Ready, Aim, Shoot At Us!

The latest Sanity Squad Podcast is up.

This week, Mr Excitement (Shrinkwrapped), Ms ‘I Tossed My Cookies In A Space Suit’ (Dr  Sanity) and Bachelorette Number 3 (Neo-neocon) and Messrs. Wonderful (that’s us, if you’re slow on the uptake) settle in for a stimulating conversation with Dr. Kenneth Levin, psychiatrist and author of The Oslo Syndrome: Delusions of a People Under Siege, a seminal work that looks at how many Israelis gravitated to a peace process that was doomed to fail before it even started.

Dr Levin is a highly regarded psychiatrist and occupies a position on the faculty of the Harvard Medical School.

Our conversation centers around Dr Levin’s observations and insight. We discuss the pathology of identifying with the oppressor as defense/displacement mechanism and the well known phenomena of the cultural/societal elites who embrace the dominant political/ cultural perspective, no matter how absurdly dangerous.

Our conversation becomes even more relevant as we discuss this nation’s reaction and response to the terror threats we face.

Tune in to the podcast for a look behind the curtain.

On a personal note, Isabella Rosselini has invited the entire Sanity Squad to spend a bit of time at her Tuscan Villa. Sadly, Neo, Dr Sanity and Shrinkwrapped determined they would be happier and more fulfilled ministering to the sickest, profoundly delusional and those most in need of Edison Therapy.

We three life challenged psycho-therapists will have her all to ourselves. Apparently, the rest of the Sanity Squad are concerned that after a short vacation, the bottomless well of untreated lunacy and leftist histrionic dysfunction will run dry.

Unlike our colleagues, we are not sufficiently detached enough from reality to harbor such mindless and idiotic delusions.

We shall return with our brains less burdened and our minds perfectly refreshed.

The Wednesday Weekly Whacky Award Goes To….

The SC&A Academy of Extremely Peculiar Pathologies, is pleased to announce the winners of the Weekly Wednesday Whackjob Awards, commonly referred to as the ‘Whacky’s.’

First, some fine print: nominations will open each week until 10:00 PM, EST (After the broadcast of House, M.D.).

That’s it for the fine print.

The SC&A Institute are pleased to announce that the Geico cavemen have joined our group therapy sessions to work out their problems.

Ah, the magic of electricity.

OK, on with this week’s show, broadcast from the Thomas Edison Pavilion on the grounds of the SC&A Institute.

A ‘Whacky‘ has been been awarded this week in each of the following categories:

The Thorazine Shuffle and Dance Award, presented each week to the politician who dances and shuffles without actually addressing reality or answering a question, goes to New York Senator Charles Schumer. His schizophrenic tirades directed toward the Justice Department over the firing of 8 federal prosecutors, while ignoring the wholesale massacre of 93 prosecutors by the Clinton administration (overseen by you guessed it, Hillary Clinton) is nothing short of stunning in it’s hypocrisy. See this and this.

Of course, no one who knows Chucky Schumer is surprised. Those damn bastards over at Justice have his number.

As Hugh Hewitt pointedly remarked:

The MSM needs to get Schumer on the record right now about what he knew and when he knew it; why he hired these women; why he didn’t fire them when this became known to him months ago, and whther he knew they were fishing for stuff using Steele’s social security number.

The media might also want to run down the list of Schumer hires. Political organizations have their own unique cultures. If the head of the DSCC’s research department thought nothing of committing a felony to gain an edge, it is hardly unlikely that there are similar zealots around.

No word from schizo Chucky on his cooperation.

The Thomas Szasz Psychotherapy Award, presented each week to the biggest idiot therapist we can find, goes to Robert R. Provine, who

…tried applying his training in neuroscience to laughter 20 years ago, he naïvely began by dragging people into his laboratory at the University of Maryland, Baltimore County, to watch episodes of “Saturday Night Live” and a George Carlin routine. They didn’t laugh much. It was what a stand-up comic would call a bad room.

