Kind of feel like Drew Bledsoe watching Tom Brady win the Super Bowl now that I realize Yo Is This Racist? is on the job, but I'm happy to chip in where I can, like when Bledsoe came in in the AFC Championship game against the Steelers after Brady went down... no one cares about this analogy do they? Ok, how about Frank Black pounding back ham sandwiches watching Nirvana on MTV? That work?  The point is, I am still pretty good at sniffing out when things are racist or not too, because I'm a white guy and we're usually pretty smart. 

UPDATE: Last year around this time I asked some of my homeboys what their big plans for New Year's Eve were, which made me consider two things: Why are all my friends so angry? Actually, just that one thing I guess.  Since doing a new version of the same idea would require me having accumulated some new friends/putting in the minimal amount of effort, here's what they had to say last time, which, I'm guessing, hasn't changed much, since we're all even older and grumpier than we were then. 


Also worth a read Mint E Fresh on Why hating New Year's means you actually hate yourself

Keep in mind here that most of us aren't actually, how do you say, fresh-faced, so take this advice with a grain of salt. Then again, none of us are actually, how do you say, fucking stupid, so keep that in mind as well.  What's your beef with New Year's? Lemme know in the comment hole.

Alright, let's do this thing:

The Daily Beast just released it's survey of the drunkest cities in the country America's Drunkest Cities of 2011, From Las Vegas to Boston. Boston, my home town, the sidewalks of which I stand crooked on many nights of the week, rocketed to the #1 spot this year after a disappointing #8 finish previously. They found that Boston boozers consumed 15.5 drinks per person a month, 7.4% of the population were heavy drinkers, and 20.1% were binge drinkers. (Respect to Springfield, MA, and Providence for placing as well!)


Earlier this year in Stuff magazine, where I write a drinking column, I took drinking data about Boston, and the prior The Daily Beast survey into account, when trying to find the drunkest neighborhood in a drunk city. Check it out below. Same rules still apply.

It was a close race between this song and everything you've ever said to your girlfriend when you were in a fight, but Shittiest Simile of the Decade Award goes to Selena Gomez for her outstanding achievements in making the world stupider with this funereal death march toward the windy ice lip of the chasm/charming, internationally-beloved electro-pop hit / bane of my daily gym walkabout through the corporeal realms of inoffensive satellite radio station mediocrity "Love You Like a Love Song."

Or is it a metaphor? I've never had to deconstruct something so retarded before, and I took a lot of poetry workshops at a remarkably undistinguished grad school. Regardless, I hate that lyric like a hate crime.

The song was written with words and instruments by Antonina Armato and Tim James, presumably two adult age humans, of The Rock Mafia organization, which sounds aptly named because they are fucking criminals. Also, Armato? Sounds a little, eh, if you get me. /mimes eating a plate of spaghetti /punches out second cousin.  According to their Wikipedia page, "the three founding members of The Rock Mafia organization have collectively sold over 100 million albums worldwide."

Video after the jump. Gotta say though, you look smoking, Selena<3<3. Smoking like a smoked salmon on a smoke break.

Sorry that I tricked everyone into thinking this was a blog dedicated to videos of racists on the subway and long-winded justifications of my own peculiar social-interaction-based neuroses, but it's really a music blog! Music is great. I hate music. 

Couple more loose ends to tie up here for 2011 music lists. I named my top Boston records of the year in the Boston Globe. Go check out the full list here.  I also chimed in on a 'recommended if you like...' piece, The kindred spirits of the year’s top album releases. And lastly, I picked my top 11 songs of the year in the Boston Phoenix.  Go check out the links with tons of good stuff from my typing-bros, and read my word-machines after the jump. 

In case you missed them here last week, here are my picks for The shittiest piece of shit songs of the shitty year 2011 and the epic 50+ song round up of PTSOTL and friends' music that isn't awful 2011 | Pretty siqq playlist, bro.  Listen to PTSOTL's best of Spotify playlist here.

Music. All of the musics  -->

via

I don't know, man, I saw this piece of shit and I figured I'd better spend some cash on you so you wouldn't think I'm a cheap prick. Pretty sure it sucks and you're not gonna like it, but I went ahead and drove to the store, spent money on it, put it in a box and wrapped it in paper then sat here and looked at you open it because that's what the invisible judge in the air expects us all to do around this time of year. Just gonna go ahead and assume you won't like it, so here's the receipt. You've probably got some time to go stand in line at Target for 17 hours to exchange my forty dollars worth of friendship in late December/ early January right?

