The Joy of Hate

by Greg Gutfeld

  And it’s got to hurt them. I mean, imagine being a lefty rocker who adores X and finding that the guitarist, who is far cooler than you, thinks your politics stink. It’s gotta fry your brain. No wonder you wear board shorts and wallet chains to the beer garden.

  But the bigger and final message here is what happens when someone from The Velvet Underground—the band that Václav Havel credits for creating the Czech Republic (personally, I haven’t been able to establish the link)—gets crap for showing up at a peaceful political event. And what does it mean when a member of the most naturally subversive band of the last forty years shows up at the most naturally subversive movement in recent memory?

  By witnessing the shocked reaction, you see where true rebellion lurks.

  It’s wherever Moe’s at.

  And, really, how can you not follow someone named Moe?

  FAT KIDS ARE THE BIGGEST TARGETS

  AS PEOPLE STARVE ALL OVER THE GLOBE, we are demonizing chubby kids. Don’t get me wrong, being fat is unhealthy, but last time I checked, fat kids weren’t spreading disease, mugging the elderly, or beating the crap out of people on subways. At least, not as a general rule. There are a lot of bad eggs on this planet, but don’t blame the kids who seem to be eating too many of them. Remember, the fatter they are, the harder it is for them to run from a crime. (It’s why I went on Atkins.)

  Repressive tolerance is a weak, weird thing. Like water, it flows along the path of least resistance. And apparently no one can stand a fat kid, so that’s where the tolerant express their easy, lame intolerance. If a kid is fat, the most tolerant liberal has no trouble passing judgment, and perhaps a tax, to register their disapproval. In a world where you are expected to tolerate all behavior, somehow fat kids didn’t get the note from Congress exempting them from condemnation. Fat kids are now a big target, and it has nothing to do with their big pants purchased at Target.

  This intolerance toward the chubby means little until you compare it with other behaviors that are accepted, or even encouraged, among the community of tolerance.

  In Georgia, a series of depressing anti-obesity ads created controversy, according to the New York Daily News, because they featured unhappy fat kids talking about being fat. The ads offered messages like “Some diseases aren’t just for adults anymore,” and “Being fat takes the fun out of being a kid.” (Which is untrue. If there’s any time to be fat, it’s when you’re a kid and don’t care about being attractive.) Children’s Healthcare of Atlanta made the ads, intending their grim message to spark parents to see how serious this “epidemic” is. Here’s a quote from Linda Matzigkeit, a senior vice president at Children’s Healthcare:

  We felt like we needed a very arresting, abrupt campaign that said: “Hey Georgia! Wake up. This is a problem.”

  Hey Linda, here’s an arresting campaign for you: you’re the problem.

  Yeah, okay—fat kids are a problem. But imagine for a second an ad campaign that features a provocatively dressed teen talking about how her/his sexual conquests have left her/him empty and unwanted. You can’t, because it never happens.

  Now, they might do the ad for the sexually active teen, in which they warn of consequences like STDs or unwanted pregnancies. But the fact is, they will never say “Don’t do it.” They won’t say that, on a moral level, such behavior leaves you empty and used up, just as everyone else is discovering what you’ve already exhausted. The concerned just say use protection. In the upside-down world of tolerance, eating a sloppy joe is wrong, but screwing one is okay. Being tolerant means eating sugary food is evil, but anything in the bedroom is none of my business. Frankly, I don’t care what you eat or who you screw, but please remain consistent in your condemnations of personal behavior. If you say, “Don’t eat Big Macs,” then you should just as easily say, “Don’t do Big Mac.” (This is good advice: anyone named Big Mac is probably a long-haul trucker who’s a bit rough in the sack.)

