Wednesday, December 28, 2016


This may be the most Jonah Goldberg line of all time:
And yet, defensive though it may sound, I think the claim that I got “everything wrong” in 2016 reveals more about my detractors than about me.
This is not just a Goldbergian farrt, it is a Kent Treble Bob Major farrt. Backstory: Trumpkins are telling Goldberg they "forgive" him for getting "everything wrong" about Trump. As seen above, Goldberg puts up a bit of slap-fight defense, then backtracks:
That said, I already feel comfortable admitting that, beyond my electoral prognosticating, I got some things wrong about what a Trump presidency will look like. Though many on the left and in the media see his cabinet appointments and policy proposals as cause for existential panic, as a conservative I find most — but by no means all — of them reassuring.
As long as Trump gets billions of federal budget dollars diverted to conservative crony contractors, he's okay with Jonah! Then Goldberg feels the sharp wind on his shapeless buttocks and senses he's been stripped of his pride -- and with hundreds more words to go before Mom will let him play video games! So he scoops this garbage out of the gutter, holds it in front of his junk, and asserts his dignity:
And that brings me to what I think I got right: Trump’s character. I am not referring to his personal conduct toward women, a culture-war weapon that Trump and Bill Clinton together have removed from partisan arsenals for the foreseeable future. Nor am I necessarily referring to how he has managed his businesses, though I think those patterns of behavior are entirely relevant to understanding our next president.
Trump's pussy-grabbing doesn't matter because Clinton dur hurr, and neither does his grifter status notwithstanding that he's about to enter the national henhouse with an axe.
What I have chiefly in mind is that rich nexus of unrestrained ego, impoverished impulse control, and contempt for policy due diligence. I firmly and passionately believe that character is destiny. From his reported refusal to accept daily intelligence briefings to his freelancing every issue under the sun on Twitter — including, most recently, nuclear-arms policy — Trump’s blasé attitude troubles me deeply, just as it did during the campaign. 
On balance, I don’t feel repentant. 
"Trump’s blasé attitude troubles me deeply," please make sure to get that in the record, bracketed in harrumphs. But then again let's not beat a dead horse, there's a country to wreck:  
But I acknowledge that Trump has surrounded himself with some serious and sober-minded people who will try to constrain and contain the truly dangerous aspects of his character. If they succeed, I’ll happily revisit my refusal to ask for forgiveness.
And he marches off the stage, trailing dead leaves and McDonalds wrappers and a cloud of methane, head held high. You may think it's for nothing -- most of his National Review colleagues dropped the act long ago -- but I bet whoever collects the checks and cruise ticket receipts for NR is relieved; there's no money in old-tyme conservatism now, subscribers actually thrill to the New Order, and the smart play is to go full MAGA (with some erudite gush along the margins so the high-end users won't actually feel they're actually rubbing elbows with those beasty Breitbart types). That requires Goldberg to eat shit. And there's the benefit to the guy being so dull: He probably thinks he has craftily avoided an apology, while his handlers realize all he has to do to show obeisance is humiliate himself, and that's a safe bet even on a good day.

No comments:

Post a Comment