You’ve Gotta Keep ‘Em Separated (Except for Strippers)

So now several Spearheaders are “on” to Berge being a feminist operative, and who is responsible? David Futrelle, of course.

Ted July 9, 2012 at 15:47
“All the talk about Futrelle’s ‘nervousness’ seems to have touched a nerve.”

He’s rattled all right. At the end of his piece he nearly gives the game away when he asks:

“So does this mean that Berge is some sort of deep-cover feminist operative?”

Very likely, David. He attempts to recover with a large red flashing “sarcasm” sign, but us advanced conspiracy theorists are not fooled. Not fooled at all, David.

Pretty clever for a Mangina LOL 🙂

There is a suburb in Brisbane called ‘Manly’. They can all move there
(BrisMan Australia?)

I did.

Woodbridge. You don’t have to change the name for it, either!

Cockerton is an actual town in England.

Baahaha, it’s a suburb of Darlington and I actually live there XD

>Because Saudi Arabia is a notorious whoriarchy!

Ah, yes, I forgot the bit where Saudi Arabia was a prime example of a nation dominated by Feminists according to MRAs….

East Manglia?

Here’s some kind of off-topic horrible: If you’ve followed the whole bizarre Oatmeal lawsuit thing at all over the past month or so, you know the lawyer involved is a gigantic asshole. Well, he seems determined to prove that he’s incapable of handling any situation with the slightest amount of grace or tact, and also that he’s a completely horrible excuse for a human being. He’s now calling the severe mocking he got at the hands of a large portion of the internet ‘rapeutation’, and he’s started a website all about it. The whole thing’s just so vile.

And don’t forget Wetwang 😀

Sorry for the temporary derail, but this passage from Bill Bryson’s Notes from a Small Island was too good to ignore:

There is almost no area of British life that isn’t touched with a kind of genius for names. Just look at the names of the prisons. You could sit me down with a limitless supply of blank paper and a pen and command me to come up with a more cherishably ridiculous name for a prison and in a lifetime I couldn’t improve on Wormwood Scrubs or Strangeways. Even the common names of wildflowers – stitchwort, lady’s bedstraw, blue fleabane, feverfew – have an inescapable enchantment about them.

But nowhere, of course, are the British more gifted than with place names. There are some 30,000 place names in Britain, a good half of them, I would guess, notable or arresting in some way. There are villages without number whose very names summon forth an image of lazy summer afternoons and butterflies darting in meadows: Winterbourne Abbas, Weston Lullingfields, Theddle-thorpe All Saints, Little Missenden. There are villages that seem to hide some ancient and possibly dark secret: Husbands Bosworth, Rime Intrinseca, Whiteladies Aston. There are villages that sound like toilet cleansers (Potto, Sanahole, Durno) and villages that sound like skin complaints (Scabcleuch, Whiterashes, Scurlage, Sockburn). In a brief trawl through any gazetteer you can find fertilizers (Hastigrow), shoe deodorizers (Powfoot), breath fresheners (Minto), dog food (Whelpo) and even a Scottish spot remover (Sootywells). You can find villages that have an attitude problem (Seething, Mockbeggar, Wrangle) and villages of strange phenomena (Meathop, Wigtwizzle, Blubberhouses).

And there are villages almost without number that are just endearingly inane – Prittlewell, Little Rollright, Chew Magna, Titsey, Woodstock Slop, Lickey End, Stragglethorpe, Yonder Bognie, Nether Wallop and the unbeatable Thornton-le-Beans. (Bury me there!) You have only to cast a glance across a map or lose yourself in an index to see that you are in a place of infinite possibility.

Some parts of the country seem to specialize in certain themes. Kent has a peculiar fondness for foodstuffs: Ham, Sandwich. Dorset goes in for characters in a Barbara Cartland novel: Bradford Peverell, Compton Valence, Langton Herring, Wootton Fitzpaine. Lincolnshire likes you to think it’s a little off its head: Thimbleby Langton, Tumby Woodside, Snarford, Fishtoft Drove, Sots Hole and the truly arresting Spitall in the Street.

It’s notable how often these places cluster together. In one compact area south of Cambridge, for instance, you can find Bio Norton, Rickinghall Inferior, Hellions Bumpstead, Ugley and (a personal favourite) Shellow Bowells. I had an impulse to go there now, to sniff out Shellow Bowells, as it were, and find what makes Norton Bio and Rickinghall Inferior. But as I glanced over the map my eye caught a line across the landscape called the Devil’s Dyke. I had never heard of it, but it sounded awfully promising. I decided on an impulse to go there.

Here’s some kind of off-topic horrible: If you’ve followed the whole bizarre Oatmeal lawsuit thing at all over the past month or so, you know the lawyer involved is a gigantic asshole…

I didn’t know there was an Oatmeal lawsuit going on, but as it happens I love Internet drama. I’ll check it out.

AAAAAAAAA

I don’t know why we can’t get a simple yes or no from ANYONE about whether Matt Robert Inman is related to [retired US admiral and intelligence agent] Bobby Ray Inman. Apparently, every journalist in the world doesn’t seem to think that knowing WHO Matt Inman is is important. He’s a man without parents, brothers and sisters, or childhood friends. A man without a past, just like Barack Obama. Sure, there’s lots of famous people like that in the world! Usually, they are children of Intelligence Agents, or Intelligence Agents themselves.

oh crap this is gold