The Joy of Hate

by Greg Gutfeld

  Better to focus on the peaceful or camera-ready stuff—like when Lou Reed shows up, or Philip Glass decides to do a mic check. Just a month or so prior to me writing this very sentence, David Crosby and Graham Nash performed at a New York protest. I had no idea they were still alive. (Alas, their performance did little to confirm this. Even when captured on videotape.)

  THE JOKE STOPS HERE

  THE FIRST TIME A JOKE WAS EVER TOLD, you can bet someone died from it. They didn’t have picket signs or letter-writing campaigns back then, but they had hurt feelings. They registered it by bashing your head in with a club.

  My good friend Joe DeRosa is a successful comic and actor who happens to live two floors above me. I see him in the elevator a lot, and we often end up accidentally drunk—before we reach the ground floor. He tells me about a phenomenon called selective listening, when he tells a joke one way but the audience hears it another way.

  “I tell a joke about Jesus Christ. Basically I make fun of people who pray to Jesus for stupid shit, when basically this guy died on the cross for their sins. The whole point was, telling people to stop asking this poor guy for shit. He’s a tough dude; he had nails hammered into his hands! And you’re praying for a job promotion.” So what is essentially a salute to Jesus Christ is misconstrued as the opposite, because all people hear is a joke that has Jesus in it. “It doesn’t matter what the message of the joke is,” Joe says. He says the Jesus joke is his parents’ favorite joke, and his dad is a deacon. The fact is, people just get angry, because all they hear is something they believe should make them angry. It’s blasphemous, when in reality, it’s actually honest and perceptive. Jesus might have laughed.

  People get angry not because of the joke but because it hits too close to home. Think about it: When someone cracks a joke, it is meant to be taken as a joke. It’s not real. Yet that is ignored—selectively. Offense over a joke is a dog whistle, selectively heard by those with a dog in the hunt. (And if that metaphor confused you, as it did me, you can selectively tune it out.)

  Meaning, the same person who laughs uproariously over a joke ridiculing the ethnic background of the scamps on Jersey Shore will get pissed when you target the Kardashians. Because they’re Armenian, and the offended person had an aunt who was Armenian. Who died in a fire. So you’d better not make any Armenians-who-died-in-a-fire jokes. (There goes half my act.)

  Now, should every comedian demand his audience fill out questionnaires regarding areas that are off-limits? Perhaps a checklist that reads, “Are you black, gay, Hispanic, transgender, missing a limb? Do you have a relative with arthritis, have you worked in a labor camp in China, do you have thirty-four toes, can you see colors, do you have a fish-smelling disease or overgrown eyebrows, are you too short for roller coaster rides, do you have an unattractive unibrow or a penis shaped like Florida, do you have a mom who was a prostitute, a sister who was in the Manson family, or a dad who ran Jonestown?”

  The assumption is that when someone makes a joke, it’s a joke. We’re all adults and we understand no one is actually trying to “hurt” someone.

  So why the outrage, then? Why does someone get mad when Rush Limbaugh makes a joke about Barack Obama? Why do groups get angry when Louis C.K. unloads a crass, drunken tweet about Sarah Palin? Why did Gilbert Gottfried lose work over earthquake jokes? Why do people have to apologize over things that don’t inflict real pain on people?

  Perhaps it’s not about outrage. In a way, it could be about jealousy, which is the basis of much manufactured grievance. The anger toward a comedian erupts not because the comment simply strikes a nerve, but because the angered person feels unable to say the same thing, and that’s unfair. Why should you have the freedom to say something sick, but I can’t? I don’t mean “won’t” or “wouldn’t.” I mean “can’t.” It’s a joke I can’t make, because it might get me in trouble.

  See, it’s not that people can’t say it, it’s that people can’t take it. So I’ll shut up about it.

  Sure, I’ve been guilty of this in the past. Someone will say something I don’t like, and I will write something about that person, ridiculing them. Later, I realize I was mad I didn’t come up with it first! But I stopped getting outraged, because I realized it wasn’t worth it.

