We’ve always known there was something a little funny in the water they drink over at the National Review’s Corner. The current bruhaha centers on opera-loving John Derbyshire’s recent proclamation that women have their “salad days” between 15-20 and thus he is not interested in seeing Jennifer Aniston’s melons. (Perhaps this should rightly be called a boob-haha.) Andrew Sullivan has folded this assertion about genetic programming into an argument about homosexuality — always appropriate when talking about pro-buggery (the word) Derbyshire. It’s gotten rather heated and we’re sure Hitler will be invoked soon. We, however, were stopped in our tracks by this latest salvo from “The Derb”:
What I desire to do to your sputtering reader involves his/her front lawn, some rope, a few small tent-pegs, and a dump-truck full of wet mackerel. My guess would be that acting on this desire would be illegal in more than 47 of the 50 states.
Forget 15-year-olds. Mackerel? That’s kinky.