Jeremy Sear, Jonathan Green, Pure Poison and Purer Pussies

Pure Poison, the new Crikey blog ostensibly dedicated to weeding out intellectual dishonesty, is clearly being run by a bunch of pure pussies.

March 2nd comes this from Jeremy Sear: We unreservedly withdraw any allegation that Tim (Blair) has been using the 'WB' identity, that he had personally used this identity to artificially boost his 'hits', and apologise for any offence caused by the above.

March 2nd comes this from Jonathan Green under the header Things we shouldn't have said about Andrew Bolt: The first thing is to apologise, sincerely, to Andrew Bolt. The second, to acknowledge the traps for the unwary in tapping too innocently into Web2 interconnectivity.

Along with this comes a comments code, purloined from The Guardian (did they pay money for the intellectual property rights?) and a fatuous statement of policy: ... we will try where we can to weed out not just the vexatious and insulting, but also the frivolous and time wasting. We want to run comment ... we welcome utterly that opportunity for instant, robust and accessible discussion, but we want it where possible to enrich understanding of the topic, not just flitter by in the empty, rapidly created, hot white noise of the internet. We think that novelty has worn off.

Game, set and match to Blair and Bolt. They'll be dining out for weeks on the way they've made Green and Sear eat humble pie, and introduce a comments code that makes them sound like Aunt Martha and Uncle Ernie are their target audience.

Guys, if you can't stand the heat, get out of the kitchen. Half the point of the intertubes is frivolous time wasting and a chance to let off therapeutic steam (that's why Crooks and Liars has a nice late evening music clip and an open discussion for late night owls who just want to vent, but then they have an actual community). 

If I went to blogs only for enriching understanding, I'd have been reduced to a gibbering baboon in short order long ago.

Take a look at your rivals. They're entertainers. They don't mind being clowns because they're doing a bit of toe tapping to amuse the faithful. They're satirical, or so they think, and funny, so they think, and they throw in funny jokes about polar bears and monkeys (especially monkeys, especially monkeys). They love a good Islamic beheading. They dance on the graves of greenies and portie-thinkers and portly Al Gore.

Guys, guys you sound like feeble, poncy gits. Jeremy Sear even ends up saying that they're still going to hold Blair and Bolt to account, and that they're not going anywhere, then closes his mini-defiant rave with a begging message - "I'm still waiting for a reply to my Saturday email, Andrew."

Well that little experiment didn't last long did it? Why are port-ish types so bloody useless? I suppose it's Stockholm syndrome and they don't know any better, but frankly Patty Hearst was a heck of a lot more interesting.

Over at Tim Blair's blog (sorry I can't handle Andrew Bolt) in typical cunning fashion he just provides a link to a disciple on another blog who does a hatchet job on Jeremy, so in another typical manoeuvre he can let loose the rabid hounds in the comments section. 

And his baseball bat wielding supporters do their usual tricks - shame on you for suggesting Sear is some sort of low-life scumbag is just one opening variation on the when did you stop bashing your wife routine. Then there's the obligatory reference to stalking and Jezza entering a downward spiral of bitterness after the divorce and guessing Jeremy's chronological emotional age is around 15, not to mention name calling like prats and trolls and unhinged leftoids (portoids in our new regime) and Hemp Panty Collective.

Guys, guys, you're down in the gutter with loons. Drivel is all they understand, drivel and name calling is all they need. Don't give us sanctimonious claptrap about dignfied understanding and dignified debate and an awareness of real issues in our time. You're not going to change them, and you're only going to allow them to crack out the champagne by cravenly doffing your lids to the lords of the manor. These guys are as close to Toad from Toad Hall you're ever likely to meet, and they'll always think of you as stoats and weasels and ferrets. That's the way it goes in Wind in the Willows and that's the way it goes on the intertubes.

I'm still waiting on your email Andrew!!! Sorry guys, I just wanted to puke when I read that. It's worse than star-fucking - this kind of aberrant fixation on Blair and Bolt - if that's how you're going to behave.

What, you think you're going to sit down over a nice hot cup of tea, and a well-buttered scone and sort out the world with Tim and Andrew. That's as silly an idea as thinking Bettina Arndt is going to fix up sexual issues in Australian marriages.

These guys are loons. They cry out to other loons, and the chances are good the other loons will respond to them. Frank Zappa had it right:

(Cheesey, Cheesey)
(This is a song about vegetables, they keep ya regular
They're real good for you)

Call any vegetable 

Call it by name
Call one today 

When you get off the train
Call any vegetable 

And the chances are good
Aw, the vegetable will respond to you

(Some people don't go for prunes...I
don't know, I've always found that if they...)
Call any vegetable 

Pick up your phone
Think of a vegetable 

Lonely at home
Call any vegetable 

And the chances are good
That a vegetable will respond to you

Rutabaga, Rutabaga,
Rutabaga, Rutabaga,
Rutabay-y-y-y...

(A prune isn't really a vegetable...
CABBAGE is a vegetable...)

No one will know
If you don't want to let them know
No one will know
'Less it's you that might tell them so
Call and they'll come to you
Covered with dew
Vegetables dream, 

Of responding to you

Standing there shiny and proud by your side
Holding your hand while the neighbors decide
Why is a vegetable something to hide?