Considering all the blahblah over Phil Robertson, the mudcaked millionaire-dealer of birdkill paraphernalia, and Pajama Boy, the surprisingly well-endowed homosexual opportunist biding time in your son’s freshman dorm room, one thing has become perfectly clear (funny what a difference a few days make). Though we may not have known either of these people a week ago, we know each of them now as archetypes.
One of them is rough and rugged, and the other is foofy and fay. One of them came to fame and fortune by way of hard-work and ingenuity, the other by way of ranging institutional propaganda. One of them is God-fearing, which is proper, and the other fears disease and the cold of night, which is laughable. Or to put all of this more generally and universally, one of them is really them. And the other one is you.
Get it? Hint: You’re not the one with the 1000-yard stare.
There you are again, but on the right. I see you put whip cream on your cocoa. And he put an asswhipping on Adolf and the rest of the boys from Berlin, all the while wearing Phil Silvers’ grin. Later: He ferrets all the Mengeles out of Brazil and Argentina, wins a Nugent Medal of Honor.
Of course there were perhaps hundreds of Photoshops of the two partisan heroes side-by-side, but that was a lot like bloggers re-telling their favorite scenes from the Schwarzenegger/DeVito documentary Twins. It took the more ambitious and Christian among them to employ the Robertson comparisons to greater effect:
And you’re Louis Farrakhan. Or you wish you had that sort of “courage,” and were as well that sort of “hero” to the President notwithstanding his stance on anti-Semitic demagogues. Anyway you’re certainly no sort of Phil Robertson as you’re probably a Muslim. Or you don’t particularly mind them, which may be worse frankly.
And you’re this Arab fellow too. Who hates homosexuals more than you do? What, wait, he’s Persian? Who the hell even knows crap like that? Quote Erotic Nostradamus.
Of course you don’t even need the full side-by-side treatment to make a devastating point. Not with queer bait as candy-musky as Pajama Boy. Anything that looks remotely like him is instantly insulted, perhaps irrevocably. I mean:
She has a television show ferchrissakes! Or she used to, before she resigned after seeing her face on the internet. Eventually they just went after the source of the trouble – all trouble – and they animated him, as Pajama Boy: