Trig Slimer Jack Stuef: Take That, Disabled Child

I hate to point out that the photos of Wonkette’s Jack Stuef looks just like you would expect a guy who thinks it’s cool to trash a three-year old with Down ’s syndrome because he disagrees with the child’s mother’s politics to look like. The bloated face, the pursed lips, the sorta hipster glasses that really come off as “nerd” – he looks like the guy who proudly wore a t-shirt through high school that read “Dungeon master” until he realized too late that doing so was just one more card in the deck stacked against his ever kissing a live girl.

Now, it’s proper for me to mock Jack Stuef because he’s a grown man and not a little kid with a handicap. Well, technically, that’s inaccurate. He’s certainly grown – the dude looks like he’s never met a burrito he didn’t like and that he’d detonate in a burst of bile and used Pringles if he ever tried to do a sit-up. But he’s not a man.



It’s not fashionable to expect men to be men anymore – I’m sure Jack listened intently and internalized every lecture by his Georgetown University gender identity studies course professor and probably considers whole idea of “being a man” at best an anachronism and at worst some sort of Bu$Hilter/Haliburton conspiracy to reinforce the patriarchal paradigm. But, of course, the characteristics we label as “manly” are not restricted to those with Y chromosomes – honor, courage, integrity, duty and the willingness to take risks for the greater good do not know gender. Hell, most of the “real men” in the GOP have bore children.



The fact is that men don’t pick on little kids. Now, I have an advantage – I’ve had the honor of serving with and leading real men for about a quarter century, including in wars where we defended the free speech rights that this slob disgraces with his pathetic attention-whoring. Sadly, Jack Stuef has not had that opportunity – he’s apparently grown up in an insulated world of snarky leftism that tears down rather than creates. Besides being clearly – how do I say it kindly? – too out of shape to serve, he probably suffers under the delusion common to grads of major universities that his immense talents would be wasted in the military. So it’s really a public service that he instead devotes himself to slandering children for the amusement of fellow creepy, commie shut-ins.

There was a time when a male who made sport of children – or their mothers – would be grabbed by the scruff of the neck by an older alpha male – I’m not sure the alphabet is long enough to accommodate an appropriate letter for the category Jack Stuef falls within – and smack him around a bit until, if he didn’t see the light, at least he’d shut his piehole.

Sadly, that’s not the case today, as we have forgone the efficiency and directness of unofficial societal remedies for mere verbal chastisement – though I would think that our hero ought to be very careful not to cross Todd Palin’s path any time soon. His face doesn’t need any further swelling.

But he has been chastised, and by some of his own – Tommy Christopher, Dave Wiegel and Alan Colmes have properly leapt into the fray, risking the anger of the bitter-enders of the Left and standing up for decency by taking him to task.

That’s what men do, and it’s good to see our political opponents do it. Sometimes, in the heat of politics, we forget our common humanity. That's dangerous. This kind of raw hate, besides being disgraceful, is poisonous, and the notion that there are no limits in dealing with one’s political opponents leads, eventually, to mass graves. I know - I've walked through the ruins of a society that let its hate for the other side (or sides) burst its bounds in Kosovo. We need boundaries in our battles, boundaries of decency; Stuef crossed them.

That’s Jack Stuef’s cue for some smartass comment – his kind likes sincerity even less than sit-ups. His refuge is snark. After all, he wrote for the Onion, committed lame “outrages” at Georgetown, and seems to think snark will misdirect others from reality. But the reality is the Jack Stuef is a sad little punk who picks on little kids, that he is not a man, and that he never will be – and he knows it. And now, so does everyone else.

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