Whatever happened to the good old fashioned Christmas gift-giving spirit? The one where you slowly, piece by piece, smuggled your taste into someone else's home by forcing them to own shit that you wish they appreciated just so you could like them better? I used to call that move the Christmas Trojan Horse.

 

Michael Bublé is a bit like cocaine and egg nog for me, a little around Christmas time, in the right dose, and everyone is moshing. Until it's over I guess, and you're depressed/farting egg juice/realize you have your mom's taste in music. But check out he did with EW. And this video where he douches on Bieber? I always suspected the Boobz was madchillbro. Nofuxgiven.

Our new blog bro Bronan the Barbarian, on the other hand, is a Christmas music grinch, and he's had it up to his bro-tits with this Michael Bublé business. He explains why below. 

Q: Is Yo, Is This Racist? Racist?

A: Yes. Everything is racist. 

In case you live in an internet cave and have also been in an internet coma for the past couple internet months, here is our new favorite single-serving Tumblr, Yo, Is This Racist? in which our man answers all of the burning questions you've been dying to run by a non-white person, but were afraid to ask in person. Shit is for real hilarious. Here are a few of my favorites examples below, tons more over there. 

A handy recap of everything we've called racist over here at PTSOTL over the years. That could take a while to get through.

The feeling is not mutual, Travie buddy

People wonder why music journalists are so grumpy all the time. At least they would if a single person in the world actually cared what music journalists think. But consider this, we're accustomed to the idea of post traumatic stress disorder among those who labor in dangerous professions, soldiers, and so on. We pretty much have the exact same job. Except instead of bullets we spend our days dodging projectiles of musical excrement hurled at our faces day over and over. We're out here on the frontlines taking heavy fire, so that you, the good music-stealing citizens of the world can sleep soundly at night. Practically heroes, I suppose you might say.

Over the past year writing about music in the Phoenix, and at my own blog Put That Shit On the List, a sort of spite-fueled daily colonoscopy of the internet, I confronted the musical heart of darkness man to man, and I did not like what I saw, the most cringeworthy results of which I share with you herein, because I hate you. 

Every restaurant, no matter how blandly corporate and batter-dipped soul-crushing, has at least one bro working there who's 'in a band.' You know, rock and roll I guess is what we play. Like real rock, you know? Not this emo shit. 

You'll be able to spot this guy pretty easily because he brings it up every chance he gets around the 20 year old hostesses whenever he 'has a gig' coming up 'this weekend' that you should 'totally check out,' or whatever 'if you're around.' 'No biggie though.' Also by his goatee.

Not many of them, however, have the wherewithal, never mind the 'pro chops' necessary, to rope the rest of the staff into shooting the musical equivalent of a bowling shirt with flames on it on the restaurant premises in between marrying ketchup bottles and doing silverware roll-ups, like this sick ass-rap/ass-rock 'jam.' Then again not everyone can be our man here from the Methuen, MA's TGI Fridays doing a sick bottle-slide solo on top of the bar that he's totally going to get fired for once corporate gets wind of this.

Note: the song actually gets a lot better if you don't watch the video and picture it being played by a Guatemalan hardcore band chanting "Raising the barrio." He should've asked the kitchen guys to sit in.

I'd like to sincerely apologize to everyone who I may be disappointing with this news, including, but not limited to, Kate Chopin, Abigail Adams, Margaret Sanger, Elizabeth Cady Stanton, a bunch of shitty commenters at Jezebel, my mother, my wife, and my hypothetical future daughters, but I'm sorry, this lizard-husked, pod-person, fame ball child bride (and artist behind one of the shittiest "songs" you'll ever hear) simply pushes the right combination in the button-mashing fighter video game in my brain called "Erection Combat." I wish it didn't have to be that way, but like America's most beloved incestuous creep Woody Allen once said, the boner wants what the boner wants.

Just saying, this would make a great Christmas present for someone you love who has a drinking problem. Or someone you drink with that has a loving problem. It works even if you've never been to Boston, and never will, but just like reading jokes about poor people, hipsters, Boston douchebags, and the Irish, of which I suppose I am all four, so I get a free pass. Put it on the back of the shitter, that's where it belongs.

Go buy it here, ok? .

