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March 12, 2008

Well, They Cast Him On Wings, Not On Think Tank

Steven Weber. Formerly famous person (is that fair? was he ever actually famous?) now blogging on the Huffington Post to keep his name vaguely "out there."

Rachel Lucas picks up his most obnoxiously sophomoric attempts at vivid, powerful writing from his latest excrescence; she says there's no need to actually read the column, and I believe her.

Here is some of the crap he typed, rather than wrote, as goes Capote's distinction.

I think it's about war, or politics, or something. Maybe wolves. Does it even matter?

…the Goya-esque moment where the giants bludgeoning each other, stuck knee deep in sludge, begin to spatter the tiny people at their feet with blood, bile and bilge

…the population has just come to after having ingested a roofie-laced order of Freedom Fries

…those most adept at hurling invective-laced loogies are doing so with bewilderingly less commitment and a significant decrease in phlegm

…the Old Guard has collected its booty in a stained pillow case and simply gone AWOL

…every volley of vitriol seems to slow in midair and fall to the ground with a tinny clatter

There's more, including the most absurd attempt at vivid, powerful writing of all, which I'm not even quoting because if I did you would all just assume I made it up again, as usual.

I use to write like that, Steve. In high school. My freshman year in college a professor told me to grow up and knock it the hell off.

You sound like a

1) pre-pubescent

2) girl

3) who's borderline retarded


4) isn't even particularly interesting for a prepubescent girl who's borderline retarded.

PS: I ripped off that headline gag from Just Shoot Me. I don't even think it makes sense out of context. I'm tired.

PPS: I know what he's doing now. He's attempting to emulate Keith Olberman and his very special brand of retard-rage commentary.

And... Good Lord, he's doing so poorly.

I didn't really know that someone could try to mimic Keith Olbermann and fail at it. How do you suck at trying to suck?

Ah well. We can't all be Tim Daly.

Bonus: Steven Weber's leavings also remind me of a particular style of juvenalia -- the eighth-grade boy's attempt at heavy metal songwriting.

So I've put together some of his most vivid, powerful images together into a heavy metal song an eighth grader might write. All is taken from Lucas. I can't waste my time actually reading his crap.

Weber's direct quotes are bolded italics. My contributions are just in regular italics.

This song is called "Ride My Dragon."

"Ride My Dragon"

(The WarSong of the UnDaunted DeathFury)

A Heavy Metal Epic in Three Movements


Steven "Little Stevie" Weber

Grade 8
Ocala Regional Middle School
Mrs. Noonan's "Creative Expressions" Class

War-drums echo over the Orcish plain

the giants bludgeoning each other

their froth-flecked teeth are bared

stuck knee deep in sludge, begin to spatter

the tiny people at their feet with blood, bile and bilge


Ride My Dragon

Yeahhhh, Ride My Dragon, baby

Well My Dragon can take a mount baby

and it might as well be you.

It might as well be you.


Werewolf knights charge on raging bearsharks

The population has just come to

Eleven vile virgins scream in ecstasy

those most adept at hurling invective-laced loogies

are doing so with bewilderingly less commitment

and a significant decrease in phlegm


Well Ride My Dragon Baby

Yeahh-eahh, Ride That Dragon Baby

Well My Dragon Can seat two baby

So you might as well bring a friend.

Yeah, baby, you can bring a friend.



the Old Guard has collected its booty

(Ride that Dragon)

in a stained pillow case and simply gone AWOL

(Ride it, ride it)

every volley of vitriol seems to slow in midair

(no I don't like it when you play with my ass)

and fall to the ground with a tinny clatter

(I didn't say I was mad, I just said stop)


Ride my Dragon, Baby

Whoahhh, Ride that Dragon Baby

You got a pretty nest in your girl-forest

Where my weary Dragon can rest his head.

Yeah, My Dragon needs to rest his head.


Deep in the dark oblivion of spite, and/or Mordor

(Ride on, ride on)

I spy a light at the end of the Halliburton-constructed tunnel

(Grind on, grind on)

deceptively drawling ferocity

(Lay down, lay -- what? what did he say?)

a neutron bomb of change is about to detonate

(is this guy making no sense or is it just me?)

formerly fertile fields of fetid fibbery

(wow. just... wow)


Well Pet My Dragon baby

Stroke that Dragon -- right under his chin. Yeah.

Well My Dragon's about to spit fire

You might want to shield your eyes.

Yeah baby, you might need to shield your eyes.

[quiet, slow fade; whisper:]

Cover your eyes baby

Cover your eyes


Warned you about that.

[hold on last note; end]

digg this
posted by Ace at 09:31 PM

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