Wednesday, March 9, 2016


Some time back, Charles Davis used to think this blog was operated by people who wanted little Charlie to hang around with flirtations, because little Charlie wanted to "hook up" with the authors here, believing them to blog for the purpose of sexual partner finding.

We satirized Charlie, and the handful of others who followed similar paths, when we let Priscilla Houle-Eaton interrogate our compatriot Mr Caidagh.

PBH: Let me try a different approach. Mister Caidagh, I notice that several of your entries reference gay men. Are you gay yourself?

HC: No. I mean, not if you are referring to my sexual tastes and habits. If you revert 100 years and mean "gay" is the same as "happy," there are times in my day when I feel happy. But they have nothing to do with sexual desires aimed at sex with men.

PBH: So your constant references to gay men are not your way of seeking a mate or sex partner who is a gay man?

HC: What?

PBH: In my experience, bloggers use their blogs to find a mate.

HC: What?

PBH: When I say "mate" I don't mean someone to marry. I mean a sex partner.

HC: What?

PBH: So your blog is not designed to entice and court potential sex partners?

HC: Jesus. (laughing) You're serious here, aren't you?

PBH: Quite serious.

HC: Well excuse me for laughing at you. I think using a blog to find sex partners is a pathetic way to go about things.

PBH: So you've never used a blog for mate-finding?

HC: No. Maybe you have, but I haven't.

Since he failed to find his "partner" through flirtations he left here, little Charlie moved on, trying to impress us with new footholds in the e-publishing world. He began chirping in the 140char beakful quantity on Nervous Birds, and told everyone he was getting published everywhere for his massive exposes of the evils of capitalism. He was shaping himself up as the heir to Chomsky.

His biggest coup of his career has to be getting published by "Tom Feeley" at Eissy Aitch.  In the classic little Charlie style, he wrings his hands until bloody with highly emotive fear-mongering and both eyes looking backward over both shoulders at all times, hearing footsteps behind him whenever he's awake, and while asleep his psyche entertains itself by taking metaphoric rides on darkly colored female horses who have minds of their own.

Poor little Charlie, reduced to masturbating in public like Pee Wee Herman.

-- Collectively written by K.F. Ochstradt, H.M. Lohmann and P. Behrer; lazy approval for publication by C. Redweld.


Harold Caidagh said...

Yeah, poor little Charlie. Never found a heterosexual man he couldn't despise while also wanting to fuck. Never found a non-Marxist he couldn't blame for his own sexual loneliness, while again wanting that foolish capitalist to fuck him.

"I wish I could think, analyze and write like you, so naturally I want to have sex with you, even if I hate your Cracker Christer misogynist rape fantasist Corporate patriarchal homophobic cis-het-hegemonic disgusting self. Please flirt back with me," went the standard Charlie entreaty. When that didn't work, little Gucci bags full of White Himalayan cat shit were left on the blog's doorstep, and lit aflame with a jaunty flick of the floppy Charlie wrist.

Clearly he's got his revenge of the spurned-and-scorned would-be suitor. Look, it's obvious Trump's kingly demeanor would sit comfortably among people whose egos are just as large as his. Inevitably Trump's manifold whims and fancies will be treated as do-or-die commands by anyone he encounters, at all times between now and the much-feared Jan 2017 installment as Obama's successor. My gosh, and heavens to Murgatroyd, if we don't realize that Trump is Hitler is Mussolini is Pol Pot is Idi Amin is Vlad Tepes is John Wayne Gacy, Charlie may not earn in the double-digits this year!

Charles F. Oxtrot said...

Davis imagines himself a strange blend of Jim Carville, the Podesta Brothers, Markos Zuniga, I.F. Stone, Noam Chomsky, Morris Dees and Michael Moore.

Meanwhile, his insights are on par with what I used to observe around ages 12-14.

And his writing is about like Duncan Black's with a dose of Hugo Schwyzer for good Male Feminist condescension.

I wonder if he imagines himself a possible analog for Bernie Sanders in what George Stephanopoulos and/or DeeDee Myers were to Bill Clinton.

The grandiosity is pretty damned funny.

Harold Caidagh said...

I dunno, Chuck. I think Charlie's writing is about like Henry Giroux's, or Phil Rockstroh's. Whine with me, powerless and frustrated comrades! Emotions trump actions!