For instance, today's Screed is pretty boring boilerplate stuff (American torture techniques against raghead detainees aren't so bad because the torture is really mild compared to, say, the rack or thumbscrews or car batteries on the nuts, and besides, these are bad people probably so it's okay to mildly torture them) that you could get from any Town Hall or Little Green Footballs affiliate. But the Bleat! Whoo, lord.
Jimmy watches "Underworld" and discovers a nasty little festering resentment that chicks don't dig balding stay-at-home dads with an ax to grind against Howard Dean:
Watched "Underworld," a vampire movie. I hate vampires. They’re just mosquitoes with backstories. Oh, but they’re so romantic, being damned and all! Feh. Women like the Eastern European accents and brooding looks.
Jimmy further resents the snotty attitude of these made-up fictional characters:
I can’t stand their annoying superiority – oh, you mere mortal, behold me, who is stronger and will live forever, barring any accidents involving photons or stakes.
And then he finally gets to the heart of his hatred of vampires: they never accomplish anything, they're arrogant and snobby...they're just so...European!
Have you guys ever accomplished anything besides striking poses in red velvet smoking jackets? You’re the worst sort of European: our most compelling advantage appears to be our ready access to antique furniture, over which we may artlessly sprawl in dank mansions.
Worst of all, vampires don't contribute anything to the economy:
Hey, Fangboy: Ever invented anything? Tell you what: fifty of us against fifty of you. We’ll bring stuff humans have invented. You bring your teeth. Meet you at high noon at the semi-conductor factory, Euroskeeter.
Moving on to the snoreworthy Kevin Spacey vehicle "Beyond the Sea" (a biopic of Bobby Darin), Jimmy lets his misogynistic jerk side shine through a little more, this time at teenage girls who failed to appreciate Kurt Weill on the profound and subtle level on which he did:
In the Valli pub there was a 45 of “Mack the Knife” on the jukebox; I came to hate it, because it played three times a night, and it was a swingin’ finger-poppin’ version of something creepy and corrupt, and because the insufferable bastard in me wanted to shout at the sorority girls YOU DON’T EVEN KNOW WHO LOTTE LENYA WAS!
And, of course, it wouldn't be Jimmy if he didn't tell us how much he hated the late 1960s and 1970s:
Bio pics of this period always have a certain aesthetic arc, from the pre-WW2 look of the artist’s childhood (cluttered, messy, comfy) to the 50s and 60s appearance of his rise (clean, sharp, monochromatic; shaved necks and thin ties) and the ghastly look of the latter 60s and 70s, when the artist is either drugged out or on the comeback trail.
Jimmy just can't contain his rage at that charlatan Darin, suckered by the free-love hippies, employing religious Negroes to sell his message of commie-coddling:
Hence we have the sight of Darin in Vegas doing one of those blowing-in-the-hammer type protest songs while the uptight audience titters and grumbles – but then he introduces that All-purpose Infuser of Instant Moral Authority, the Robed Black Gospel Choir, and soon the audience is standing and clapping along! Because by gum that’s a Gospel Choir up there! In robes! Their moral position on the war must be unassailable! Of course they’re singing “Freedom” over and over as the Darin sings about Not Wanting Any War.
Of course, Jimmy has no problem with claiming that a moral position on a war is unassailable if it's accompanied by standing in front of an American flag or a picture of the Twin Towers and yelling "Terror" over and over. Anyway, moving on, Jimmy next seems to imply that the VC were big Bobby Darin fans, and that it was better for us to massacre about a hundred thousand Vietnamese than allow them to live under the cruel yoke of Uncle Ho:
Well, freedom for some, but not the little yellow friends, I guess. Into the camps with you, and don’t be criticizing Mr. Darin; he’s so committed to this cause he’s appearing in public without his toupee.
I'm afraid we had to destroy that village in order to save it, Jimmy. At the very end, he remembers somewhat shamefacedly that he was going to save this sort of hackwork for the Screed, and backs off as pathetically as possible:
I’m being too hard on the film, which is otherwise enjoyable if you like that sort of thing.