I’m proud to say that I started reading Iowahawk years ago, back when he was just some funny guy on the Internet. I am freakin’ dying here, having just read his latest at Big Hollywood.
I once heard Christopher Buckley interviewed on G. Gordon Liddy’s radio program, the occasion being Buckley’s winning the James Thurber award for an American humorous novel. Buckley told a very droll story about his days in the Merchant Marine (note to self: did he ever share a bunk with William Ayers?), when he had the words “F*** You” tattooed on the edge of his right hand, so that it would come into the view of his martinet third officer (who demanded that the crew line up and salute him). This was back when Christopher Buckley had a pair, before his bride-to-be (as he related) required him to have the tattoo removed. I’m sure any resemblance of C. Buckley to T. Coddington Van Voorhees VII is simply wildly improbable coincidence.
I would call this latest piece by Iowahawk perhaps the best-written, cleverest “F*** You” salute that I have ever seen administered, and I am hereby delivering a James Thurber salute to you, Dave, and popping the top on a 16 oz. can of PBR in your direction, even though the sun has yet to rise o’er the yardarm here on the east coast. Bravo.
This was, as you know, the theme of the National Topsiderâ€™s exclusive January conference at the private Breakers Club in Nassau where I hosted a veritable murdererâ€™s row of top tory thinkers to diagnose the troubles with conservatism. Dame Peggy Noonan was there, of course, along with Kathleen Parker, Douglas Kmiec, and those two mighty Davids of conservative intellect, Brooks and Frum. But enough of the namedropping. The order of the day, after mixed badminton doubles, was to formulate an Rx for our ailing patient. In this regard we were in surprising accord: in order to survive, conservativism simply must start appealing to a better class of people.