Bobo Meme

The Green Knight tagged me with the Bobo Meme, wherein the writer seeks to spoof the preeminent purveyor of garbage sociology, David Brooks. GK notes:

McSweeny's did it a while back, with a faux-Brooksian column explaining the deep, Red/Blue state divide between Lucky Charms eaters and Cheerios eaters; John at Blogenlust introduced the idea into the blogosphere with a brilliant meditation on "The Simple Life," and Mike's Well Hidden Genius, following a comment made by yours truly, decided to make it into a meme with a sociological analysis of the Coke/Pepsi wars.

Being someone trained in sociology, I have a particular disdain for Brooks’ bullshit, and I think it probably shows in my meme submission, ahem. So without further ado, I present Brooks: 2017 Edition, a look into the dreaded columnist’s future...

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Much like the empty cookie jar of ideas belonging to the liberal elite of this great nation of ours, I discover myself suddenly devoid of related pairs of superficial items and/or concepts easily juxtaposed to reiterate my desperately hackneyed thesis about the differences between red and blue state America. Search as I might, every last smidgeon of consumerist paraphernalia has been exploited in one of my columns, the entirety of Americana wrung dry of every last drop of life in furtherance of a one-note joke that has earned me the undeserved applause (or well-earned mockery, if one is a sushi-eating liberal) of a generation.

So it is that I turn to myself, gazing upon my ever-fattening physique in the full-length mirror that hangs on the interior side of my office door, that flimsy but dependable divider that keeps me in, or keeps Maureen Dowd out, depending on the color of one’s perspective. My eyes drift downward, and I notice that my testicles seem to represent the seemingly insurmountable divide in America’s political landscape.

My left testicle, who I shall call Kennedy, fights for my attention with a shallow bravado that masks a lack of real substance. To be sure, Kennedy is the more functional of my two balls, and it responds to stimulation more readily and eagerly than its conservative counterpart. But it also more shriveled, indicative of a fading glory—Kennedy is clearly past its prime, and in spite of its various attempts to appeal to the female demographic, its lackluster success at producing quantifiable results is as unfortunate a decline as we have seen in the American left.

My right testicle, who I shall call Rove, on the other hand, is larger, hairier, rounder—seeming, even, to be improving with age. Though it is rather ugly, tends to be quite itchy, and hasn’t actually had any feeling in it for decades, nor, I believe, any semen-producing capability, Rove is clearly the superior gonad. Like the American right, it is bold and vibrant in spite of the many obstacles in its way—the hideous appearance, the irritation, the complete and utter dysfunctionality. Rove is unstoppable. It cares not for female wiles—indeed, I have noticed it responds with equal enthusiasm to anti-gay rhetoric and gay pornography—but its magnificence lies mainly in its classic and traditional ballness. Rove is an everyball, and its appeal to the masses is something that Kennedy will never quite understand as it crawls inside my body at the mere thought of a Wal-Mart.

Liberals can learn an important lesson about the American people from my left nut—strength and appeal are not to be found in good production, quick response, or a good work ethic, but instead in the determination to succeed despite all odds and the appearance of goodness. While the liberal elite sip their lattes and drive their Volvos to their fancy tech jobs, their political sway with the public will continue to wrinkle and shrink like Kennedy after I remove myself from the Finnish cold bath at the Cheney Men’s Spa. The red states voters, on the other hand, will increase their relevance, swelling with importance and influence, much like Rove, crimson and ripe after a special session with the Gonzales brand electrodes I share with Safire.