  I don’t give a damn what kids do, as long as they don’t hurt me. And fat kids don’t hurt me. However, violent kids do. We’ve seen a wild spurt of teenaged packs rumbling stores and subways. We’ve seen countless kids pregnant with kids—there’s a show on MTV that has turned teen pregnancy into the Olympic trials for our sad, stupid culture. We’ve got a system that’s spending craploads more than what we spent in the seventies on education, but producing dumber and dumber kids, who know little more than how to create texting abbreviations. We’ve got teachers, immune from the demands of discipline or competency thanks to unions, doing little more than monitoring classrooms like they’re unruly ant farms, while surveying their student bodies for the best student body.

  But what is the White House concerned about? Fat kids … the “epidemic” of fat kids. What horseshit. Look, all you have to know about the U.S. is one thing: each year a person born usually lives longer than a person born the previous year. So we are doing something right. A lot of that has to do with not starving to death. It’s yet another Gutfeld scientific theory: available food = less starvation. I feel confident in this one.

  But not tolerating fat people really is about not tolerating a fat, bloated America. When I lived in England, the joke was always how fat we Yanks were. It was like every bulging Bostonian was emblematic of a sweaty, heaving America. Look at us, eating our way to freedom, devouring Iraq and Afghanistan, while pooping out imperialism. Our jokes about British teeth were a jab at their medical services, but their jokes about our weight were a summary of our greedy lifestyle.

  I guess that drives lean beans like Obama crazy. Why can’t we be skinny, like those alluring Belgians! Sure, they do nothing for the world but produce artery-clogging chocolate, but they can buy their jeans at Gap Kids.

  To Obama and the hard left, it’s all a metaphor for the hated American exceptionalism. Truth is, if America is fatter than other nations, it’s because we can be. Now, that doesn’t make it desirable, for health reasons and for reasons related to the wearing of Speedos. But the reason this incites such a visceral reaction from the Kathleen Sebeliuses of the world is that it sets us apart as having a more successful economy than places where the people subsist on 120 calories a day. We’ve created a system so successful that the most universal problem in human history—the acquisition of foodstuffs—has been erased by the issue of having too much of them (only America pays farmers so much money not to grow food). For the Obamatrons out there, every time a fat kid eats a scooter pie, a child in The Hague cries. I blame Bush. The president and the baked beans.

  Again, imagine if you mapped this same strategy for sexual activity—taking classes where you’d be credited, say, if you remained a virgin until graduation. Or only gave out two blow jobs, instead of, say, seven. That would never happen, because it’s too judgmental, too intolerant, too intrusive. It’s also a bit tougher to monitor, I’ll admit, although I’m available if needed. More important, it doesn’t agree with the wisdom received from that boxed set of Sex and the City, which dictates that casual sex makes you happy, smart, and successful. And the possessor of a bigger apartment than mine. (Hell, I’d sleep with Chris Noth too if I could get the kind of digs they had on that show.)

  However, when it comes to edible things that you put in your mouth, that’s different. This is why in school superintendents can tell you that a hot dog is a no-no at lunch, but in the sex ed class, it’s okay if it wears a condom. I’m beginning to think sex ed is taught so teachers can make sure the students have condoms on when they run into them after class. I wonder: Would these teachers be okay with eating a hot dog if the kids slipped a condom on it?

  Right now, in New York (geographically part of America), we’ve got a mayor who demonizes giant sodas. We have experts up the wazoo saying we should do the same with all fattening foods—their argument being that if fattening foods lead to fat people, who then greedily utilize more health care and thus are a burden on our society, then why shouldn’t their greasy blubbery lifestyles be taxed?

  Okay, then. Why not then tax
sexually transmitted diseases? I venture the cost to society from sexual behavior has to be every bit as high as eating at McDonald’s or Wendy’s, so why aren’t we “going there”? At least when I eat a Quarter Pounder, I’m not getting herpes from the Quarter Pounder (sadly, I can’t say the same thing for the Quarter Pounder).

  The ideas are the same: we are talking about behaviors in excess—eating too much and screwing too much. Both lead to bad places that present a cost to society, if not your own soul, if you have one (I do, I keep it in my sock drawer). Whether it’s eating or banging, the flaw lies with self-control, in discipline—and how much we’ve devalued it since we lost the power to shame. However, one vice can be tolerated while another cannot. Why is that?

