Abnormal Psychology 201 – Introduction to Dr. Deborah Frisch
We’ll treat this DoS attack as a coincidence for now. Later, we’ll treat it as the kind of thing we’ve come to expect from the kind of people who did it.
I won’t reprise Dr. Frisch’s creepy sado-pederastic hate speech, except to note a few of its peculiar characteristics. For our aim here is psychological examination. Psychology is a job which traditionally belonged to writers (like Dostoevsky and Kierkegaard) rather than Piled-Higher-and-Deeper Doctors-Of. Alas, I am no Kierkegaard, but going up against the likes of Dr. Frisch is a task for lesser minds. It would be far beneath the great Dane to chase this particular greased pig all over the fairground. Besides, if Dr. Frisch’s profession admits the likes of Dr. Frisch, then it is time for writers to reclaim the task which we once humbly ceded to the social so-called sciences. We can’t do much worse.
I’ll let the doctor introduce herself, in this comment at Left2Right (note that the post that drew this comment was a tepid note “on blogosphere manners”):
My name is Deborah Frisch. I live in Tucson, Arizona. I teach in the psychology department at the YOUkneeversity of AIRYzona.A few minutes later, Dr. Frisch added:
You want to come find me, see that I'm real, hold a .357 magnum in my face, i say:
BRING IT ON.
One day, some cheeky blogger is going to be offed by a psychopathic blogger. Will it be a scuffle@left2right? idunno.A regular panorama of pathology invites our examination here. The comment about psychopathic bloggers killing other bloggers is of obvious interest. As is the totally irrational display of hostility, the aggressive use of profanity to intimidate, and the references to violence, guns, and even suicide bombing. Note how capitalization suddenly deteriorates right after “.357 Magnum”. When an educated person who normally uses passable grammar suddenly ceases to do so, it is of course an indication of an excited mental state.
i hope to hell it ain't me, i gotta tell ya.
but i feel kind of guilty for not blowing myself up on the steps of the lincoln memorial when i lived in d.c. while i was doing out pork for sam..so in a way, i WANT some futhermucker A-hole to off me because i pissed him off in the blogosphere.
BRING IT ON, FUTHERMUCKERS!!!!!!!!
In the Spike Lee film Clockers (if you don’t pay attention to Spike Lee films, you’re being an insufferable Dan Quayle) there is a scene where the protagonist Ronald (played by Mekhi Phifer) shows his pistol to a young boy. Normally meek and articulate, Ronald undergoes a physical change when he handles the gun. In real life Ronald is a hapless punk with a weak stomach who is easily dominated by everyone around him, but when he holds his gun (which he has never actually used) he is taken over by a power fantasy. His face twists into a sneer and his speech devolves into crude ‘hood-gangster argot. The transformation is both frightening and pathetic.
Just thought of that, for some reason. Being a staunch defender of the right to bear arms, it saddens me to see people for whom a gun is an ersatz penis. But it also amuses me to see the way some supposedly gun-hating liberals get all gooey at the idea of fondling a firearm of their own. That’s what you get for indulging crude materialistic superstitions.
Dr. Frisch managed to more or less retain the use of her caps key during her assault on Jeff’s family, but her little inner bitch-slapping pimp just wouldn’t shut up:
I don’t give a rat’s ass whether the pissant’s progeny live or die, but I have no intention of snuffing the mofo’s chillen myself … Wanna escalate this game. Fine wit me. Bring it on, hombre. Bring it on.I should point out that Dr. Frisch is not black, if it is not obvious from her horrible Steppin-Fetchit-from-Hell ebonics. It’s bad enough that prepubescent suburban punks fantasize about gangsterism. Dr. Frisch’s porcupine display is doubly embarrassing, whether it’s intended to frighten others or to make Dr. Frisch feel like … well, a man.
Does Dr. Frisch want to be a man? Or to borrow some “scientific” psychology, is Dr. Frisch a man trapped in the castrated and insufficiently hairy body that is the normal biological manifestation of gentle women-folk? Is it therefore necessary for her (him, whatever) to augment her penis-less corporality with a psychological construct that simulates the absent appendage? In order to reinforce this construct (which is under constant assault by social conventions, not to mention common f—king sense) is it necessary for her to acquire a physical object to symbolize (or reify) her penis? Like a high-powered handgun, for example? How much more of this can I stand before I’m as moonbat as she is?