Watching news of North Korean despot Kim Jong Il's death roll in across the Twitterverse last night was educational in a lot of ways. For one thing, it was fascinating seeing what media outlets are asleep at the switch when it comes to midwifing other's scoops through the internetty birth canal, as one after the next shared the same news, re-tweeted, re-reported, and so on hour after hour. But more relevant to my interests was watching the real time disintegration of actual world-changing news as it devolved into a series of hacky jokes and Pavlovian pop culture referencing reflexes in record time. 

Our fascination with robot apocalypse stories like Terminator and The Matrix are simply contemporary expressions of an ingrained fear that stretches all the way back to the first time your great grandfather cursed a Ford Model T as an instrument of the devil made for fornicating and horse play, and his father got mangled to death inside a windowless, sweatshop factory -- mankind has always been fearful of machines. Why? Because they're stronger than us. And they need people blood to grease their gears. 

One of the tent poles upon which the sniveling, school yard style political philosophy of the Christian right in America is erected, (and the right is de facto a Christian movement here, whether or not its members actually believe), is an invented war on Christianity. Never mind the fact that the vast majority of our legislators are essentially required to declare allegiance to the millenia old myths of a nomadic desert people, and that those moralistic poses creep their way into the actual law of the land, the fact that people sometimes say, for example, "happy holidays" instead of "merry Christmas" when they're patronizing you with brush off pleasantries in line at a store is evidence of an systemic attack on everything this country was founded upon. 

I had been planning on writing about this piece Tattoo Etiquette 101 -- How To Appreciate My Body Art Without Making Me Hate You on xojane earlier this week, but then, you know, I didn't (via laziness). Also because it's full of stuff like this: "the issue of women’s bodies -- and the view of our bodies as being on display and open for consumption and commentary..."

I also figured this was pretty well-covered territory around here. But then last night, one of my favorite things in the world happened, a beta-ass broad reached out toward me out of nowhere at the bar, grabbed my arm, and held it up for her careful inspection like a Korean dude with a telescope on his face pricing out stolen jewels, jabbed at one of my tattoos with her free flipper and asked "What does this meeeeannnnnn?" 

There are a couple of correct answers here.  1) It means "fuck off" in Cyrillic is what it means. 2) I don't know, what do your pants mean? Or thirdly, some variation of which is what I usually go with, "It means I wanted to look cool one day, and I had like two hours to kill and a couple hundred bucks I was mad at, so I flushed it down the shitter and onto my meaty bone-shirt."

Went to see UK dubstep/d&b duo Nero the other night at Royale in Boston, which was one of the more depressing venue experiences I've had in a long time. Not because the space isn't cool, which it is, or that the show wasn't effing banging, which it was I suppose, but because of the way giant night clubs like that are a microcosm of the American police state (also via having to hang out in proximity to people in their underwear who have study hall tomorrow). Everyone is considered guilty until you're proven really guilty. Of what? The most egregious crime in the known universe, teenagers having alcohol in their possession. Here's my review of the show in the Boston Globe below, plus some video examples that I think might go some small way toward helping you old people/culture dunces figure out what dubstep is, like three years too late. 

In case you missed my last blatant grab at page views, check out What the fuck is dubstep anyway? and Somehow people still don't know what dubstep is from the PTSOTL archives.

Everyone is publishing their end of the year best and worst lists at the moment, but that predictable shit is for rookies and amateurs (except for when I put mine out next week!). Let's get into some advanced-level forecasting and jump ahead to what's guaranteed to lock down the number one spot for most regrettable musical embarrassment of 2012, this track from will.i.am's forthcoming record, featuring hot young upstarts Mick Jagger and Jennifer Lopez, called “T.H.E. (The Hardest Ever).” The name of the song is "T.H.E.". And it's an acronym. Just repeating that for the benefit of the court stenographer.

Video below.

I remember back in the good old days when I all I had to complain about were those yellow puffy envelopes they used to mail CDs in (via this old post Why the music business doesn't have any money.) I had no idea how good I had it. Take a look at that photo above. I'll wait here while you breathe it all in. Come closer. Closer. OK, there you go. In case you still can't figure out what's going on, let me explain below. 

Where did you go to college? Wait, don't answer that because no one gives a shit. Also, I already know the answer because you've got the school's logo festooned across your tits. And on your hat. And on the cute little sticker on the back of your car. That's weird. Never really understood the whole point of college pride. I don't wear a hat advertising the name of the job I worked at ten years ago, so why would I do the same for the place I paid $100k+ to read books/finger people at? 

