[Note: Originally published 12/20/06, updated and bumped forward]
Via Foot, I notice that Susan Lenfestey has a blog, featuring her own particular brand of…
…well, what do we call it? Spittle-flecked ranting? Paranoid delusion? Serving as a mindless streetwalker for the party line?
Whatever it is, it deserves our encouragement,
because freedom of speech and argumentation is a treasure to be cultivated because it’s fun to watch puffed-up, self-important “children of the sixties” make asses of themselves, their beliefs and their generation.
So I’m going to do what needs to be done: I’m going to sponsor a contest, the First And Last Annual Susapalooza. Here’s how it works:
- Write a paragraph of the most over-the-top Susan Lenfesty parody. Borrow, er, liberally from her blog – but out-lenfestey her in every possible way.
- Leave the paragraph in the comment section of this post. I’ll keep pushing it to the top of the schedule.
- On December 25, I’ll post the finalists, along with an online poll to vote for the “winner”.
- On New Years Eve, we’ll announce the “winner”.
The “winner” gets a beverage of his/her choice from me, and maybe some other piece of NARN/SITD swag. Probably.
So puff up your self-righteous, vein-popping indignation. Whip your petulant depression to a fine fever. Sniff down your nose at your fellow citizen.
It’s art, dammit.
Update and Bump 12/21: Lenfestey isn’t pleased with this contest:
I’ve been described by some local lads (who blog under phony names [Really? Someone named “Lenfestey” digs at my name?] and remind me of the pimple-pussed boys I used to see playing war games in the Dungeons and Dragons emporium on Lake Street a long, long time ago) as a depressive, “sucking on the tailpipe of my Prius.” In my dreams! The Prius part. Sucking on the tailpipe, not so much. Read on.
They call me other things as well, which is curious to me, seeing as I’m such a little piece of fluff in the big lint screen of opinions. What a funny waste of their time.
No, Susan, you’re right; your depressive, angry yet self-adoring, precious, arrested-adolescent little opinions are a fart in the cosmic wind. True. But by dint of your social connections, they get printed, seemingly no questions asked, in the Strib. Hundreds of worthy writers go unpublished, while your whiny, kvetching sore-loser snivelling jumps to the head of the line.
It’s like the crazy lady who was constantly yelling about those Damned Ukrainians at the bus stop over by Phoenix Games (where pimply lads of all ages play wargames and, horror of horrors, enjoy themselves) got her own show on CNBC.
By itself, it doesn’t beget a response in polite company. When it’s elevated far beyond where it deserves to be, it deserves satire.
Update and Bump 12/22: Last weekday for submissions! Post will be open for entries all weekend, though – so put that Christmas shopping off until you’ve lenfested this post with your best parody!
Update and Bump 12/23: OK . One more day! Competition is going to be fierce!