Stepping away from the abyss for a moment, I’ll let Dr. Frisch describe her mental furniture, in another thread from Left2Right:
Reading through Dr. Frisch’s numerous posts in that thread, I notice that her capitalization wobbles at the thought of God, just as it previously prostrated itself before the stirring mental power-image of the .357 Magnum. Again we must diagnose mental agitation, though probably of a different sort. Whereas gun-wielding imagery caused her to hurry breathlessly along a sort of orgasmic plateau, the eternal countenance of the Almighty has a castrating effect, inducing impotent rage. She takes God to be symbolic of male endowment, which attacks her own genital pretensions. It circumcises her right up to her pencil neck. Even guns are no good against God.
I'll cop to be Christophobic. I'm abrahamaphobic, more generally - I have utter contempt for and anger toward the trinity of guy in the sky religions (judaism, christianity, islam). I think they are much less sensible than other religions (Buddhism, pantheism) because they are sexist and speciesist (god's a guy, god's a person). My tax dollars are being used to kill Iraqis, maim Marines, mangle Humvees and destroy a poor nation's infrastructure because of this pathological worldview.
I am a Christophobic lesbian. The way I feel toward Christianity is exactly the way many fundamentalist Christians feel toward me. If you offered me the deal to live and let live - they'll stop judging me if I stop judging them, I'd say no way. I reckon they'd say the same thing.
I think we are in the endgame. I think the time for civility and politeness is over. I think there is a very good chance the US will be at war (either a civil war or the target of a worldwide coalition that recognizes what a cancer we've become) within the next ten years.
So to me, the only hope is to duke it out with words with the slim hope that this will preempt the need to duke it out for real.
Oh - and for the record, I don't hump my dogs or cats, I don't have any piercings and the only leather I wear is on my Birkenstocks.
In retaliation, Dr. Frisch resorts to a variety of emotional tactics. She diminishes God to “baby hay suess”, but the infant incarnation of God fills her with even greater fear and loathing. To some persons of the feminist persuasion, a baby is an even more oppressive tyrant than a grown man is. In Dr. Frisch’s twisted “Penis = Power” world-view, a baby is a wound that men inflict on women with their penis/weapon. Judaism mocks Dr. Frisch by over-awing her with a hopelessly superior masculine image, while Christianity sneaks up behind and completes her humiliation by symbolically impregnating her with Baby Jesus. The virgin Mary also offends her – but “the virgin” is her own despised self-image; the mocking reflection of her own frustrated sexuality.
To reassert this sexuality, Dr. Frisch – apropos of nothing – alludes to humping things. Especially small helpless things; i.e., animals and children. Note her obsession with “ephing” and impregnating, which irrationally dominates her anti-Goldstein comments.
She also alludes to conspiracies, conspiracies, conspiracies. This is apparent in her blog, which is full of 9/11 sick-think, and in her recent comments in which she portrays herself as the victim of Jeff Goldstein’s “minions”. She constantly indulges in interpreting well-earned criticism as orchestrated persecution, and insists on viewing the logical consequence of her own actions as unjust punishment. This is, of course, a dead give-away for sexual inadequacy and frustration. These little conspiracies are mere adumbrations of the grand metaphysical conspiracy that deprived Dr. Frisch of the penis she so desperately desires, and which she heroically struggles to construct in spite of the cruel reality that daily castrates and renders her powerless.
Ha ha ha ha ha. Ha hah ha ha. Okay, I’m almost out of scotch. Time to stick a fork in Dr. Frisch’s lily-white ass, because I’m done with her.
So maybe the idea of taking back Dostoevsky’s profession from the modern so-called psychologists was not such a great one. A sane and healthy mind has the life expectancy of a Colombian judge in this business.
Also, to continue with this might reinforce Dr. Frisch’s delusion that she is under assault by Jeff Goldstein’s minions. I am not Jeff’s minion, only his constant admirer. It doesn’t make me mad when people attack Jeff, because he can defend his own lunch money. But attacking his family, however obliquely … that just fries my cheese to a crisp. (Note the barely repressed hostility in all the preceding paragraphs.)
I think Jeff, and Jeff’s loved ones, have little to fear from Dr. Frisch. Or from Dr. Frisch’s imaginary phallus. Else I would not have made light of a situation that has grieved him. Peace out, boys and girls.