My heavens, where to start. Well Robert Stacy McCain follows the trail of breadcrumbs that was Charles Johnson's (from Little Green Footballs) mind to show the unraveling of it.
Exactly what prompted this? Why this? Why now? Your guess is as good as mine.
No, that's wrong. My guess is probably much better than yours, because I followed the whole thing -- LGF and the Madness of King Charles -- back to its roots. So far as can be determined, CJ's descent into madness began when Johnson attacked Pamela Geller for her attendance at the October 2007 Brussels conference.
So, that was the beginning of one of the most entertaining blogosphere comedy routines written to date and continues to become more and more comedic every time Johnson attempts to rationalize his actions and his complete turnarounds.
Read the whole thing to see how this flower has blossomed throughout the year.
Then get your pop corn, or your chocolate or whatever you eat when you have decided to pop a funny DVD into the player for a night of laughter, because some of the reactions to Johnson's delusion of self importance are hysterical.
Starting with Ace of Spades (make sure to clickity clickity click to read more than just the teasers I put below):
Obligatory: Charles Johnson Makes it OfficialTen reasons he's parting ways with the right. Let me save you some time:
1) The right is a bunch of stupid haters.
Repeat x10.
Eh. I am only linking the traffic-whore drama-queen since the whole left side of the blogosphere just linked him (following Markos), so my contribution is trivial.
Jules Crittenden sums it up very nicely:
Only not really. Little Green Footballs on why he flipped from right to left. The explanation is a little thin. But apparently it works like this: If you disagree with any element of half of the American body politic, you disagree with the whole thing.
Moonbattery has it's own summation of Johnson's explanation:
At last, Charles Johnson of the formerly widely read Little Green Footballs explains why he has taken to bellowing shrill liberal malarkey. He's composed a list:
1. Because I'm a moonbat.
2. Because I'm a barking moonbat.
3. Because I'm a bitter, sanctimonious, delusional barking moonbat.
HEH
Jammie Wearing Fool gets the quote of the day in response to Johnson's screed:
The view from the mental hospital has a good shot of the Pacific with a tanker in the distance.
Jihad Watch, one of Johnson's targets, has this to say:
Of course, he does not, and cannot, produce a shred of evidence to support any of these libelous claims, but that is par for the course at this point for this man, who has long since kissed goodbye to the last shreds of his integrity.
One can only wonder what sickness of soul would lead this man to devote so much time and effort to lying about other people and trying to destroy them.
I saved the best, the popcorn worthy portion for last, because it was way too early to start eating popcorn when I started hunting reactions, but The Jawa Report is a must read, fall off your chair laughing, response to Johnson's so-called explanation.
The title alone was worth the click with "You'readouch you'readouche Can You Do the Fandango [Updated by Rusty]" (Vinnie writes the piece and Rusty adds his two cents as updates)
Small teaser from the beginning of the piece:
Oh, okay. Well, when you remove your face from Barack Obama's crotch, take two Penicillin and call us in the morning.
Go, read, make sure no popcorn gets stuck in your throat as you start laughing and don't stop until you finish the whole thing.
So, there you have it, reactions to the latest Johnson screed, a little entertainment on Tuesday morning.
My own reaction to Johnson's reasoning, whose blog I rarely read unless a specific piece was pointed out to highlight a certain subject, is that there is only one thing that continues to run through my mind every time I see this little comedy's next installment:
Thank heavens he is back on the left, please keep him, medicate him if you have to, but we don't want him anywhere near the right ever again.
Good riddance to bad rubbish.
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