  First, the worst sin for a comedian is laziness. That explains all the Palin jokes, churned out by the dolts who write Bill Maher’s material. But it’s nothing to be outraged about, really. And don’t get me wrong, I think creepy jokes done on women simply because they’re conservative are shitty, but they are far from outrageous. They’re just lame. But they are also providing a service. When someone laughs at one of those jokes, you know that person doesn’t get out much. In scientific terms, they are called “dumb-shits.” It’s like when dogs sniff each other’s asses. This ritual inspection is how they identify each other. Once you hear Maher make a lame Palin joke, you know he’s a dope without even having to sniff his ass (the way many of his guests do so painfully on his show). It’s a real time-saver!

  But if someone writes or tells a joke that’s funny, and it’s about someone you like, you owe it to yourself to laugh. Sure, you should expect a wider range of targets from today’s comics, but don’t hold your breath. I’d like Louis C.K. to make fun of Obama as much as he does Palin, but he’s a liberal, so he won’t. I’d like to see Ricky Gervais make fun of liberals as much as he ridicules the religious, but that’s not what he cares about. After a while fans of Gervais like me will find his schtick tiresome, but he doesn’t care, nor should he. He is obsessed with atheism, and what he perceives as the harmful effects of religion—and so what? The existence of God and the origins of the universe are the real questions that keep us up at night, so why shouldn’t he devote all his talents to that? It’s not offensive as long as he makes me laugh and think, or even get angry. But yeah, it can get tiresome. And he may end up being pretentious, like if you saw his cover shot on The Humanist magazine, in which he was crucified—the nadir of his self-satisfied martyr complex. I’d still love him though. Were I capable of love.

  The second worst reaction is to turn into a prude bent on admonishment. When you watch Bill Maher’s Real Time and he goes there yet again, calling Palin a twat, or Bachmann a bitch, turn off your outrage meter. Instead feel satisfied in the fact that Maher has lost whatever gift he had for real ridicule. And watch something else, for God’s sake, like Hoarders. Now there’s feel-good television. It makes me feel well adjusted. And it’s cheaper than paying a therapist.

  ROLL MODELS

  IT WAS A STORY DESIGNED TO OUTRAGE right-wing nut-bags like me. According to LA Weekly, a former “porn star” appeared at an elementary school in Compton, California, to read to children.

  The porn star is not just any old worn-out slapper—it’s Sasha Grey, a “new kind” of adult actress, who prides herself in doing both hard-core stuff and mainstream muck. She’s a jackoff-of-all-trades, if you will. Because of her unique persona, she became the obsession of Steven Soderbergh, who devoted a whole movie to her (I confess to not seeing it—I’m waiting for the musical). He must have found her fascinating, as men with film cameras often do when they come across a hot chick who will screw men with film cameras.

  Later, still enthralling Hollywood types, she showed up on that outdated tripe called Entourage, playing herself (why not?—she’s so cool!), and the object of the star’s affections. Her ability to use her sexual confidence to control men was seen as heroic.

  The fact is, Grey is famous not because she does porn, she’s famous because she’s cute, and makes it acceptable to do porn. Trafficking in nonporn arenas makes her other stuff seem cool. It’s like, “I’m not just an actress, I also do anal, and vice versa.” Actually, she’s likely famous because she screws powerful Hollywood men, but whatever. More important, she’s still young and hot—not worn-out, drug-addicted, and suicidal like most porno queens. Give her five years and she’ll be more weathered than Ed Schultz.

  Yes, this isn’t gramps�
��s porn star. Which is why the whole controversy over her reading to kids in Compton seems totally calculated. It’s all part of the “Sasha Grey as performance art” piece that has now become her “edgy” life. And all of this is predicated, remember, on the idea that she can actually read. Most of her films don’t involve a lot of complex dialogue.

  Now, I suppose this is all about second chances, and just because Sasha Grey did porn (extensively), why shouldn’t she read to kids? I’ll tell you why. As far I as can tell, Grey has never disowned her porn history—and believe me, I did the research to back up that fact. Weeks of it, in fact. I’m still doing it now.