Are you super effing proud of your school? Do you keep in touch with the gang and relive the good old days? Do you "give money back" to the place you already gave tens of thousands of dollars to, a bill that you're still paying off a decade or more later and will probably be doing so forever? Were those the best years of your life? Do you back your universities football/basketball team hard? Are you like 35 years old? Why do you do any of those things? Srs question, please respond thanks in advance.

Check out this inspiring gallery of proud college graduates below!

Great news everyone, we got to the root of the problem when it comes to the misuse of state funds and fraud in the country! As this story in today's Boston Herald, the boot-strappingest newspaper of choice of the hardworking set just trying to get to work to support their families here in Massachusetts points out, the overarching criminal syndicate that's bankrupting taxpayers just like you just received a critical blow.

"Federal, state and Lynn cops busted up a welfare fraud ring at a pair of convenience stores today, arresting several people for allegedly ripping off taxpayers with government-issued EBT cards, the Herald has learned."

Most of you probably don't read blogs about the New England Patriots, because you have jobs/aren't pathetic losers like me with nothing to live for besides the fortunes of a sportsball club, but I wanted to share this photo courtesy of Pats punter Zoltan Mesko's Twitter account (via PFT) because it illustrates a very important point I think we would all do well to keep in mind: some people are tall (former Washington Bullet Gheorge Muresan,) while other people are short, (Pats running back Danny Woodhead <3  <3)  and a third group of people are somewhere right in the middle (Mesko). That's called the food chain I think.

I never thought I'd say this, but the dystopian surveillance state we live in now may be actually good for something, and that's for filming racists acting out on public transportation. The only thing I like watching more than that is belligerently drunk fat asses falling on their duffs. 

Hard to tell what came before the altercation started being filmed, but in situations like this I wish more people would remember what Tomas Jefferson said in his A Decalogue of Canons for Observation in Practical Life. "When angry, count ten before you speak; if very angry, an hundred. And count to a billion before you make a misguided attempt at a Jet Li poll-grab jump kick thrust."

Bro-lady, I can't even pull that move off in a button-masher fight game, and you think it's going to work in the real world? Just because there are computers watching our every move now does't mean we actually live in the Matrix. OR DOES IT?

What do you think, did this woman have it coming getting shoved out of the bus by that one English dude, or was it over the line?

If you watch closely here during this encounter between vaguely-presidential-tasting-automaton Mitt Romney and a New Hampshire voter on a campaign stop earlier this week, you can actually pinpoint the moment when Romney realizes he is going to have to cut a bitch for setting this glad-handing opportunity up. Or should I say GLAAD-handing, because, woops, this 63 year old Vietnam vet is gay, and he wanted to get the answer straight from the horse's ass-mouth on whether or not Romney thinks he's less of a citizen than the rest of us normal, space-underwear-worshiping, descended-from-polygamist types.  

Things that are supposed to be funny aren't funny, but when it comes to Russia who the fuck knows what's going on over there in bizarro world. This surreal Russian hip hop Burger King commercial is probably supposed to be a grim allegory about the struggles of the proletariat for all I know. No idea how else to react, so I did what I always do when I'm confused and just a little scared, I wrote a poem.  (h/t Corey).

Russian goddess eating burger on a unicorn, mythical, I scared my woman

with a monstrous bread face, then

married her. Murder and love intertwined. 

Mystical man eats from beneath his hat.That's racist.

Listen to me son, this is how a man bites things.

Please don't get any tattoo blood on the serving station. 

DJs, scratching, hamburgers, dancing, your tattooing

skills make me interested in sexual relations. 

Blow fire on the patty. Is that sanitary? I don't care, I'm going to give this hamburger a blow job. 

Do they have cheese in Russia? 

(Serious question). 

Glad to see Kreayshawn is still getting work. My ballerina danced herself into fire. 

I'm hungry. Soon I'll be dead.

I think that's the jist of this post Can You Tell The Difference Between A Men’s Magazine And A Rapist? on Jezebel, which I was reading today because it's where I go when it's freezing outside and I need to warm myself up via raising my blood pressure and shooting steam out of my ears like an angry cartoon character. That's different than my normal manly persona, I should point out, which is a cartoon wolf in a tuxedo with eye ball boners who's so horny I can levitate.

