»  Radio Derb — Transcript

        Friday, March 17th, 2006


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[Music clip: From Haydn's Derbyshire March No. 2, organ version]

01 — Intro.     Greetings, ladies and gentlemen, and welcome to another unfair, unbalanced broadcast from Radio Derb.

This is John Derbyshire speaking and that was one of Haydn's Derbyshire Marches; and here is your weekly roundup of horror and outrage from around the world.


02 — Oscars orphan Annie.     You've heard about the movie Brokeback Mountain, of course. It was based on a story by Annie Proulx, who is a big name in literary fiction — the kind of pretentious overwrought fiction, that is, that critic B.R. Myers took a scalpel to in his invaluable little handbook A Reader's Manifesto.

Myers quotes the following sample of Annie's prose; and it's a good thing he does, because I won't have her books in the house, so if it weren't for Myers, I wouldn't be able to quote Ms Proux's appalling prose at all.

Here's the sentence:

In the long unfurling of his life, from tight-wound kid hustler in a wool suit riding the train out of Cheyenne to geriatric limper in this spooled-out year, Mero had kicked down thoughts of the place where he began, a so-called ranch on strange ground at the south hinge of the Big Horns.

End quote.

Well, if you like that kind of thing, then that's the kind of thing you like. A thing that Ms Proulx doesn't much like is the Motion Picture Academy. So miffed was she at Brokeback Mountain not sweeping the Oscars, Annie let fly with a blast of sour grape juice.

The Academy voters, she said are a bunch of elderly elitists living cloistered lives behind wrought-iron gates or in de luxe rest homes out of touch not only with the shifting larger culture and the yeasty ferment that is America these days, but also out of touch with their own segregated city.

That's what she said. I'm not sure I would have chosen the adjective "yeasty" in this context, but let it go.

Meanwhile, the search continues for a straight person who was actually paid money from his own pocket to go and watch Brokeback Mountain.


03 — Crazy Muslim lawyers up.     Last week I reported on the Islamofascist prison chaplain Umar Abdul Jalil, head of all the Islamic prison chaplains in the New York Department of Correction.

Mr Abdul Jalil had made a speech to a conference of his co-religionists in Arizona calling President Bush a terrorist, and saying that the media are controlled by Zionists, and claiming that innocent Muslims are tortured in New York prisons.

Some people took exception to all this, saying that it wasn't the kind of talk a man of the cloth should engage in, and that if this is the stuff he preaches to New York jail inmates, the chances of them emerging as better citizens at completion of their sentences might be compromised.

Mr Abdul Jalil is on a temporary suspension from his ministering duties, but he has engaged a high powered lawyer, Norman Siegel, former leader of the New York Civil Liberties Union.

New York City Mayor Michael Bloomberg, who fired a city employee the other day for playing solitaire at his desk, is treading very carefully on this one, as of course he must. The good people of New York wouldn't want their city marred by the horrid taint of Islamophobia, woulf they?

The betting around town is that the Imam will soon be back at his desk — and not, one hopes, playing solitaire.


04 — A wasta our time.     One of the nice things about getting involved with foreign countries is that you pick up some loan-words from their language to enrich your own language. This hasn't been happening much with the Iraq war for reasons I shall leave you to discuss among yourselves.

Well, it's time to get something going here, and I have a candidate for a handy loan-word: wasta. That's right, wasta. Apparently this is the Arabic word for "connections." The way to get anything done in a Third World country is to work your family and social connections, your wasta.

The word wasta showed up in a New York Times piece about a plot by some Iraqi tribesman to infiltrate the Green Zone in Baghdad. That's the fortified, heavily-guarded area where that nation's U.S. and Iraqi administrators live. The insurgents had this plan to get jobs in the Green Zone using their wasta.

Okay, time for a limerick. {Clears throat.]

In Iraq, to make things go faster,
You have to make use of your wasta.
In Baghdad in Baghdad a clerk
Won't do any work
Until someone tells him he hasta.

There'll be another specimen of poetry later in the broadcast — one far, far superior to my own poor efforts.


05 — Al Franken makes a movie.     Al Franken, that lovable laughmeister of the left, has made a movie titled Al Franken: God Spoke.

The movie shows a year in the life of the commie comedian: following him around on book tours and speaking engagements, and showing him coming off best — as of course, he invariably does — in confrontations with fascist hyenas like Ann Coulter and Bill O'Reilly. The movie will be at a theater near you soon, folks.

Al must be hoping it'll do better than Air America did. Remember Air America? Anybody remember? Never mind


06 — Illegal aliens: the Senate and the Church.     Some news from the immigration front.

The Senate is wrangling over details of an immigration bill. I can't say I follow the debates closely, but I gather there are two factions in the noble chamber.

Some senators think that every illegal immigrants should be given a gold American Express card to reward them for their courage in trekking across the southwestern desert to come here and do the jobs Americans won't do.

The other faction in the Senate thinks that a mere gold card would be insulting to these good-hearted people and that we ought to give them platinum cards. Otherwise, how will the poor souls be able to put food on their families, working as they do for sub-minimum wages?