  She parlayed her porno past and present into getting work outside porn. It’s a neat little trick. Do the obscene first, in order to go mainstream—knowing that obscenity is the novelty. Who knew going hardcore meant you could work with the guy who directs Oceans Eleven? And that’s how she ended up on Entourage, a show so dumb it’s closed-captioned for rocks.

  So to me, Sasha’s is a really positive message to today’s young lasses: You can do porn and maybe live past thirty. Which as you know (or I know), is the God’s honest truth! Unless you’ve got a laptop, and can Google “dead porn stars,” where in an instant you’ll find a ream of websites listing the lurid manner in which these sex workers end up. Ironically, there are no happy endings. Usually, it’s suicide, overdoses, and accidents. I couldn’t find many “natural causes” in the mix, mainly because you have to live long enough to qualify. I’ve said it before, in the adult film industry, forty is the new dead.

  But that doesn’t matter. Because in the world of tolerance, pointing out this sober fact makes you seem narrow-minded and hurtful. You are intolerant if you don’t let a girl who just had a thirty-six-member gang bang read “Jack and Jill” to your little runt.

  And so this stupid porn star story was precisely manufactured crud designed to make you feel stodgy and mean if you think some lifestyles should prevent you from commingling with impressionable youth.

  See, as an “enlightened” individual, you’re supposed to nod along with these exercises in repressive tolerance. And really, that’s all the exercise is designed for—for others who abide by this PC nonsense, while also tweaking your moral sensibilities and calling you out for your outdated intolerance. It’s an exercise in superiority by witless cranks who would rather deny real truth about life. Better to appear cool and wrong than right and intolerant. Sasha Grey can do all the porn she wants. Just don’t involve kids in your PR stunts.

  Never mind that if you asked a porn star if she’d want her own child to be in porn, she’d say hell no. If she lives to have kids, that is. In fact, I doubt this statement has ever been uttered in the history of humankind: “This is my mom; she’s a porn star. I’m so glad she came to my graduation today.” And Mom, please don’t gang-bang the faculty.

  So what message does this send to girls at that school? Now, for boys the usual “role model” you’d find in a classroom on career day might be a fireman, a cop, or a well-known late-night commentator who can squat twice his own weight. But all the “outside talent coordinator” could get to represent inspiring women … is a porn star? And yes, the school district apparently had an “outside talent coordinator.” Only in California could such an alternate universe exist. Who the hell is paying for that? (If you live in California, take a wild guess.) Bottom line: Forget fields like medicine or law. You should really be looking to the porn dens of the San Fernando Valley for your career inspiration.

  And you wonder why kids are screwed these days—that’s what their role models do for a living.

  The tale of Sasha Grey speaks to a larger debate about porn. What used to be a shameful career, and a hobby kept hidden, is now part of our everyday life. Porn stars show up on reality and talk shows. They make cameo appearances in movies and show up at comedy roasts. If you voice any concern about this, you’re the crank. And I am a crank. On my show, I make no bones about my dislike for porn, only because I’ve seen enough of it to choke a chicken. (Yeah, I’m a hypocrite, but admitting it is the first step to enlightenment.) But we live in a time when the person extolling personal virtue is seen as an idiot, and the star of a gang bang an inspirational trailblazer. This is not progress. It’s just another step in the direction of a shame-free society, where every behavior is excused because we’re just too cowardly to do anything else but pass the lube. Which is a long way of saying: California.

  THE PIG PASS

  IT WAS A FIRST OF ITS KIND: an “ambush by house band.” Back in November 2011, congresswoman Michele Bachmann, then a presidential candidate, appeared on the Jimmy Fallon show. Someone must have told her that this adventure would help her faltering presidential run. That someone was probably high.

  When she walked out onto the set, the house band, called The Roots, accompanied her entrance with a song whose title rhymes with “Lyin’ Ass Bitch.” Because it was “Lyin’ Ass Bitch.”

  This little prank created an uproar on the right, and also on the left (for once), prompting some feminists (usually quiet about this crap happening to conservative women) to say that the band’s choice of music was wrong—even if you find Bachmann’s stances on various issues objectionable.

  Fallon did apologize later, after the brouhaha. He did so profusely, even if it was on Twitter—that new wussy path of phony penance. (How did people apologize before social networks? Send smoke signals?)

