[This is from my old weblog. I thought I had lost it, but now it is found. Amazing. I still have not found my old post on the evils of masturbation, the reason why facebook disappeared my entire weblog. Go fuck yourself, Mark Zuckerberg. On second thought, I should be honored. After all, censorship is an indication that what is censored is too dangerous to be seen. In this open society one may say whatever they want about religion because religion has been reduced to a matter of taste and therefore neutered, but attacking masturbation attacks the very foundation of our regime, gluttonous capitalism, and therefore cannot be tolerated. Besides, Mr. Zuckerberg, does not, I suspect, like to have his only meaningful relationship maligned, or perhaps I'm just flattering myself.--PSR]
P. 82 of the October 16, 2006 issue of The New Yorker.
On that page in the third column, one reads the following:
When Murdoch visits Britian these days, he is shocked by what he sees. "It has become totally hedonistic," he said. "The churches were never much, but what was there has collapsed. You go anywhere in England, when it's not raining, and there's a cluster of people outside every pub, boozing. The increase in alcohol consumption is pretty alarming."
John Cassidy, the author of this New Yorker profile of Murdoch, does not, to be sure, let him get away with this glaring hypocrisy. In the very next paragraph, Mr. Cassidy wryly observes that "Murdoch didn't mention the fact that many British people go to pubs to watch soccer matches on Sky, his satellite provider." But the exposure of Murdoch's hypocrisy does not go beyond this bemused, dry wryness. After all, The New Yorker style is one of cultivated subtlety. Here is where style clashes with content for Murdoch's hypocrisy is as unsubtle as one of his notorious Page Three Girls, and a droll witticism just ain't gonna do it justice.
I humbly suggest that Mr. Cassidy should have remembered his stint as a Murdoch journalist and gone after him like the Murdoch tabloids went after the Royal Family. And this time really take the gloves off. He should have written something like this:
Murdoch's complaining about hedonism is precisely like Frederick March's expression of shock that gambling went on in Rick's café. No, no, not "precisely like". March in Casablanca only knew that it was going on and gambled himself. But he did not buy up lots and lots of newspapers, satellite services, and other omnipresent media outlets to advertise it in every way imaginable. The naked and lascivious girls of Page Three were the brainchild of this Calvinist disdainer of decadence, whose third wife at the age of thirty-seven is less then half his age. Murdoch owns part of DirecTV, and I bet you that he does not turn his nose up at all the revenue that the 24/7 pay-per-view hardcore porn channels of this service rake in. In fact, his own Fox News Channel airs ads for one such channel, Plaboy TV, in between Hannity's thuggish denunciations of Democratic debaucheries. And we have all seen the blatant selling of sex on the now Murdoch-owned MySpace. Murdoch advertises, peddles, and has gotten filthy rich from all kinds of hedonism, subtle, direct, graphic, and violent (read any tell-all book of an ex-Porn actress to find out how violent hardcore porn is).
Murdoch complains now that the churches in England are empty? Eh? Did my eyes actually see such an absurdity? There is only one conclusion, then. Murdoch is the paragon of an ungrateful bastard. If the churches were filled and the congregants were as passionate about the Word of God as the pub-goers now are about their drink and the football matches aired from Murdoch's almighty Sky, then Murdoch would lose his addicts and become just another sleazy, unshaven, creepy beggar. It is the vast apostacy of nihilistic secularization that has built Murdoch's lurid and slobbering opulence, and Murdoch should giving nothing but thanks to it.
He has enough money. Nihilism has been very, very good to him, and the least he could do is erect a Ka'ba honoring the various gods of filth, replete with a sanctuary for yellow journalism, an altar for the topless Page Three Girls, and an arcade of the finest marble for the gangbangers. Such a project would no doubt only add to his wealth. He could sell pilgrimages to this pantheon of perversion, and I am sure that if the Page Three Girls are as plentiful as the booze is on Sunday Morning in the pubs, his unchurched addicts will come in droves, and Murdoch will have filled at least one place of worship.
Rupert Murdoch, you can go to hell.