A Response To My Critics

It may surprise you, but Lomblog is not the be-all and end-all of my writing talent. As previously mentioned, I also have a burgeoning career as a freelance magazine contributor. While the bulk of my writings have been received with hearty acclaim, not all have escaped the harsh light of nitpicking online critics. The general charge is that I am an ideological chameleon, and that my writing is a triumph of style over substance - if that. I wish to respond to these claims, but let me first present the so-called "evidence."

The following is my original review of Fahrenheit 9-11, which was published and then retracted by The Nation:

Masterpiece. There is simply no other word for this incredible motion picture. If you're not watching it right now, you should be. If you're reading this and you haven't seen the film yet, drop what you're doing and speed to the nearest theater. If no theaters in your area are showing it, picket them. If your local theater has the film but they're closed for the night, blowtorch your way in and demand they run the projector.

If you see only one film this year, make it Fahrenheit 9-11. If you see only two films this year, make it Fahrenheit and some art-house crap about Aborigines. Everyone in America should see this film - yes, ignore the "R" rating arbitrarily slapped on by the fascists of the MPAA board and take the children. If they recoil, cut their allowance and ask them what Shrek or Spiderman are doing to end the war in Iraq.

There can be little doubt that this movie will devastate George Bush's re-election campaign, especially among Republicans and Independents who walk in by mistake. In the showing I attended, the air was so thick with the promise of overthrow I almost mistook the popcorn dust for teargas. I haven't felt this much hope for the future since the Sixties, or the cancellation of Dr. Laura's TV show. Michael Moore is simply the only American filmmaker today whose work comes close to compensating for the large-scale crimes against humanity perpetrated by people of his race and gender.

A few days later, I wrote another essay on the film for National Review:

Fahrenheit 9-11? More like Fat 'N' Height/Weight Not Proportionate. Let's face it: Michael Moore has no right to speak out on public issues as long as he refuses to disavow his own obesity. To not do so is as irresponsible as the editors of this esteemed publication printing my review before I've sobered up, showered and left some cab fare on the dresser. Every bit of this propagandistic swill is simply more aid-and-comfort to the Islamo-Fascists and their amen corner in Congress, the Democratic party and the gospel recording industry. Why I can just picture Moore - the burly, stubble-flecked minstrel of the radical Left - prancing up and down in blackface, singing "Can I Get A Witness?" at the trial of Saddam Hussein. Or perhaps I need more time to dry out.

No matter. The salient point remains: Moore is overweight. And unlike Rush Limbaugh, he lacks even the self-awareness necessary to get addicted to prescription painkillers. Every frame of this loathsome, squalid, risible, altogether ooky partisan tripe is slanted against the president. He implies that the Chief Executive of the world's most powerful democracy doesn't take his job seriously by featuring footage of Mr. Bush joking on the golf course after a anti-terror statement. What a double standard - not to mention double chin; everyone knows if Clinton had done this, it would've been hailed as charming, and if Lincoln had been similarly filmed, he would've been commended for his time travel skills. He criticizes the president for continuing to read to children in a pre-arranged photo op seven minutes after being informed of the 9/11 attacks. What would he have the president do - bust out of the classroom like an action star and say, "I'm sorry, I have to leave now, I've just been informed the country's under attack"? Maybe he-man antics of that sort would satisfy Moore and his Hollywood buddies but I'm glad the president showed some calm under pressure. And one has to ask, what does Michael Moore hate Moore (sic) - America, or our children's literacy? If the president can be faulted for anything, it's for reading "My Pet Goat" instead of George Orwell, but a slovenly, faux populist rube like Moore probably thinks Orwell is the old guy that makes that delicious buttered popcorn.

Concern for the troops? Moore wouldn't know concern for the troops if it bit him in his overripe posterior and then promptly died of lard poisoning. But I hope I haven't obscured my point with personal attacks. I simply can not sit back and allow someone to steal the spotlight from me with lies. The widespread deification of Moore is even more deplorable than that of Mother Teresa (as uncovered in my first book, The Publicity Whore of Calcutta) and Dr. Seuss (as exposed in my second, Horton Hears A Lie). I will have even more to say on this topic in my next volume, Letters To A Young Asshole.

Have I mentioned Moore's fat?

(Photo of author withheld by request)

To my critics: haven't you ever heard of nuance? Isn't it possible to have a slightly different opinion of something - say, a politically charged documentary - over time than you did initially? Is my thinking not allowed to evolve over years, months, even days? You also have a little something to learn about the magazine business: I can't write the same article for every publication I submit my pieces to. I have to carefully tailor my work to the specifications of each journal's audience. I would never think of writing the same words for Reader's Digest as I would for Spunk World (and wait 'till you see the review I've written for them!).

For the record, I still haven't seen Fahrenheit. The guy I paid a buck-fifty to camcord it hasn't turned up on Kazaa yet.