent no longer.  She had no use for these Iranians and their imported desert faith.  She was a Frenchwoman, the heiress of Voltaire and Descartes, Rousseau and Rimbaud and Sartre and Becket and her namesake, Derrida.  She believed in rational thought.  Cogito ergo sum. That was her faith, and that was why she had faith in him.  “Of course you do,” she said.

“Love is what is left when thought has fled – not religion, not faith, but love.  Love is what drives us.  If there is a God, and like you I do not believe that for a moment… but if there is, then love is what brings us closer to him.  Not haste.  Not vengeance.  Neither orders, nor rituals.  Nothing from above, or below.  Just us, humanity – what we French fought and lost our Revolution for.  We sacrificed our ideals on the altar of the guillotine, and we learned never to do that again.  And now here were are.”

She turned to Skorzeny.  “Ger her back, sir,” she said, “and then let’s go home.  I want to go home. Take me home.”

Skorzeny indicated the laptop.  “Very simple,” he said.  “The computer for the girl.  You get – if you can reverse-engineer it, and get past its built-in defenses – a glide path into the heart of the Great Satan.  With this, you can destroy them.  No need for bombs, nukes, Shahab missiles.  No need for the permanent war against the West.  You can end it all now, right here, right now.  Break their Black Widow, corrupt her, seduce her, turn into the whore you’ve always known she was.  I don’t care.  In fact, I endorse it.

He pushed the laptop across the table at Col. Zarin.  “But give my own Black Widow back to me.  Give me Miss Harrington.”

Col. Zarin looked at the laptop.  He looked at Skorzeny. He looked at Mlle. Derrida.

Skorzeny looked at him.  Neither of them blinked.

On the wall, the clock kept ticking. At last –

“I will take you to her,” Col. Zarin said.

Reese wanted George to hear a song they often play on their show that Drew and I had written in 2009 called “A Hero’s Creed” – a tribute to all the 9/11 first responders and our military members fighting the war on terror.  There was a line in the original version that said “Eight years have passed…no attacks on our land…we owe it to those who heed the call.” Sadly, since the new administration moved into our nation’s capital, we can no longer say that.

We needed to update the song, so we did.  Somehow, however, through a slight miscommunication regarding our updating of the song, Gadi was under the impression we were working on a brand new 9/11 tribute song and would have it ready in time for his 9/11 Tribute show on 8 Sep.  We knew we had to write a new song for Gadi’s show.

—–

It did not take long for us to come up with the concept for the song:  a young girl who lost her father – one of the 343 firefighters who died when the towers collapsed – who is now a young woman looking back with sadness on all that she lost that day and a determination to follow in her Dad’s footsteps and serve her country in uniform…knowing one day she would meet him again.

In just one week (a record for us), Drew and I took that concept, crafted the lyrics together in real time (Google Docs is great for collaborating online), and developed a basic melody.  I sent my raw vocals to him and had no idea what the track would sound like when he got finished with it, but knew he would more than do it justice.  I heard it for the first time a few hours before Gadi’s show Thursday evening.  I smiled as tears rolled down my cheeks.

As we pause to remember those we lost that day – the innocent civilians and the first responders – and those who have died since then fighting the war on terror, let us also lift up the youngest victims in prayer – the children left behind.

Godspeed brothers and sisters…we will never forget.

The BBC:

Influential American broadcaster Katie Couric has suggested a way to change attitudes to Muslims in the US.

Pointing to the success in the 1980s and 90s of TV sitcom The Cosby Show in improving relations between African-Americans and whites, she argues that a Muslim version of the show may counter some Americans’ negative perceptions of the community.

But just across the border, in Canada, this “Muslim Cosby Show” already exists. Little Mosque on the Prairie, made in Toronto, is recording its sixth and final series. 

However…

Judging by the Left’s “eliminationist” rhetoric when it comes to we “sons of bitches” and their obvious need to fulfill violent fantasies through video games, what this country might need is something more along the lines of ”Little Tea Party On the Prairie.”

