Bucking and arching in a world he could never see

Bucking and arching in a world he could never see

by digby

There is nothing creepier than right wing novels. The pinnacle of such achievement remains the bodice ripping yarns by Ayn Rand. Far too many of these men (and it's usually the men) have a strange need to reveal their stunted inner lives to the world. And there's something so wrong about their fantasy of themselves that it makes me literally queasy.

Glenn Beck's magnum opus, The Overton Window was creepy, but also hilarious, what with the "don't tease the panther" sexy time dialog. But Michael Savage's new book, aptly named Abuse of Power takes it to a whole new level.

Media Matters has done us all the great service of reading it so that we can be spared all but the most telling passages. Evidently, Savage has cast himself as a terrorist fighting talk show host who is hunted down by George Soros and MI-5. Or something.
Soren [Soros]reveals the entire evil plot to Jack in a gloating, long-winded speech, and asks Jack to join his cause because he's just so damn talented: "You're a wonderful communicator, Jack. You have a friendly, trustworthy manner about you, but you can be a bulldog when you need to and people respond to it."

Jack declines, and Soren orders him tortured for information and then killed. Thanks to Jack's incredible Krav Maga martial arts maneuvers (and use of a laser pointer to blind assailants), he manages to escape a compound filled with heavily armed men (for at least the third time in the book).

Working with several retired military men, Jack is able to stop the evil plot, which culminates in a fistfight (to stop the lead terrorist from detonating the nuke) at the top of the Golden Gate Bridge. Jack pummels the Muslim terrorist savagely (or Savagely?), and then delivers the requisite action-hero catchphrase, "Enjoy the virgins, asshole"

But never let it be said that the Islamofascist hating hero is a bigot, by golly. Why he even has an affair with an exotic Muslim woman to prove it. I hope you didn't recently eat anything. Picture Michael Savage as our hero here:

She closed the door behind her now, then moved to a small television in the corner and turned it on, tuning it to an Arab station, which was only playing Arabic music at the moment. Jack wasn't sure what she was up to but he didn't protest when she came over to the bed and lit the scented candle that was sitting on the nightstand. Her long brown hair was highlighted against the window and he saw a light snow falling outside.

He didn't know if he should trust this, or her motives. It didn't matter. He instantly felt himself stirring.

"I don't want to be alone right now," she said, then reached a hand under the back of her T-shirt and unfastened her bra, dropping it to the floor. Her breasts shifted, reacting instantly to the brush of the fabric.

He didn't look away this time. "Neither do I."

"I want to forget for a while, Jack. Can you help me do that?"

"You have no idea how much I'd like to try."

He hadn't bothered to take off his clothes before lying on top of the bed,and she came to him, reaching for his belt and unbuckling it. She unfastened his pants and pulled them away, freeing him, then took him in her hand, gently kneading him as she leaned forward and kissed his lips.

The she pulled away, whispering softly against his cheek, "Make me forget, Jack. Please make me forget."

As he drew nearer and removed her T-shirt and panties, she began to moan deeply and loudly. Loudly and deeply. In the midst of their heat, such a state of abandon was reached that the normally voyeuristic Jack, who liked to watch himself make love, actually fell from the bed onto the hot radiator. But, like the Indian fakirs who can be on a bed of nails without later showing puncture marks, Jack did not scorch or burn, nothing visible remaining except a small soreness days later.

Once he was inside her, she began to cry and shudder in a series of small convulsions. He had never been with a woman who reacted like this and was both surprised and excited by her abandon.

Her cries became veritable screams as she moaned, and her eyes became glassy with passion. As Jack continued to bring Sara to an increasingly greater state of tension and release, tension -- a violent begging for release and then the convulsive wave -- her screaming became threatening.

He tried to quiet her by putting his hands over her mouth while continuing to stroke with his loins and lips.

"Quiet,quiet," he tried to command hoarsely. "Faisal will hear you." He reached for her T-shirt and couldn't believe himself as he pressed it over her mouth, holding it down hard against her lips by pressing it against the sheets, one hand on each side of her face.

Their hips were in perfect synchony and she continued her cries and screams, now muffled beneath the shirt, as Jack made love to her as he had never made love before. Sara bucked and arched and was in a world he could never see. [pp. 252-253]



Ok. You have to admire the little detail about rolling over onto a steaming radiator and being so turned on that it leaves no mark and you just keep going and don't even notice until days later. Now that's hot! Burning hot!

There's a part of me that sort of feels sorry for these poor fellows. They are just so lame. But I feel even sorrier for the women in their lives. I'm mean, clearly he desires sex with a woman who is having an epileptic fit --- or is possessed by demons. ("Her screaming became threatening"?) And then there's the whole bizarrely detailed shirt over the mouth thing. Other than a hooker, who can possibly deliver that freakish version of passion.

I have always suspected that so much of the pathology among the truly reprehensible wingnuts stems from their strange psycho-sexual hang-ups. These sexy time novels are obviously a cry for help.

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