  Well, it’s not about sex or fatness, but about how America sucks. And fat people represent America, while sexual liberation represents the more tolerant, sophisticated Europe. Desperately, our media, academics, and politicians seek approval from those so far up that evolved food chain that we cannot risk looking prehistoric when it comes to sexuality. Saying yes to sex but no to food satisfies that insecurity: yes, we know we are fat, but we’re not prudes.

  Look, I know being fat isn’t healthy. I was fat for a while, and it’s no fun. I crowded every elevator (even when alone). My wife couldn’t stand me. Mirrors reminded me that I gave up, every single day.

  But on the list of things that shouldn’t be tolerated, a chubby kid shouldn’t even show up. A kid who, with other kids, crowds a store and pummels the clerk for kicks—or a kid who thinks getting pregnant is the only way to be somebody (or at least on MTV)—ranks far higher than a tyke who gains momentary pleasure from an innocent Twinkie. Or who, genetically, simply has that body type.

  And let’s not forget that when a successful actor or model is interviewed and their childhood is brought up, nearly all of them mention they were once fat. One could argue that nearly every husky kid inevitably grows up to be slim, fabulous, and famous. It’s an argument that is not backed up by research, but that will not stop me from making its case.

  In sum, I’d rather have a fat kid than a promiscuous kid. At least we can bake together.

  THE SKEPTIC TANK

  IF THERE’S ANYTHING THAT CAN KILL A PARTY, it’s global warming. God, I hate the topic, only because I know too much about it. I wish I could take a toilet scrubber to my brain and clear out all that wasteful crap I’ve stuck in there simply because I felt I had to read about it. Actually, I had to read up on it. Because I just didn’t buy the crap I was hearing on the news, and I had to find out why.

  When I was cutting my gorgeous teeth writing health pieces for Prevention magazine, my life consisted of reading dozens of medical journals every month. It was boring, kinda like hanging out with Bill Nye the Science Guy. But I got the hang of the terminology, and figured out what were real results and what was conjecture. Or hype.

  From this constant reading I knew the real results were to be found in a study’s conclusion—not in a phony press release, exaggerated to get a headline, which would lead to more grants and more press.

  That means when I got a press release that said, “clam smoothies doubled results of placebo,” I knew to go straight to the numbers—who and how many people were used in the study—and then examine all the charts and graphs showing the results. How many got better? How many turned blue? How many, after treatment, were convinced they were wallabies?

  And sure enough, that line about clam smoothies doubling results of placebo started to look less and less important. Apparently, from the actual study, it meant that instead of just one guy getting relief, now there were two—out of 1,000 patients.

  Hence the “doubled” results. This crap happens all the time in health studies, and magazines love it because they can play along to sell copies. I mean, if you claim your crappy pill works, that makes a great cover line for the magazine, who will then sell copies based on your flimsy claim. “Double your weight loss!” sells copies, not “clam smoothies lead to positive results in two people instead of one, out of a thousand.” Also, if you add a shot of my astounding abs, which are actually a henna tattoo, it helps.

  Health is different from climate science, but the jargon and hysteria that follow are often the same. I learned early on that jargon is used to confuse and overwhelm you, so you’re more likely to agree with whoever is spewing the nonsense just to shut them up. Jargon is also great for hiding incompetence and corruption: You’re less likely to question motives or skill if you’re reeling from all those multisyllabic Latinate words. Especially when they’re italicized.

  I learned to get around this crap by asking doctors (in my many, many awkward interviews) very simple questions, and admitting right off the bat that I’m a moron. I would say, “Hey, I was an English major in college, so what exactly is a blood vessel?” The doctors quickly took me for an idiot (which saved time), but also found my idiotic honesty refreshing, and they walked me through the stuff that other reporters chose not to pursue. This is exactly how I cured my psoriasis. (Kidding—I don’t have psoriasis. Psoriasis isn’t purple, is it?)

