Jack, jack, jackity jack! Cuck cuck cuckity cuck!

The guy Patrick Madrid described as Kennedyesque went to New Hampshire and repeated his stupid talking points like a broken record, fully qualifying himself for the openly baseless endorsement he had received from Rick Santorum. None of this inspires confidence in the intellectual or moral foundation of the jumble of religious zealotry, magical economics, thievery, and systemic terrorization of the vulnerable that passes for conservatism in US politics at the national level.

On the other hand, no matter how embarrassingly foolish these people are, at least they tend towards pleasantess in their public lives. Yes, Virginia, civility is a virtue. It may be a half-measure papering over a civic sphere on the verge of collapse, but even so, there’s something to be said for listening to Madrid very pleasantly say the daftest shit on earth on Marco Rubio’s behalf instead of listening to the latest round of spiteful, malicious, deeply ugly slurs made against Rubio by the alt-right on Donald Trump’s behalf. Madrid may not know noted Lloyd Bentsen acquaintance Jack Kennedy, but he knows manners.

Roissy is now on the war path against Rubio over his apparently repulsing his wife with a dorky public display of affection. Her body language doesn’t look good for him, to be sure, although it isn’t as probative as the alt-right would like it to be. Nor is it nearly as creepy as Ted Cruz’s Joe Biden-grade public perving on his own hug-shy daughter. I’ll take “Rhymes With ‘Hug Me’” for $800, Alex. Hey hey hey!

There’s another reason to question Roissy’s body language analysis. When he isn’t accusing Rubio of being a thirsty beta, he’s accusing him of being as gay as Liberace. After all, why pick just one of two contradictory accusations?

This is a sexualized version of the self-defeating nonsense emanating from the fever-swamp right about how Barack Obama is a Mau-Mau, and also a Shariah theocrat, and a socialist, and a fuck Whitey racist, and an Alinskian radical subversive. This style of political critique is nothing more than throwing turds at the wall and seeing what sticks. It’s a claque of lying shitbirds manipulating followers who are paranoid to an extent that is barely subclinical. It’s that feeling where the only way to insist that Obama was born in Kenya is to concede that he was not the child of an absentee deadbeat black father. The nut farmers inevitably contradict their own black radical backstory by insisting that Obama is a Muslim on account of his Indonesian stepfather, who enrolled him in an Indonesian public school as a Muslim for religious identification purposes. Ah, so now he’s Amrozi, too. Never mind that what the Indonesian government does to its own terrorists includes tying them to crosses and blasting holes into their chests.

Of course these wackos believe in gay guys who are too straight for their own sexually repulsed wives. None of this is about being coherent or truthful. It’s about beating the shit out of one’s enemies, like a feral street tough from the Moscow suburbs. These creeps have a major psychosexual stiffy for Donald Trump. They’re hard for the bully, so of course the bully must be popular. All the cool guys who prey on the school dorks are on Trump’s side, so of course he’s a sensation with the ladies.

What’s telling is that these brownshirt wannabes comment on positive wifely body language towards Trump and only towards Trump. If an affectionate wife is a test for presidential candidates to pass, Jeb Bush passes. It’s bogus to turn around and move the goalposts by insisting that Jeb! is married to a shriveled-up little Mexican crone, so it doesn’t count in his case. Either the public affection of a presidential candidate’s wife is a credit to him, or it isn’t. It’s bullshit to present it as an endorsement of candidates one likes and a discredit to candidates one dislikes. I know, I’m indulging in fairness-based morality again; bend me over your knee and paddle my butt, Mr. Haidt. Mercy, I’m thinking like Jeb now.

You know which other candidate has a visibly affectionate wife, though? The Bern. If anything, he passes that test more decisively than Trump does. So the alt-right pretends that his wife is hideously obese, unlike the Donald’s smokin’ Slovenian. That’s the level of their discourse. Your wife is fat. Your wife is ugly. We’re all supposed to be hot for Trump because he has an obvious trophy wife.

If we really must go balls-to-the-wall cherchez la femme, we might as well be honest about it and admit that Jane Sanders has a certain transcendent tastefulness and graciousness of demeanor about her that is missing from a great many political wives. She looks more genuine than Melania Trump, too, who shows the forced social graces typical of women who cravenly marry into privilege for privilege’s sake. If we’re looking for moral leadership by example from our next First Lady, it’s no contest: Mrs. Sanders, not Mrs. Trump. The last thing we need is more Jackie O. Stepford Wives bullshit from highbrow distaff mercenaries. It’s like background radiation in American society as it is, but we oughtn’t seek it out. And we oughtn’t be so stupid as to believe that all fat women are Mama June. Good fucking grief. Even Patrick “Ron Kurzweil” Madrid has never come close to saying a thing that foolish, and he considers “Kennedyesque” a compliment, not a description of Bill Clinton’s sexual habits.

Bring back physiognomy? Sure. I’ll bring back Tommy Douglas’s physiognomy:


Yup. Dem teef. Dat smile. Dat Medicare.

Oh, and fat women? I forgot to mention that I came to know one the other night, so to speak, and we both quite enjoyed it:


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