Jezebel has a recap of a forthcoming study to be published in the British Journal of Psychology: 

Researchers gave a group of men and women quotes from the British lad mags FHM, Loaded, Nuts and Zoo, as well as excerpts from interviews with actual convicted rapists originally published in the book The Rapist Files. The participants couldn't reliably identify which statements came from magazines and which from rapists — what's more, they rated the magazine quotes as slightly more derogatory than the statements made by men serving time for raping women. 

Check out a few of the phrases the study used below, then read the rest at Jezebel via .  See how good you are at distinguishing between the language used by actual hard core rapists and the other more garden variety kind who don't happen to work in the media. All men are just a hypothetical rape waiting to happen is what me and my girl Jezebel commenter Morgy always say. "I'm just gonna say all of those were from rapists, whether they are convicted or not," she wrote in the comments there. "Anyone who holds views like that has probably raped a woman."  Effing nailed it with that my friend.

I was able to get them all right, because I actually have a lot in common with the type of criminality on display here. I mean writing really shitty, half-assed sentences about fluff in lifestyle magazines. 

No, not the kids with the bandanas around their faces, I mean the police. My colleague and homeboy Chris Faraone of the Boston Phoenix has the details on the eviction of the Occupy Boston encampment early this morning here. While it was mostly peaceful, with a surprisingly small amount of arrests. 

I've been digging this EP from Boston's Night Fruit (embed below) this week. I like the part where they remind me of the Sundays (via nostalgia for my long, long, long gone youth.) Also one dude in the band can jump pretty high.  .


In heartbreaking news, Dustin Hengst of has passed away.  Just terrible to hear about a solid dude, and a great drummer.

The Boston Phoenix' 100 Unsexiest Men of 2011 issue is out today, and it's a pretty impressive collection of cretins, boners, and lickspittles. It's got everyone from predictable fuck faces like Ashton Kutcher and Donald Trump, to disappointing music bros like Tyler, the Creator, Skrillex, Gucci Mane, and next-level ass dicks like Brett Ratner, Guy Fieri, and literally every other dude that gave you the creeps this year except for your boyfriend and me. 

Here are a few of my picks below. Go check out the full list here, and vote for the homeboys that shriveled up your metaphoric, or actual, ovaries real good with their year of douchebaggery. 

Everyone in my news feed is LOLing @ this poor sap who made the entry-level internet mistake of complaining about her job online then getting promptly fired. Colossally stupid, right? Especially since she actually tagged mentioned the name of her employer, her delicious, delicious meat and cheese wrapped in flour employer, in the tweet. What a fucking idiot. 

Except,woops, I know exactly how she feels, because the same thing happened to me the other day. 

What a shocker, I'm really into some new danceable female singer pop, and throwback emo vibes. Never saw that one coming. This track "Cameo Lover" from Kimbra, who is a total thing in her native New Zealand, is going to be my new official music crush for the next 48 hours or so. Kind of has a Marina vibe going on with the aesthetic of the video/dance moves/quirkiness factor, but with the type of bouncy old soul and Motown vibe the kids are digging lately (via Fitz and the Tantrums).

More from Kimbra, The Good Natured and Adrian Lux, Gotye, Into It. Over It, and Dikembe after the thing.

Barstool Sports is an extremely popular website, particularly here in Boston where it was started. I read it from time to time for the same reason I might tune in to Rush Limbaugh when I'm in the car (I like tits), or that I'm tempted to hurl myself in front of the oncoming Red Line train. Who the fuck knows why is why. Also sometimes it's advantageous to see what you're up against. The problem is it's the most racist blog on the internet, and that includes Fox News and the the fuckyeahKKK Tumblr.

I've written about the site lately in a few posts like Barstool Sports, child pornography, and the case of Tom Brady's penis, Final thoughts on the Tom Brady baby dix saga, and The real meaning of the Occupy movement | Adam Carolla is a corporate toadie hack, and I've got a little something about the site's founder Dave Portnoy in this week's upcoming Boston Phoenix 100 Unsexiest Men of 2011 coming up, so I won't add too much more here to that pile of shit, but I will admit,  I do sometimes think it would be nice to have Barstool Sports' traffic here at PTSOTL. Of course then I'm there and I'm instantly reminded of the type of cretinous racist commenters they have on almost every thread  and it doesn't seem worth it.  Here are a few choice gems from today's Good Samaritan Gets Curb Stomed For His Trouble.