  Once I walked myself through the research and talked it through with its authors, I often came to a very basic conclusion: no one knows what the hell they’re talking about. I mean, even with the drugs that do work, most experts are not even sure why. And now, with so much evidence lauding the work of antidepressants, there’s a whole band of critics who say that’s baloney. And it turns out the best doctors are the ones who bend over backwards to say they don’t know crap. Every one in the medical field looks down at MDs who blow their own horn. They see them as hucksters.

  And so I learned a key skill—to steer clear of anyone who can announce with any certainty that they know the future. I don’t care how smart the scientist is, they’re almost always wrong. Remember that jackass in the seventies who predicted the coming ice age? Or how about that other dope who predicted global starvation? I venture both of them are dead, so they don’t have to answer for their asinine predictions. But there were many like them—people who could predict with all certainty that the world was going to end. And get this: it’s your fault. This kind of crap sold books and got grants and guaranteed tenure for many people, all of whom really should have been kicked out on their keisters and forced to get a real job like everyone else.

  Examples abound. You remember the radon gas scare? We were told by America’s newsweeklies (back when their circulation was greater than that of a free pamphlet on osteoarthritis) that the scourge of radon gas collecting at the base of America’s homes would lead to all sorts of horrors—most specifically, an explosion of lung cancer. Hasn’t happened. The basic premise was that radon gas, which occurs naturally, would collect at unnaturally dense levels in our homes and begin killing us systematically. A whole radon-mitigation industry germinated. Then, finally! Cooler heads in the scientific world pushed back on the alarmists peddling this stuff for fun and profit (among them, the EPA), and the radon gas threat dissipated like … radon gas. But understand: Somebody—most likely someone with a specious PhD, a white lab coat, and a good sales pitch—enhanced his career and bank account significantly from this twaddle (thanks for that word, O’Reilly).

  My point is, when someone says something dire is going to happen—whether it’s an ice age, global warming, or the death of polka music—put on goggles because you’re about to be hit in the face with a pile of crap. They’ve been predicting the death of the polka for years, and like the sun, it’s still here every day. I play it very loud, every single morning. My neighbors love it!

  So because of my own experience in health journalism, I’ve always cast a skeptical eye toward exaggerated claims of global warming—or whatever you might call it these days, since that moniker has changed. We call it climate change now. In a few years, what will we call it? Weather variability? Manic meteorology? Who cares? Whatever it’s called, it will make no more sense than it does now. And my eyes will still be skeptical.

&nbs
p; Which is why I read as much as I can on the issue, choosing papers from both sides (which, you’ll later find, is now considered heresy in the eyes of scientists who are intolerant of any skeptical point of view).

  My conclusion is that, for the most part, a lot of the climate change journalism is misinformed, exaggerated, and crap. Having said that, I’ll just add: who knows—maybe something is happening. I mean, something is always happening around us that we can’t explain. I’ve got the strangest rash on my leg that looks like William F. Buckley. Is that global warming? Or the fact that I slept in a hedge last night? This is why I keep an open mind about this sort of stuff, and you should, too.

  But an open mind is not enough. Apparently. A few years back, I had a guy on my late-night show, and the topic was global warming. The chap was a friend of mine and he had e-mailed me three times to ask to come on the show. So I figured, why not? I’m tolerant like that. And considering the hosts, we set the bar for guests at a fairly, er, accommodating level.

  During the segment on global warming, however, he did something that only the repressive tolerati do when faced with something that undermines their worldview. He got personal.

  I asked him, and I paraphrase it, because it was a while ago and before the hypnosis treatments, “What’s wrong with hearing two sides of the debate on climate change?” He replied, and I paraphrase again, “Who would I want to believe, the hundreds of scientists who have studied this phenomenon, or some guy who hosts a show in the middle of the night?”