When a new episode of South Park airs, it is generally available for streaming shortly thereafter from South Park Studios. In the case of “201,” we got this message:

Following this message, there was a long list of people upset that the network, who has courageously stood by South Park creators Trey Parker and Matt Stone over the years, decided to cower in the corner and bleep important sections of episode “201.” In fact, Muhammed was shown in a bear suit, an obvious play on the fear of showing Muhammed on TV. Even that was censored out (important note: Comedy Central has allowed South Park to show Muhammed in the past). As the dust settled, many people (including myself) felt that the truth would be told and free speech will prevail, on some level, when the episode comes out on the season 14 DVD.

Upon the release, I heard that the episode was still edited, which was a shameful move on Comedy Central’s part. Not surprised about that, I figured Matt and Trey would get to say a few things on the commentary track that would allow more of their voice to be heard. Unfortunately, this is not the case and the bulk of their commentary is also bleeped out with that same annoying tone that is spread throughout episode “201” (supposedly a speech about fear and intimidation that doesn’t mention Muhammed). The beginning of the episode on DVD says the following words.

In the 14 years we’ve been doing South Park we have never done a show that we couldn’t stand behind. We delivered our version of the show to Comedy Central and they made a determination to alter the episode. It wasn’t some meta-joke on our part. Comedy Central added the bleeps. In fact, Kyle’s customary final speech was about intimidation and fear. It didn’t mention Muhammad at all but it got bleeped too.

After reading that statement, I can just hear the obscenity-laced commentary from Matt and Trey, likely using more colorful terms than “coward” in reference to Comedy Central. The reason South Park has reached the status it has acquired is because of the show’s ability to mock anyone or any idea; the end result often being a smart, useful reflection on the topics lampooned. Matt and Trey have long appreciated Comedy Central’s willingness to stand behind their work. Today, however, it appears that Comedy Central has willingly given into the hyper-politically-correct elements in our society.

Over the last year, there has been more mumblings from Matt and Trey that they are getting tired of doing South Park. Their ability to stay on top of current events means they literally put a show together in under a week. This is no easy task and certainly not worth the sleepless work nights if your show is going to get butchered from the terrified suits above. With the ongoing culture war, a voice like South Park is essential and should be supported. Silencing such a voice and giving into intimidation only shows a severe weakness in our culture that will be exploited by those who want to crush it.

Originally posted as Parcbench.

It’s not just that her music is bad – though it is, an intermittently catchy collection of overproduced beats laid over nonsense lyrics that would embarrass a slow-witted high school sophomore.  It’s not just that her singing is reminiscent of the hum of a dental drill, a monotonous, atonal mind-chisel that – when combined with her inane lyrics – reminds one of the chanting of some unholy love child of Rain Man and Tiny Tim.  

And it’s not just that she’s pretentious, presenting herself as the sorta-androgynous spoke-being for a coterie of alleged nonconformists whose nonconformity is expressed via rigid conformity to GaGa’s vision of pseudo-transgressive fashions and brain-dead self-affirming slogans.

No, the biggest problem with Lady GaGa isn’t that she’s another lame pop star.  It’s that she’s so damn boring.

As an act of personal sacrifice, I listened to the sneak release of her latest song, an atrocity called “Judas.”  If you want to share my pain, be my guest, but don’t say you weren’t warned.  The Huffington Post, your number one source for all things that suck, is right on top of the earthshaking cultural event that is “Judas”:

The song and video are told from Mary Magdelene’s perspective, with lyrics such as, “When he comes to me, I am ready/ I’ll wash his feet with my hair if he needs/ Forgive him when his tongue lies through his brain/ Even after three times, he betrays me/ I’ll bring him down, a king with no crown…”

Wow.  Heavy.  I guess I’m supposed to be one of those bourgeois squares whose mind is going to be blown by GagGa’s willingness to take on those terrifying Christians.  I’m here to report, however, that the only thing that blows is the song.

First, not being one of the socially retarded 18-25 years old shut-ins who make up her rabid fan base, I know that Lady GaGa is not blazing some sort of new path here but, rather, is trodding down the same dull superhighway of anti-Christian imagery that’s been going on forever.  I was around when Madonna did the same crappy song a quarter century ago, except back then it was called “Like a Prayer.” 