So he went out into natural habitats — city sidewalks, suburban malls — and carefully observed thousands of “laugh episodes.” He found that 80 percent to 90 percent of them came after straight lines like “I know” or “I’ll see you guys later.” The witticisms that induced laughter rarely rose above the level of “You smell like you had a good workout.”

In Dr Provine’s world, advertisers are spending billions of dollars to advertise on comedy programs no one thinks is funny.

Far be it from us to undermine the good doctor, but maybe people who do not know each other that are thrown into a glass Skinner Box type laboratory. might not be as enthusiatic to share guffaws. Just a thought.

Then again, what would advertisers or industrial baheviorists know about the business end of what people like or watch? It isn’t as if they were academics with no real business experience.

The Valium Award, presented to the dullard of the week goes to the idiot chef that believes we’ll pay more for vegetables because they look like they were grown in Crayola:

Top-end restaurants in Adelaide could soon be serving unusually coloured vegetables including yellow carrots or candy-striped beetroot…

“I was only speaking to one [chef] on Wednesday and he was quite excited in being able to serve a carrot and vegetable soup that was bright purple and white.

Yeah, that’s worth some heavy money. There will be millions clamoring for beets. Mmmm.

The Trojan Award is presented each week to the person we wish had never been born. This week’s winner, is Chris Donald.

In stunning news that will have wide ranging implications for many years to come, a man has been found who likes having sex with cars.

The details of mechanic Chris Donald’s alleged romantic vehicular liaisons have been unearthed by (naturally) The Sun – who claim that in addition to a large number of cars, Mr Donald has also done the dirty with two boats and a jetski.

Mr Donald apparently says that his sexual fetish may have been triggered by formative childhood experiences watching Knight Rider.

‘When I was a young boy I used to see human qualities in cars,’ he says. ‘As I grew up I noticed I was having feelings towards cars and they began catching my eye in a certain way.’

Good thing Chris didn’t grow up with farm animals.

Let this be a lesson to all- This is what you end up with when you use birth control drugs after their expiration date (a major TY to Fausta for coming up with this beaut).
The NutriSystem “I’m Not So disgusting to My Spouse Anymore” Award, given to the biggest loser of the week, is awarded to Shigeo Kodama:

Police found more than 4,000 pieces of lingerie in the home of a Japanese construction worker who used climbing skills developed on his job to steal women’s underwear.

Police believe that Shigeo Kodama, 54, amassed the 3,977 panties, 355 bras and 10 pairs of stockings over a six-year period. He was arrested in February after he stole underwear from two houses, and police later raided his home.

Sushi, robots, virtual pets. Is this the next international craze to emerge from Japan? Someone call the folks at the Guinness Book of Records . We suspect someone is already hard at work in the attempt to break the panties and underwear collection record.

The Haldol Honor, awarded each week to the person or persons most out of touch with reality, either on or off medication goes to The ‘Personality Hotels’ chain (‘Small Hotels. BIG Personalities!’)

A San Francisco hotel chain has taken a bold leap into previously uncharted realms of celebrity gawking and good taste, by offering its patrons the ‘Britney Breakdown Package’, in which they can lovingly recreate Ms. Spears’ downward spiral into oddness.

A $50 voucher for a trip to a hair salon is thrown in, just in case you should feel a burning need to get rid of all your hair because the bad goblins who whisper at you are hiding in it.

And you’ll also get a Marc Jacobs hand mirror – either for reminding yourself just how fabulous you look, or for staring into endlessly, weeping silently at the hollow, soulless death-mask that stares back at you.

The fun doesn’t end there. Britney-a-likes taking advantage of the package will also get a bottle of luxury water, insofar as water can actually be luxurious, for those rare moments when alcohol seems like it might not be the best idea. And, most importantly, guests will get given a pair of knickers, so that they remember to wear knickers.

Yeah, there are legions of people who want to be in Britney’s psycho boots.

