I’m shocked – that the Houston Chronicle apparently still employs full-time society reporters.  Aren’t most papers just paying stringers for that stuff now?  But you could hardly complain that a stringer had another job, so . . .

Ah, upholding the facade of public morality in the Society pages is just never easy, is it?

 I’m sure Stacy will be be crushed by the news, if not by random objects as he rolled around the floor laughing at your hysterical yet almost coherent post.  Damn him for disrespecting that feminist, what’s-her-name?

I must admit, usually that sort of stupidity needs to be aged in charred oaken casks that were previously used to age sherry, and only broken out on special occasions.

Personally, I thought he was rather nice to the stripper, he suggested several possible job or business opportunities to help her out. 

But perhaps when you have worked through all that self-disdain and thought integration process, you will . . . um, what was the goal again?  To feel sorry for not respecting the attitude in him towards her that caused you to do what you disdain and – cringe – withhold respect from Stacy in the pre-integration period?

It must be a difficult time for you. 

I know it is for me.  My sides ache.

Come now, be honest — you’re only complaining because she’s a stripper, and “stripper” is a code word in your unpleasant feminist circles, not just because she was fired (or “shamed”, as you no doubt call it) for her extra-curricular activities.
If she was instead fired for, say, praying in front of the local Planned Parenthood, not only would this ya-ya vagina-power stuff dry up faster than [Gloria Allred joke deleted], but you’d be calling for her head.

OK, you’re a cynic
There are not many reactions to be had to this story, cynic is probably the best one, the remaining ones of feigned outrage ( from the “feminist” side ) feigned outrage ( from the “traditionalist” side) and face-palming  all do not address any real issue and are just noise or ignorance.

Rippling muscles
Shimmering on the pole
Like Tabitha Hale

 A real reporter would have dug up the link to the blog.

Diary of an Angry Stripper

Some useful advice there.

 Oh… may heaven save us from misplace humor, or even humor in general; for by that devious agency of mind and heart, is so much damage done to the causes of outrage and distress. Yes, we may blame humor, and by extension, satire and yes, even the venerable innuendo, for the majority of the world’s ills. Those who should be taking with utmost and even deadly seriousness the various and many depredations committed in this world, do we need add even more tears to this veil, even if those be tears of laughter and not sorrow or rage?

Whose face reddens upon hearing not only of crotches, but then of jibes directed at such red faces? Does this not, grossly compound one error with yet another? And ultimately, who benefits if eventually, all of humanity should join in one great, resounding belly-laugh? Are we to ignore this perfidy, this defilement of the proper, fully clothed, upright and righteous human person?

Clearly, humor should not be a laughing matter, and I pray you to reconsider whether this is funny, or yet another vile satire of those who would protect us from ourselves.

Laaaame. (Yes, with 5 a’s; it was really that bad.)

I’m going to go ahead and say that pile of garbage drops you down to a 3/10 on the troll-o-meter.

 But what, I ask, is to lament; do we take the upstart words of a few,
as a reflection of the eternal? Or are we to indeed cower in our darkened bunkers, blunt defense at the ready, to be discharged upon
glimpse of ghost? 

No. I say, and hear me well; the games (sic) displayed here by a few of
the foul, have run their course, in all but the most enfeebled minds; and it is those few, who purloin the moment for the sake of gratuitous
gestures of puerile self-aggrandizement.

Nonetheless, the sketch and scope of this old habit has become well-worn, like unto the grooves in an ancient Roman road; and like those fabled roads, they too lead but to the inner sanctum, in which Caesar ego plays in front of the imperial mirror, in denial of his (or her) crumbling zombie-image.

Such a twisted ruler is s/he, that Caligula is redeemed; any accurate reflection is denied, but makeup falls from the decaying visage. Now the robot-cheerleader holds forth, but the home team is unresponsive, having imbibed one too many blogs; truly, sense has fled, leaving behind a body of habits whose style is mere repetition of a mistake…

No Quack

Social experiment, or troll-feeding or just foul breeding?

Are we simply packing a 500# bag of bargain-basement troll-food, and passing it out as governed by our own whim?

To pee on or not to pee on, that is the question:
Whether ’tis nobier in the mind to suffer
The stings and jabs of outrageous posters,
Or to write darts against a sea of trolls,
And by opposing, end their blog dominance.
Too steep,
The heart-price of the thousand fatuous insults
That minds give air to; ending them a consummation
Devoutly to be wish’d. To cry, to weep;
To weep, perchance to moan: ay, there’s the shlub’s shtick,
For in that slop of complaint what dreams may come
That they have shuffled off their mundane ego,
Will give others pause. There’s no respect.
That makes calamity of so long a blog life;
For who would bear the whips and scorns of
Wombat, The Anamika’s, gg’s costumed
Heartstrings of despised love, Smitty’s delay,
The testosterone on offer and the sperms?
That patience bear it, the unworthy fakes,
When we ourselves might their exit hasten
With a spare bon mot? Who would insults bear,
The brunt of sweating a dreary past-life,
Of a thread on some other blog,
The now-disclos’d offense, from whose boring
Grip no anti-troller returns, puzzles the will
And makes us rather bear those trolls we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all;
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o’er with the pale cast of thought,
And enterprises of great pitch and moment With this regard their currents turn awry,
And lose the name of action.- Soft, you know The fair folks, in thy prisons
Be all my sins remember’d.

Sheikh Smitty

I bow to your talent, Adjoran.

It is neither forbidden nor irrelevant on this list to have insults, banter, and all kinds of things that might be regarded as “off-topic,” but “off-topic” should have some redeeming value, such as humor, sharing, exploration of truth, etc. Your posts have none.

It’s not like this blog has an overwhelming volume as to discussion threads, but people do drop out of participation when they perceive the comment threads as not being relevant to their needs/taste. It would be better in my view for this blog to have periods of silence than be filled with this kind of rubbish.

WOW!……Excellent.

PS. I don’t expect everyone to agree. But I would appreciate not being continually harassed here.

Sorry.  It’s who we are and what you are.

I don’t expect everyone to agree. But I would appreciate not being continually harassed here. –Anamika

While officially not ‘everyone’, and in fact, probably ‘no-one’, I for one, welcome our new statute which states:

NO harassment, or case-perching, of Anamika, her spread legs and/or words, or of any words which further describe her legs, or what they lead up to.

So the valtrex is working?

 MORPHINE. Accept no substitutes!

Vicodin is Your Friend.