Poor Rebecca Black has gotta be sitting there pondering the unfairness of all the dissing she’s endured and thinking “Heck, I’m only fourteen.  I have an excuse!”  At least “Friday” has no pretensions – it’s just a terrible, terrible pop song.  But Lady GaGa thinks she’s making a statement, and the problem is that there are millions of mindless nimrods out there who probably agree – though none of them could articulate just what the statement is with any greater specificity than some lame self-empowerment mantra like “I gotta be who I am in order to be the most me I can be!”

Again, I remind you that these quarter-wits can, or soon will be able to, vote.  And many of them have or will breed. 

I’m not angry at Lady GaGa exploiting my religion to sell records – it’s not like some future musical footnote who delights her dimwitted fans by dressing in a gown made of rib-eyes is going to do to Christianity what the Romans, the Moors and the liberal wing of the Democratic party have been unable to do. 

No, I’m bored, and I’m disgusted with her fans who settle for so little.  Lady GaGa – geez, I even hate writing out that ridiculous moniker – is merely another in a long line of pompous “artists” who try to provoke…badly… and end up just being tedious.  Great, Gaga, you played off some Bible verses – what else ya got? 

You know, the Sex Pistols blew minds because they attacked a target that could and would actually fight back.  When they cranked out “God Save the Queen,” they were taking on (among other things) a society’s ridiculous embrace of the bizarre concept of royalty – and it was risky.  People in Britain liked the monarchy – Johnny and Sid and the gang weren’t just risking their record deal and airplay but they stood the real chance of getting their punk asses kicked.  You think if Bobbie Law had decided to put a little scrutiny on the Pistols’ lifestyle they couldn’t have found enough to lock the boys up for a couple of decades? 

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“Anarchy In the UK” wasn’t just a publicity stunt (although it absolutely was that too; Malcolm McLaren rules) – it was reality.  In contrast, Lady GaGa is merely a little girl playing dress-up blasphemy.  The biggest “risk” she’s running is a scathing press release from the Catholic League’s Bill Donahue fulminating impotently as usual about this latest industry “outrage.”  He’s the go-to guy for entertainment sites when some pretentious twerp tries to cash in by trashing the church – he ought to demand a percentage off the back end. 

“Judas” is not just a terrible song – it’s so very much less.  It is pathetic posturing by a “nonconformist” who conforms exactly to every preconceived notion of the liberal elite about religion, about culture and about everything else.  The only way Lady GaGa could ever blow my mind is if she wore an Ayn Rand costume onstage and sang about looking for John Galt. 

As for mining the Christian imagery, well, you’d think that mother-lode would be running a bit dry by now after a few decades of every would-be transgressive tunester tossing some cross/rosary/nun iconography into his or her or s/his videos.  Yawn.

But maybe I’m wrong.  Maybe she really does want to provoke, to take a real risk, to make a real statement about real repression.  So I eagerly await Lady GaGa’s next big hit featuring a bunch of burka-clad women casting off the clothes that symbolize their oppression while gay Muslim men throw stones back at the savage primitives who would murder them.  She can title the song, “See, I’m Not Just a Hypocritical Poser Who Takes On Only Targets That I Know Will Never, Ever Do Anything About It.” 

Yeah, that’ll happen.

An informative and intelligent discussion that desperately needed to be had outside the world of the news media and inside Maher’s world — the world of popular culture.

The most telling moment here is the audience reaction after Maher pulls no punches and says the following: 

“What it comes down to, is that there is one religion in the world that kills you when you disagree with them. And they say, ‘Look, we are a religion of peace, and if you disagree, we’ll cut your fucking head off.’”

The studio audience … applauds.

In the past, whenever Maher’s brought this truth up in this way, his audience has audibly gasped as the silent tension became thick and immediate. At this point, Maher was always on his own as his guests shifted uncomfortably in their chairs and the audience gulped for air to fight off a case of the PC vapors.

To his credit, though, Maher keeps on keeping on, keeps making this case and telling this truth as he sees it, and it appears now as though it’s finally penetrating.

Don’t get me wrong, Maher’s still Maher, but he’s righteous on this one — not only on the issue itself, but in his refusal to have his free speech rights cowed and shamed into silence by the PC fascists that infest his world on the Left. 

Better yet, if last night’s audience is any kind of indicator — and I think it is — he’s winning this debate.

Over to you, Jon Stewart…!