The Methamphetamine Medal, awarded each week to the most hyper, histrionic, hysterical, spaced out documented behavior goes the State of New Mexico. Apparently crime, illegal immigration and the local economy aren’t anything New Mexican lawmakers need to address. Instead, the State legislature has been hard at work so that Pluto might be reinstated as a planet (never mind what the scientists say) as it flies overhead:

DECLARING PLUTO A PLANET AND DECLARING MARCH 13, 2007, “PLUTO PLANET DAY” AT THE LEGISLATURE.

WHEREAS, the state of New Mexico is a global center for astronomy, astrophysics and planetary science…

NOW, THEREFORE, BE IT RESOLVED BY THE LEGISLATURE OF THE STATE OF NEW MEXICO that, as Pluto passes overhead through New Mexico’s excellent night skies, it be declared a planet and that March 13, 2007 be declared “Pluto Planet Day” at the legislature.

Good peyote in New Mexico. Really good.

The Viagra Statuette, awarded to the wimpiest metro sexual (male or female), goes to any man that needs a teddy bear:

More men than women take teddy bears to bed when sleeping alone, it is claimed.

According to a new study, some 20% of men admitted to cuddling a teddy, compared to 15% of women…

The study was commissioned by hotel chain Travelodge which says it is now piloting a ‘Cuddillow’.

This is a cuddling pillow which is two-and-a-half feet long and has two arms for guests to snuggle into.

Does anyone at Travelodge believe hordes of men are going to demand a ‘Cuddillow’ at check-in? Read it all.

The ECT Battery Award, presented to the most shocking news story of the week, goes to…the idiots that are applying to British universities nowadays.

Candidates for British universities have been caught red-handed copying their applications from the Internet after hundreds mentioned “burning a hole in pyjamas at age eight” on their online entrance forms.

The phrase, taken from a website that provides examples of personal statements used by successful candidates, describes an early encounter with a chemistry set.

Medical course applications from 370 others contained statements beginning with “a fascination for how the human body works” and 175 included anecdotes which involved “an elderly or infirm grandfather”…

Editing a stolen material is hard work, you know?

Finally, The HRT (Hormone Replacement Therapy) Prize awarded weekly to the loudest and most inconsequential feminist drivel the SC&A jury can find, goes to the publisher of the next must have coffee table book, Jay Sennet, of Homofactus Press

Spread far and wide. This may very well be the first book dedicated to Kings of Color published in English, Spanish, and French.

KING GUISE

Call for visual/ digital / photographic images of self-identified, of ‘Color’ Drag Kings, Genderqueers, Male Impersonators, Masculine Impressionist, Studs, FtMs, Butches and related trans- identities for proposed coffee table book.

This collection of images and accompanying text will focus on and explore the act of putting on masculinity / man / he / h?m. Special consideration for ‘action images’ depicting the putting on, taking off, performance or ‘captured desire’ of the ‘masculinized-self.’ King Guise will use critical inquiry to investigate the process and execution of these transformations and the eventual outcome, if any, of public display and interaction. Thru dialogue with actual image ‘recorders,’ the subjects/objects themselves and the voyeurs drawn to these particular ‘looks,’ King Guise will delve into the murky palette of ‘gendered desire and play,’ with particular attention given to the operation and influence of cultural, racial and regional ‘ethics/values/norms.’

Reserve your copy now.

Now while we’re on the topic of crazy, be sure to visit Dr Sanity’s Carnival Of The Insanities for more bizarre, arcane, insane and incredible examples of what can be found in the whackosphere, blogosphere, MSM and NASA.

From The Author Of SC&A: The Milkman

There was a man from my youth that left a lasting impression on a future blogger. I shall call him Mr. Smith.

Mr. Smith was a milkman- not the ideal profession for anyone seeking security, prosperity and advancement in the 60’s and 70’s. He was a widower, left with 3 daughters to raise on his own. His wife passed away at a young age from a cancer that was diagnosed too late.

Mr. Smith dutifully completed his rounds, everyday, delivering milk and eggs, cheese and butter, to those who felt sorry enough for him to pay the extra few cents so he could make a living and raise his daughters. My parents were among the clients who got to know him and appreciate his ever happy disposition.

