Thursday, March 05, 2009

How To Cure the (R) Party Problems

From Iowahawk, of course.

Here he quotes from a letter of T. Coddington Van Voorhees VII, founder of National Topsider. order to survive, conservativism simply must start appealing to a better class of people. The sad fact of the matter, as we noted, is that one no longer finds admitted conservatives in any of America's prestige zip codes nor the faculty redoubts of her selective academies. During our Bahamian summit many gambits were proposed to win back America's elite electoral precincts from the left; sponsoring various hip hop colloquia at the better Ivies, supporting integration of gays into Nascar, endorsing state ownership of the means of production.

The glitterati (R) folk were convened by O-and-Savior to discuss the problem.

After dessert (black walnut dacquoise with sections of quince) we retired to the Blue Room where chief of staff Rahm Emanuel entertained us with some droll tales of his days as terpsichorean with the Mossad ballet auxiliary, even treating us to a few thrilling, if f-bomb laced, arabesques. He was followed by Vice President Joe Biden, who put on a fine display of his famed wit and penchant for unpredictable cerebral infarctions. Amid the sparkling bonhomie the President solicited our views on the causes of -- and solutions to -- conservatism's sad state. Seizing the opportunity for a tete-a-tete with the world's most powerful, popular, and beautiful man, I explained the tragic plague of rubes who stand athwart our modernization program.

"Why not just drive them out?" asked the President, elegantly French inhaling his Marlboro Light 100. "Under the old bus, so to speak."

And in language only envied at a distance (intellectual and physical) by Folkie and Capper, Van Voorhees VII describes Nemesis personified:

Where Jindal offers mere disappointment, the crystal set "dee jay" buffoon Rush Limbaugh by contrast offers a horrifying one-stop object lesson in all that ails Republicanism: the embarrassing bombast and boosterism, the cheap anti-intellectual sophistry, the complete failure to understand his place. For twenty years he has served up his sad stew of red meat blandishments and powdered itch medications to a declasse horde of gun-totin' Ozark lumpenproles and exurban strip mall burghers, a blithering baritone soundtrack for legions of hinterland idiots aimlessly wandering from one Wal-Mart to the next in their blood curdling sport utility wagons. These are, as I have noted, the selfsame steerage classes that makes it so difficult to sell first class tickets aboard the S.S. Conservatism

There's plenty on the link.

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