Some of you have said that Rick Perry is not that crazy to strap “on his laser-sighted, hollow-point-bullet-loaded pistol whenever he goes jogging“, given the risk of mountain lions and such in the areas where he jogs. But try a google image search for “rick perry guns” and you’ll see some stuff. I wonder if we’ve reached the point where Republican politics takes on the general ethos of gangsta rap. Steve M has written about this before, in the context of Huntsman’s doomed candidacy:
Huntsman is like a rapper who isn’t gangsta, doesn’t want to be gangsta, and knows that some of the people making their name on gangsta don’t want you to know that they have problems with “authenticity.” The problem is, Huntsman is like M.C. Hammer — a family-friendly rapper with mass-market dance moves and baggy pants — and he’s certain that, sooner or later, people are going to get tired of all the songs about gangbanging, and what they’ll want instead is … him and his G-rated rhymes and his dance moves and clown pants. Because that was popular before gangsta.
I’m not sure how far to take this analogy — I think running campaign ads that get censored by tv and radio would be a good idea, I think that getting a Reagan tat is maybe taking it all too far (but only maybe).
Huntsman’s not going to try at all and I think that Romney’s attempts will end like this:
As the band digs into the dance funk groove of “My Secret Touch,” the singer tomcats his way across the stage. Macho and menacing in tight black jeans, white muscle T-shirt and black leather jacket, he drops his rich tenor to a low-down growl for the song’s climactic refrain—which brings screams of pleasure from the overwhelmingly female audience in Columbus, Ohio. “Tell no…body…’ bout our secret” he urges. “Tell no…body…’bout our love.”
No, this is not George Michael doing his Barry White impression. This libidinous creature with the secret touch is the hot new model Donny Osmond.