Meanwhile, over there on the other coast, Cardinal Roger Mahoney is mad as hell about the clauses in House legislation that make it illegal to assist the illegality of illegal immigration. The Cardinal said that both Hebrew and Christian scriptures were consistent and clear about the moral imperative to care for strangers and aliens. The Jewish people, he further said, were aliens in Egypt, and Jesus was a refugee who was escaping from King Herod.

Now, whether the Jews were aliens in Egypt is a lawyer's point since the Palestine of Joseph's time was part of the Egyptian empire. The Jews just moved from one part of that empire to another part, and this was in any case 500 years before the Jews had a country of their own to live in.

As for the infant Jesus being taken to Egypt to escape King Herod's edict: Well, when Herod died soon afterwards, Mary and Joseph returned to their native land.

How is any of this relevant to illegal immigrants in the present-day United States beats me; but then I never was much good at theology. I guess I wouldn't make a very good cardinal.


07 — Death of a tyrant.     Here's this ex-dictator, the principal defendant in a war crimes trial that seems to have been going on forever.

His country was cobbled together after World War One out of a salad of different peoples, religions, and ethnicities. So long as the dictatorship was in place, the whole thing was held together by terror and a bogus ideology.

When the dictatorship ended, however, the peoples all fell to fighting among themselves, and there was ethnic cleansing and some terrible interethnic massacres.

At last the thing broke apart into separate countries, as it was probably always destined to.

Slobodan Milošević died last week. Why, who did you think I was talking about?


08 — A poetess rises in Peekskill.     The United States has brought forth a new poetic genius, a worthy successor to Longfellow, Poe, Emily Dickinsone and Robert Frost. And, amazing to relate, this dazzling new poetic talent is only seven years old!

Who is she, this child prodigy, this Mozart of metonomy, this Pascal of the pentameter, this … er, I'm running out of prodigies here; this Michael Jackson of enjambment?

Meet homeschooled Autum Ashanti of Peekskill, New York. That's "Autum" spelled without the final "n," by the way. You might suppose that the homeschooling went a little awry there; but no, it's not that Autum's dad doesn't know how to spell "autumn." He just doesn't want any truck with those oppressive Ice People spelling conventions.

Well, I'll leave you to find out all about little Autum for yourself. One of the advantages of having a weirdly-spelled name is that it makes you easy to Google. I'm just going to read you the poem that little Autum read out herself when she was invited to an event organized by the schools in her district. You Ready? Here goes.

The title of the poem is: "White Nationalism Put U in Bondage."

White nationalism is what put you in bondage
Pirate and vampires like Columbus, Morgan, and Darwin
Drank the blood of the sheep, trampled all over them with
Steel, tricks and deceit.
Nothing has changed take a look in our streets
The mis-education of she and Hegro — leaves you on your knee2grow
Black lands taken from your hands, by vampires with no remorse
They took the gold, the wisdom and all of the storytellers
They took the black women, with the black man weak
Made to watch as they changed the paradigm
Of our village
They killed the blind, they killed the lazy, they went
So far as to kill the unborn baby
Yeah White nationalism is what put you in bondage
Pirates and vampires like Columbus, Morgan, and Darwin
They drank the blood of the sheep, trampled all over them with
Steel laden feet, throw in the tricks alcohol and deceit.
Nothing has changed take a look at our streets.

How proud the people of Westchester County must be, having this talented young lady in their midst! Why, when my kids were seven years old the only poems they knew were Mother Goose rhymes — you know those traditional ditties like "Mary Had a Little Lamb, but the White Devils Stomped it to Death," and "Baa Baa Black Victim of Centuries of Oppression and Suffering," and so on.

And my kids didn't know what a paradigm is at all when they were seven. I'm not sure they do even now. Maybe little Autum could drop by and explain it to them.


09 — Weapons of cultural mass destruction.     There are some new stories where do you can do is just read out the darn thing. Here's one of those. Quote:

A former goat herder and male stripper has sold twice as many records as Madonna in recent weeks to become the first Arab to top the British pop singles chart since records began 44 years ago.

End quote.

This guy goes by the name Chico, but his original name was Yousseph Slimani and he was raised in Morocco. Which actually would make him a Berber, not an Arab, wouldn't it?

Well, whatever. After moving to England, Mr Slimani worked as an exotic male dancer to pay for his grandmother to go on a healing pilgrimage to Mecca. Obviously he's a dutiful grandson. The Person Chico most admires, he tells us, is Madonna.

Now this is clearly a nice guy and you've got to be happy for him. It's a wonderful thing to make a bundle of money doing something that you like to do — send your granny to Mecca, and so on.

If I were Chico though, I think I'd be a bit more circumspect about publicizing my preferences and past activities. You never know who's listening.

I mean, really. Madonna? Exotic male dancer? Get ready to feel the fatwa, Chico.


10 — Signoff.     Well, there you have it, listeners: all the insanity of our age captured in neat little two-minute sound clips for you. Like the great Jeeves, I endeavor to give satisfaction.

Tune in again next week for more from Radio Derb.


[Music clip: More Derbyshire Marches.]