Conservative life would be boring without the pretentious, pseudo-intellectual prattlings of the NY Times’ token “conservative” and hero of the RINO/Yuppie Douchebag/Subaru-driving/Sunday NY Times-reading/Mochaccino Macciato Latte-sipping/Peggy Noonan is-too-divina demographic of the blue blood strata of the Republican Party. Wow…I have to sit down…THAT was quite a mini-rant, brought on by the latest fatuous pronouncement from the man who instinctively understood that Obama was Da Man the moment he spied the sharp crease in Barry’s trousers. I’m not making this up.
“I remember distinctly an image of–we were sitting on his couches, and I was looking at his pant leg and his perfectly creased pant,” Brooks says, “and I’m thinking, a) he’s going to be president and b) he’ll be a very good president.” In the fall of 2006, two days after Obama’s The Audacity of Hope hit bookstores, Brooks published a glowing Times column. The headline was “Run, Barack, Run.”
No wonder he works for the NY Times. No reputable conservative journal of record would suffer his upper class twittery, of which another example was recently published:
Today, Brooks doubled down, telling Laura Ingraham this morning that Obama is not only governing that way, he is that way — or at least more that way than Brooks once thought.
“I still like him and admire him personally, but he’s certainly more liberal than I thought he was,” Brooks said.
“He’s more liberal than he thinks he is. He thinks he’s just slightly center-left, but when you get down to his instincts, they’re pretty left. And his problem is that he can’t really act on them, because it would be political disaster. And so that means, I think right now he’s doing very little, proposing very little.”
I’m reminded of Joseph Kesselring’s classic Broadway comedy Arsenic and Old Lace, in which Abby Brewster – a sweet little old lady with a penchant for poisoning elderly gentlemen – proclaims: “I’ve almost come to the conclusion that this Mr. Hitler isn’t a Christian.”
The difference between Abby Brewster and David Brooks is that the cluelessness of the former is genuinely funny because she doesn’t exist except as a character in a seventy year old stage play – as opposed to the latter, who no one but tailors and dry cleaners could ever take seriously anymore.