The milkman would regale his clients with his weather predictions, warnings of traffic safety and stories of his growing daughters. He would beam with pride as he recounted every prize and spelling bee won, every report card and every milestone passed. I thought that kind of pride was silly and believed my mother or father only feigned interest in Mr Smith’s stories, because they felt sorry for him.

When I became an uncle and then a parent and began to watch the children of my closest friends take their first tentative steps in life, I understood that my parents weren’t feigning interest at all in the well being of Mr Smith’s daughters. I recall that on the first night my daughter was home after her birth, there was an accident that resulted in the death of a child. I watched the report on TV intently and was profoundly upset by the event. I had never paid attention to the reports of traffic accidents before. Now, I was in despair for those poor parents.

In any event, my father always spoke highly of Mr. Smith, but I never paid attention, nor even cared. That our milkman would have a huge impact on my life would be apparent to me, years later.

Mr. Smith moved himself and his daughters to a home (a rather broken down hovel, in reality) near the dairy- a little over 2 miles away. He moved there because he could walk to work and and save bus fare, or ‘carfare’ as he used to say.

The money he saved would be used to buy his daughters new clothes, because he knew that as they got older, they would be ashamed of having to wear hand-me-downs from church rummage sales and thrift shops. There would come a time when the girls were older, they would want and need ‘party dresses’ and ‘party shoes’ as he called them, to go out and to attend dances. “I can’t have my daughters embarrassed when they go out,” he’d say.

Of course, he always encouraged his daughters to do their schoolwork and made no allowances for slacking off. They were going to college, he always said. He meant it.

Rain or shine, sleet or snow, Mr Smith would get up before dawn and walk to the dairy, two miles away, to begin his daily ritual and deliver milk to an ever dwindling client roster. At the end of the day, Mr Smith would leave his milk truck at the dairy and walk home, with some eggs and cheese for his dinner. Many years later, his daughters would tell us that he rarely had meat or chicken- that was reserved for them. His daughters recall how they would wash their clothes in the washer- but rarely used the dryer. Utilities cost money.

Although his health deteriorated, Mr Smith kept walking to and from work, keeping his customers happy and keeping those daily few pennies saved, to be spent on his daughters. Mr Smith delivered milk for over 30 years. Mr Smith walked to and from work for about 20 of those years.

Well, his daughters did go to college. They all received scholarships- all of them- and they all graduated, with advanced degrees. They are now all professionals.

My parents buy milk and eggs and cheese at the supermarket now. Mr Smith can’t work anymore, because his health won’t allow him that.

Mr Smith’s daughters bought him a condo- a small place, really, and outfitted him with new furniture and clothes. They spent a summer holiday with him at Bath, a place his wife loved. He had not been on a holiday since her passing. He needed to work. He told my father the ocean was beautiful, better than he remembered. He showed my dad the holiday photos, and didn’t my dad agree that his girls were beautiful?

He argued bitterly with his daughters when they wanted to buy him a place- he wanted them to be secure and put their money away, save it. His government pension was able to cover the rent for the tiny two bedroom dilapidated hovel he lived in. He did not realize, or choose to realize, how secure his daughters were, because he chose to walk to and from work, every day, for over 20 years. More importantly, they were secure because he did the best he could raising his beautiful daughters. They may have more than a few days with little or no heat, but they never had a day without love.

My father once asked Mr Smith how he managed, all those years, to raise his daughters the way he did. The reply he got was simple.

“They are my daughters. I love them. I had to do it.”

Through good times and tough times, those words, from one of the wisest and most honorable men I have known, kept me doggedly going. Like my friend Andrew, the impact Mr Smith had on me is immeasurable.

It matters not where you come from, only where you choose to be.

Two of Mr Smith’s daughters are happily married, with families of their own. He is an adored grandfather. The youngest, ‘daddy’s girl,’ is still single.

Some say girls marry men like their fathers. My father has said Mr Smith’s youngest daughter won’t have an easy time finding someone who can measure up.

My dad is right.