The haunting photos in this story Monk Prays Over Unknown Dead Man in Train Station are a Rorschach test of sorts. It's either a depressing reminder that we will all inevitably die alone some day, barely acknowledged as ever having existed in the first place by the indifferent throng of humanity that suffocated us during our brief sojourn if you're the cynical sort, or else a testament to the beauty and peace available religious faith if you're a person who believes in cartoons. 

PBR, suitable for children and dogs

It's Repeal Day today, the day on which we commemorate the end of Prohibition in America, the darkest period this country has ever known, including all wars and the 1980s. In honor of that here's an oldie but goodie called How to Drink Like an Adult which I wrote for Street Carnage last year, but I probably should have just called an A to Z guide of drinking-related things I thought of jokes for.

I haven’t got the demographics for this site in front of me, but I’m pretty sure it falls well within the coveted “too poor and young to drink anything but piss-water beer” bracket. Who knows, maybe occasionally you splurge on a vodka cranberry when you’re feeling fancy? It’s also pretty likely that a lot of you still think drinking is a sport you can win, take pride in how fucking wasted you got last night, bro, and generally drink like retards.

Alcohol is a lot more than a tool for pissing the bed and tricking girls into giving you a squeezer, though. So guess what? It’s time you grew up and started drinking like adults — by which I mean sad and alone, but also with a more sophisticated palate.

Our man Michael J. Epstein out of the bands The Michael J. Epstein Memorial Library and Neutral Uke Hotel found a copy of one of his records for sale online on vinyl. He never pressed any copies on vinyl, so he decided to troll the dude bootlegging a physical copy of a product that doesn't exist through online distribution channels. I think that's a metaphor for "the future." Here's what happened:

Once in a while, I like to head on over to Amazon to see how many promo copies of my albums are being sold by sketchy used-record sellers as "like new with bar code blacked out" or "perfect condition except for clipped corner." The resale of promo copies is pretty annoying for artists that don't move a lot of product in the first place. It used to be that for every 100 copies sent to radio and press, 20 would end up for sale on Amazon. While that number seems to be dropping a bit, it's still a prevalent enough practice that it cuts in to our album sales. 

This time, while checking for used copies, I found something a little more unusual. The Michael J. Epstein Memorial Library's Volume One was for sale on vinyl. What makes this particularly strange is that the album was never released on vinyl. I had a couple of options: I could report what I assumed to be an error or I could just do a little experiment and order it and see what happens. 

Not sure if being a better asshole means you're better at being a horrible person, or you're not quite as much of an asshole as the rest of the world, but the disappointing answer to the question is to where you get to watch me practice jokes before you get to read them again on this blog and on my Facebook accounts. Solid deal.  Go like the too while you're at it. Tell me I'm good, daddy. Please reply. Be safe.

I know I've said this on here before over and over, but the ocean is disgusting. Just filled with millions of hellish monsters eating each other nonstop all day and night who'd suck the steak meat right out of your ass bones in a second if you ever gave them the chance. Like this 280 pound stingray summoned from the depths of my nightmares hauled in by Jeremy Wade from the appropriately-titled TV showed “River Monsters”in Argentina.

The Sun shows us why they're the best at what they do, with this zinger of a hed: "THIS angler landed an a-ray-zing catch — a stingray weighing 20-STONE." I don't know what 20-stone means, but I think it has something to with how many rocks you'd have to drop on its head before it died.

This Boston Globe story is relevant to my interests. Does this news story have a news-letter, because I would like to subscribe to it. Here are the bases we have covered: The Patriots, the only thing I actually care about in the world, casino gambling, my first of many addictions (you always have a special place in your heart for the first one), and a perfect example of the type of thing that hippies like me are bitching about with the Occupy protests. 

And that's the whole post. One moderately passable joke.  Look, I'm sorry, they can't all be winners.  Stop frowning at me like that.

Ok fine, here's some more half-assed content below, but just barely. Quarter-assed at best.

No one is going to deny that a significant percentage of the Occupy movement are worthy of ridicule, , doing his best  Howard W. Campbell Jr. from Mother Night impression, which everyone and their racist uncle is popping link boners about on the internet today, is exactly the type of thing that I was talking about in this piece Why can't liberals be more liberal? | Don't judge the Occupy movement by its stereotypes when I wrote: