Hello. How are you today? I am fine.

I’m sorry if I seem less than enthusiastic this week, but I’m recovering from a dreadful hangover. They don’t call them “Slippery Nipples” for nothing, if you know what I mean.

In any case, there’s work to be done, and I seem to insist on letting these missives slide until the morning they’re due. Perhaps if my Jew publisher would allow me to do them less frequently… but I digress.

Yesterday, I was in line to order at the local college coffee shop, Cuppa Cuppa Cuppa—they used to have my preferred brew waiting for me at 11am sharp everyday, but then Sandra graduated, and apparently a No-Foam Triple Hazelnut Double Espresso Latte with half an Equal and half a Splenda in a to-go cup with no lid is too hard for Chad or Brad or whatever the new barista’s name is to remember—when I saw a young man wearing a shirt with what appeared to be the silk-screened visage of one Ernesto “Che” Guevara.

I stopped the dreadlocked youngster and he confirmed that the t-shirt did, in fact, depict the famous revolutionary. Now, I have always admired Che for his ability to grow a moustache, something that I have never been able to successfully accomplish myself. Nonetheless, he was a sadistic, unbalanced militiaman, who helped to unseat the benevolent, U.S.-backed Batista from his benevolent, peaceful rule.

Thanks to men like Che, the Cubans must now live under Fidel Castro, a monomaniacal dictator, instead of Batista. One can only hope that the Cubans will soon allow us to install another leader, and that he will be as good a president as Batista was.

Needless to say, I was shocked to see Che immortalized so. What’s next, a Mao shoulder bag? A pair of sweatpants with “Mugabe” written across the butt?

Why are we memorializing history’s monsters, when we could be paying tribute to a true revolutionary, a man who stood up against the status quo to fight for what he felt was right? Against all odds, this man rebelled against his oppressors and helped to form a more perfect union right here in the United States. I’m speaking, of course, about Jefferson Davis.

President Davis has the added benefit of being much more handsome and well kempt than Che; I personally would much rather wear a t-shirt bearing his stolid image than that of a scruffy Mexican like Mr. Guevara. Plus, it would go perfectly with my John Calhoun crocs.

Jefferson Davis has gotten a bum rap in recent years, though. It’s just like former Attorney General John Ashcroft told Southern Partisan magazine in 1998: "You've got a heritage of doing that, of defending Southern patriots like Robert E. Lee, Stonewall Jackson, and Jefferson Davis… We've all got to stand up and speak in this respect, or else we'll be taught that these people were giving their lives, subscribing their sacred fortunes and their honor to some perverted agenda."

It makes me sick to hear people say that Jefferson Davis and Robert E. Lee were fighting to defend some perverted agenda. These men were patriots and heroes. It’s just like Horace said: “it is sweet and honorable to die for your right to subjugate an entire other race.”

Well, that’s all for this week. I can’t claim to have any influence over young peoples’ fashion choices, but I hope I’ve at least planted a seed. Good day.

Hello again, Dalton-istas! This week I’d like to talk a little bit about politics.

You’ve probably read about “Amnesty International” and “Take Back the Night,” and the “Human Rights Commission,” and other left wing groups like that, but do you know what they’re really up to?

Here’s a hint: no good.

If it were up to them, they’d take us all back in time so we could surrender to the British in 1776. The true agenda of these bleeding heart liberals is to undo 230 years of truth, justice, and the American Way. How, you ask? They’re doing everything they can to prevent this country from defending itself against its true enemy: Arabs with similar names to known terrorists.

What’s next? Laws to protect the right of zombies to eat our brains, or Puerto Ricans to grope us? Laws to prevent us from fighting back if a Gypsy tries to steal our luggage?

If they’re trying to kill us (Zombies, the Nips), or convert us (Jews, Homosexuals), then I say they don’t deserve any protection under the law at all. That’s why I applaud this administration’s stance on Arabs. They, as a race, are a threat to our way of life, and that means that they, as a race, have forfeited their right to due process.

And before you accuse me of being racist, I’m no hypocrite. If a white person had ever committed a terrorist crime in this country, I would be the first rallying the troops to send all white people to foreign internment camps without access to lawyers. But that has never happened. Ever.

These outrages against our nation’s dignity have led me to form my own for-profit lobbying organization: “Hands Across America,” or HAA. The name wasn’t my first choice, but I got a great deal on three dozen boxes of unworn T-shirts with that logo, so I went with it.

HAA’s goal is to restore America’s status in the world as a melting pot and a beacon of hope by tagging every immigrant with an RFID card beneath the skin in their neck. That way, if anyone who isn’t a third-generation American or greater approaches any tall building, crowded space, airport, or national monument, the authorities will be notified. The threat can then be eliminated by arresting the suspicious individual immediately and imprisoning him without trial for an indeterminate period of time.

As our experience with African-Americans shows, nothing alleviates cultural and social disenfranchisement better than imprisoning 30% of the male population at some point in their lives. As the great American troubadour Meatloaf said: one out of three ain’t bad.

Well, that’s all for this week. Hope I didn’t get too heavy with the politics, but I do believe that it’s important to get involved. Especially if you agree with me. Good day.

Hello there, fellow Internet travelers! Welcome to another weekly missive from me, C.H. Dalton. I’ll be honest with you – up ’til now, I’ve been hand writing these epistles and having my research assistant, Francoise, type them onto the Internet for me.

But then, just last week, one of my colleagues suggested I visit a site that allows you to purchase other peoples’ trash from them in an auction format. I had Francoise log me on, and before I knew it I was hooked on “E Bay.”

After buying three cases of astronaut ice cream and a t-shirt from the 1984 Summer Olympic games, I decided to explore the rest of the W-W-W that everyone speaks so highly of. And let me tell you, I was impressed. Have you seen this “Bang Bus” site? It’s phenomenal; these young men lure attractive, naïve women into their bus, and then they have their way with them—sexually! And you get to watch the whole thing unfold! It’s just as good as it sounds.

I’m sure you know what I’m talking about when I tell you that it makes me feel like Saul Kripke in a dorm full of undergraduates.

On another site, you can look up phone numbers, just like in the phone book. Only you don’t need to open a book, or even to own one. To me, the possibilities for this new medium seem endless. In addition to lecturing my students online, I can also “chat” with them, and sell them pornography.

Just the other day I was telling my stepsister Johannah how much I enjoy the musical oeuvre of David Soul, and what a shame it is that I can’t find his music in stores anymore. On the Internet, you can order his albums right at your desk, and have them shipped to you via the postal service. I don’t need to tell you that after the mail came this morning, I was grooving out to “Don’t Give Up On Us” ten minutes later.

Of course, the Internet is also filled with temptation, and there is a danger of indulging oneself to excess. I probably didn’t need to get the complete Shaun Cassidy and Leif Garrett collections while I was at it. Luckily, I still had two and a half cases of dehydrated ice cream to drown my sorrows.

I hope all of you reading this will be my friend on “Facebook” and “Myspace.” The former is much easier to use, but I am inclined to prefer the latter, because of my personal and professional ties to News Corp.

That’s all for this week. Good luck out there surfing the Internet. I hope you catch a killer wave—of shopping and infotainment!

My God, has it been another week already? Another week, and another deadline. Now I know what the Hebrews must have felt like all those centuries ago, being forced to make bricks without straw. Except that I don’t deserve the onus that has been placed upon me.

Like all journals, I suppose that this one, too, must by necessity descend into the pedestrian. Perhaps, like that filthy Frenchman Montaigne, I may find some profundity to mine from my banal, everyday adventures.

And, since this is an Internet journal, I’ll do the rigueur: I’ll talk about my children. Well, not my children. They belong to my stepsister, Johannah. Ever since she and her shipping magnate husband got divorced, she’s had to take care of little “Albatross 1” and “Albatross 2” all by herself, and she occasionally drops the two of them off with me so that she can go pick up men for anonymous sex.

This past weekend, when she came by with the little things, she was in reverie over the younger one—a girl, I think, but who can tell with the haircuts these days—and its ability to whistle. To whistle! Of all the purposeless, unimpressive parlor tricks to coo over! Needless to say, emboldened by her shrew mother’s ill-advised praise, the child whistled ceaselessly for the entire afternoon and well into the evening. By the time Johannah returned, stinking of mechanic’s grease and latex, I was nearly homicidal.

The headache wasn’t helped by the older child’s insistence on playing my Hi-Fi at the loudest possible volume in order to anesthetize itself. Its mother could have easily told it that alcohol and Dramamine is a much more efficient path to that happy end.

All this got me thinking, though, about what a mongoloid, subhuman race is child. Why do we tolerate these doddering, incontinent savages? We could easily overpower them, as we did the Coolies, with our superior firepower, and because we are, on average, at least double their size.

Children are sapping our resources at an astounding rate, and they even drink the bodily fluids of our women. Are we to be the de facto slaves of a cabal of doughy, doe-eyed toddlers? We’ve set fire to shtetls for lesser crimes!

I see two problems, with a common solution. One, children are an annoyance. Two, there is a lack of food worldwide, and many are starving. With the aim of eliminating both difficulties, I have a proposal that I hope you will find modest: we gather the world’s children together, murder them, and burn their bodies beyond recognition. That way, we won’t have to deal with this dwarfish race anymore, and the food they would have eaten, were they alive, can go to more deserving recipients. Both problems disappear with a simple act of genocide.

Feel free to share your thoughts on this difficult issue with me at chdalton (at) apracticalguidetoracism (dot) com. I look forward to hearing your opinions!

That’s all for this week. Good day, and God speed.