I hate Michael Moore.

Sure, his clever, funny propaganda wins accolades, attention and Oscars. But by masking the factual inconsistencies and lies within his documentaries, Moore hides behind the impenetrable shield of “An Artist,” appealing to patronizing art-house voters while being praised for vocalizing extreme leftist views at awards ceremonies and other popular, pseudo-intellectual black-tie events.

Moore’s latest film, “Fahrenheit 9/11,” premieres at Cannes this week. Limbaugh-sized idiot that he is, Moore is raising a big free speech hoo-ha because “Fahrenheit’s” original bankroller, Disney, has blocked the release of the film. Come on Mike, for someone so critical of big business, why must you continue to seek funding ($6 million!) from it? Even 3-year-olds know Disney would never release a film that allegedly links the devilish Bush hordes to Osama bin Laden.

Moore claims it’s all in the name of free speech. But Moore’s conception of “free speech” is more Clintonian — lies are okay, even when you present them as truth. If Moore could have his way, “Fahrenheit 9/11” would feature a potluck dinner and game of wiffleball between Dubya and OBL.

But second, and more importantly, Moore has been outdone at his own game by a real struggling artist, Morgan Spurlock, and his little pet film, “Super Size Me.”

I wanted to hate “Super Size Me.” The premise of the film is insulting: Spurlock subjects himself to a pure McDiet — three McDonalds meals a day for 30 days; no other food; no exercise at all.

The results are pretty obvious. Spurlock borrows a stylistic page from Moore’s popular “Bowling for Columbine”: the film features irreverent cartoons and cloying visual effects that obfuscate his message. Given his methodology, I expected Spurlock to go to Grimace’s Brentwood mansion to ask the purple burger behemoth why he has sponsored the sale of deadly, bone-filled McNuggets for decades. And when Grimace waddles away stoically, Spurlock leaves a touching picture of Roseanne Barr on his purple Plymouth Prowler. Fat kills.

More drastic, however, is how Spurlock awkwardly intercuts the ultimately boring footage of the McSuicide with his honest, perceptive essays on American culture.

What I love about “Super Size Me” is that Spurlock is obviously a desperate man, but also a smart one. Spurlock, a struggling NYU film graduate who has undertaken a cheap gimmick to get noticed, ultimately realizes that his hook is far less interesting than the issue. The film is not about Spurlock’s stupid sacrifice, but the issue of obesity. Shot on grainy video and often filmed by Spurlock himself, it really becomes “personal.”

Spurlock’s timely essay succeeds most where it doesn’t wander. The segment on school lunches, while the most Mooreian in its biased presentation, grazes the real American problems today: speed, success, the proliferation of advertising. In short, the mechanization required by corporate America.

Kids don’t know how to eat. I sure as hell don’t. I can make Pop-Tarts and quesadillas. Funding is sucked out of home economics and physical education classes and used to encourage higher test scores. Higher test scores require more studying (i.e. sitting still and eating). Thus academic success comes at the expense of health. We go to Northwestern, so I’m preaching to the choir.

After “Super Size Me,” I wanted to talk about the issue of obesity, not how fat Spurlock got. His even-handed portrayals of people are compassionate and honest — never the condescending, woe-is-me, actorly interviews conducted by Moore.

And no matter how many statistics he wields, I doubt Moore can make as scathing, persuasive and logical an argument against big business as “Super Size Me.”