RON SCHALOW: Blogger Without A Cause

“If Heidi Heitkamp loses, what is Forum columnist Rob Port going to write about over the next six years?” — Jim Shaw

It’s always the kids who suffer the most unless they’re surrounded by metal chain-link fencing which is as insufferable as it gets according to senator to be Kevin Cramer an expert on child confinement for some reason.

After six years of condensed white-hot hatred for Heidi Heitkamp, how does the young lad plan to blog without her? He has no discernable skills. Blogging is in the DSM-5 right by DIY dentistry.

Yes, I am blogging, but as a 324c amateur. I also know how to do things that seemed important the time.

He can’t just switch his “career” and go back to competitive ice dancing, his true passion. Port’s full routine is legendary. He would sculpt up one of those banquet geese as his last breathtaking move.

I guess that water-cubing is a skill, but going pro in this ice environment isn’t recommended due to the sequin embargo.

Or, if he wants to keep doing this blogging thing, first he has to admit he has a weird problem. He needs to wean himself off Heidi. Cold turkey is too brutal. Like getting pinned down by a Supreme Court justice. It’s gotta be like going off of Paxil — or heroin, cigarettes, Dilly Bars, coffee, alcohol or cocaine. It’s going to be painful and leave a lifetime scar on his brain thing.

After coming to terms with his obsession, Port should take that long vacation he deserves after all he’s been put through by Forum Communications. First, they make him stay in Minot. I like Minot as much as the next guy, but I would draw a line if I were “forced” to live there.

When Port said, I’ll have to move to Fargo to do the radio show, they said, no, no, don’t worry. We’ll just you set up a radio studio in your bell tower, so there’s absolutely no reason for you ever to come to Fargo. We hope that’s clear.

And Rob doesn’t even get an office. Everybody gets an offer, or at least one of those hope sucking cubes and everybody else gets to come to work. A place not to sleep. His “colleagues” miss him and have threatened not to use the lunchroom for backgammon in collegial angst.

Worst of all, nobody will edit his writing for punctuation, word overuse or moronity. Especially the moronity. Everyone with a journalism degree scatters when they hear a Port email come through the tubes. It has a unique whining sound. I’m told the high pitch vibration draws hipsters to downtown.

Anyway, a trip to Mitchell, S.D., is one option. You can get a lot of vacationing done in a short time if the quantity isn’t a problem. The Corn Palace is, of course, the anchor to any Mitchell visit and combined with a trip to Chef Louie’s Steak House & Lounge, a guy can head home before sundown completely refreshed.

I study young Rob for kicks. Port is a something of a specimen, of some sort. Like a frozen wooly mammoth. It’s become an anthropology project and an exercise in understanding poor logic.

He’s my go-to for not totally immersing myself in liberal thought. Most of his posts are paper thin, repetitive repetitions of Koch spread ideology, or twisted gray Play-Doh, so not that illuminating.

But its Rob’s coven of retired warlock regulars in the comment section. Who else can be on the site 24/7? A drop of liberal blood into a string draws a party-size pack of attacking piranhas with super clever comebacks.

“Yes, as a matter of fact, I am a BLM loving Marxist libt@$% commie cuck who has never worked a day and I’ve lived like a king on government assistance and it’s coming directly out of your social security checks JoeMN and Orville.”

I was banned from the Forum owned sayanythingblog. It turns out that Port doesn’t like being called a liar. He doesn’t mind being a liar, but just don’t point it out. Luckily there are bleachers for viewing the others. It’s like watching a scuttle of lowland silverbacks with the disposition of Donald Trump in his racist splendor. The moderator seems to be in a coma.

I suppose he could write about something useful. He might have that in his wheelhouse.

Port and his best bigot buddy, Kevin Cramer, are part of the alt-right Tiki torch crowd, and a large subset has trouble with girls. Hard to imagine. Anyway, Port might have some sway with the involuntary celibate or incels, so he should have long chat with the lot of them.

What I would like him to suggest to the incels: Instead of shooting random people, or killing folks by systematic choice — either way — they should buy a sexbot and quit complaining. Maybe take a shower.

Or he could return to some familiar topics.

Dean Bresciani, who has more degrees than Port has nose hairs, is still the president of North Dakota State University. Port won’t stand for that. The blogger thinks he is such a big shot that he could call for the resignation of a University president and it would happen. He tried. Womp womp.

How The State Board of Higher Education could resist taking the word of a dude who might have one college credit I can’t understand. I’ve never seen Port’s transcript — or his birth certificate for that matter. Or his hunting license.

Port doesn’t like higher education in general. They couldn’t force anything into his head so what good are they. I got one credit for bowling class in 1974. He reminds me of Flounder from “Animal House” around the ankles in the right light.

Robbie used to attach Heidi’s name to anything Hillary Clinton said. Maybe he can do the same thing with Cramer, Kelly Armstrong and John Hoeven, and the racist fearmongering wart. Port might contract a Canadian spine virus. Naw, he won’t.

I guess we’ll wait and see who is going to be the object of his ire. It will be a woman, that’s for certain. If Erin Oban was Native American who abhorred vaping and the release of methane gas into our already compromised atmosphere, his eyebrows would flare out like little wings.

Or he might skip the formalities and begin the predictable attack on Ruth Buffalo, one of our new legislators and a Democratic star to watch.

Port is like candy corn. It’s always the same. You can’t stand it. And you know that it’s never going away.


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