  Questlove, the Roots joint front man and drummer, defended himself, saying it was all in good fun. He wanted everyone to see how clever he was—tickled pink about his little plan to put one over on the hapless congresswoman. Which makes him a coward. It also makes him a political idiot. Even if you don’t like Bachmann’s positions, no one’s accused her of being a liar before.

  I can’t say I’m outraged over this prank—because then I’m a hypocrite. After all, my thesis is that most outrage is manufactured for emotional release and attention gratification, so I can’t start screaming about this. And I’ll admit, choosing covert songs is clever. (What goes with Ambassador Bolton? “I Am the Walrus”?) But if you’re going to attack someone, do it to their face, not with a song.

  I work in TV. And I know the green room where the guests wait is always close to the studio. Questlove could have easily stopped by and said, “Hey, Congresswoman Bachmann, I want to tell you that I find your political stance on gay marriage disgusting, and I’m going to register my disgust on the show in a manner that will not affect your interview. I’m just doing this so my friends will think I’m clever!”

  If he had said that, then he wouldn’t be a coward. But he didn’t do that, so he’s a coward. Even more, the choice of song was a bad one, for another reason: When someone disagrees with your beliefs but can’t explain why, their fallback position is always, “He lies.” That somehow exempts them from formulating a counterargument or anything remotely close to an intellectual response. Questlove calling Bachmann a “lyin’ ass bitch” makes him both crude and stupid. I bet if you asked Questlove what Bachmann “lies” about, he wouldn’t have an answer. Which is why he was probably too scared to approach her in the green room. And this makes him the little “bitch” of the story.

  What’s truly amazing is how the left seems baffled by the revulsion it causes. Think about Bill Maher’s disbelief whenever something he says about women is seen as misogynistic. Or that weird “slut” attack on Laura Ingraham by Ed Schultz.

  To them it’s daring comedy. Why is that? It’s because liberals are surrounded by liberals all day, and so they develop a massive blind spot concerning what’s acceptable to everyone else. I call it Bad Taste Blind Spot Disorder, or BTBSD. (It’s not just an acronym, it’s also the sound I make when I’m eating borscht.)

  When you suffer from BTBSD, you essentially spend all your time around people who share your assumptions, which makes it exceedingly easy for you to say what’s on your mind. You sit around all day and tell rape jokes about conservatives. And then, whoops�
�one day you make the mistake of telling that joke outside your bubble, unaware of its effect. And it pisses people off. The joke falls flat, and you’re miffed. And if you have a smidgen of self-awareness, you’re embarrassed, too.

  This is Bill Maher’s life.

  That’s why, on The View, when Elisabeth Hasselbeck confronted Maher about a rape joke he told about her, he felt like he was the victim. “It was just a joke,” his pained face kept reminding us, deeply disappointed that his segment was now being wasted having to answer for his lax attitudes about rape jokes—and defending how funny his rape humor is.

  True, Maher didn’t really want Hasselbeck raped. But that’s not the point. The point is, Maher’s persona and his brownnosing audience make him susceptible to saying crap—crap that he wouldn’t say about Michelle Obama, Nancy Pelosi, or any other liberal woman. It’s only right-wing females he targets.

  But worse than Maher, on The View, were Hasselbeck’s co-hosts. While she took the comic to task for his joke, none of her female pals chimed in to agree. They, like Maher, simply squirmed. And Hasselbeck was doing what they would never do at one of their all-lib cocktail parties: calling someone out for being an ass.

  When it comes down to it, the real babies, the real whiners, the real “bitches” are lefty celebrities. And the media and the feminist movement give them all a pass. The result? Frothy, infantile, embarrassing man-babies, like the charming comedic actor Alec Baldwin.

  I mean, if I ask you what kind of a celebrity male—in his mid-fifties—would throw a tantrum on a plane because he couldn’t play his computer game, the answer will always be Alec Baldwin. Now, if you remember, Baldwin was one of those mega-celebs who aligned themselves with the Occupy protesters, effectively giving his own repulsive behavior a pass by the tolerati.