A Super Tuesday report, a bit late, from your Reporter Live On The Sofa With Booze And Remote Control. (Note: report is speeches and opinion only. I still don’t get the whole ‘awarding delegates’ thing).
Newton Leroy “Newt” Gingrich is all twelve angry men rolled into one portly one. His lengthy, rambling victory speech after he’d won his home state of Georgia was a bitter-lemon litany of fuck-u-isms so rank it made a stinking, fly-ridden wound look like something nice you’d dip a biscuit in. Newt spent the first century of his diatribe attacking all those who had written him off – the media, the elite, the elite media, the media elite, the elitist media – and then gave us a peek into the future of ‘Newt Inc: After-Dinner Speaker’. Just don’t eat first and waste all that lovely veal. (By the way, Sarah Palin voted for Newt. I rest my case).
Ronald Ernest “Ron” Paul. Bless him and his imaginary friend. Didn’t win anything (does a congressional district in Virginia where he was one of only two on the ballot count?) but he gets my vote for sheer, dogged persistence and his consistency in railing against the Fed. He’s the kind of chap of whom in twenty or thirty years people will say “Goddamnit, the wee fella was right!” (also, “Who?”). NB. watch the son.
Richard John “Rick” Santorum won three states and would win my heart too but only if it were carved from my chest by a crazed, frothing maniac to the howls of a baying tribe of religious fucktrumpets. But seriously – yes, I can do that – Rick is an excellent public orator. He doesn’t mess up his key messages with complicated or predictable rhetoric. He speaks brilliantly to his core base. He pauses …. speaks with genuine feeling and an intimacy for his audience that draws them in and invites them to be part of a family from which they have felt excluded for a long time. If his vision for America wasn’t so steeped in inclusivity – my gang is far more worthy than yours – and coloured with a religious hue as permanent as stretch marks, he would clean up; his determination to combine his religious convictions with his political ones is his Achilles heel, and what turns moderate Republicans off. That, and saying that JFK made him want to hurl.
Willard Mitt Romney. Oh Mittens. You’re basically the chap my mates want me to go out with, after the whole biker-bloke episode and the incident with the lecturer with the weird crying thing and the guy who couldn’t get it up and drove all night to Wales to see a druid when I asked him, politely, not to bring his slippers round to my friend’s house when we went for Sunday lunch. Mittens is the make-do guy and he knows it, which is why he is so eager to persuade people that he’s The One and, as we all know, desperation reeks more than the last Waterloo to Twickenham train on a Friday night. He did just enough on Super Tuesday, winning six states, but his victory speech was similarly disappointing. He pants, as if he’s speaking against the clock in a high-school debating competition and has to get all his facts and figures out before the siren goes. And therein lies his problem. He’s got his eye on the clock – and has done since 2007 – and not on his audience. Mrs Mittens does more for his constituency when she introduces him. She’s warm and funny. He’s so brittle you fear he might crack into a thousand pieces at the first blow, leaving a tiny, naked Mittens peering up, scared and mute, among the rubble. And that is what the GOP too fear will happen when he wins the nomination and has to face Obama.
So, that happened. Next: Guam. And in case you need a brief reminder of exactly what the Republican Party stands for ….