Failure To Communicate: Garrison Keillor's Huffy Trump Criticism Preaching To Converted
The precious former NPR bore Garrison Keillor has taken pen (no doubt a quill) to paper in the Washington Post to warn followers of Donald Trump of impending disappointment. (http://goo.gl/a9yN0J) They’re not going to get what they think they’ll get from him.
Like many progressives, Keillor thinks that virtue comes via demolishing Trump personally. The more condescending the prose, the greater the glow for his personal halo. By that standard, his WaPo rant— he says Trump is running to win affection from NYC elites— must be worth a thousand years of liberal indulgences.
This is Keillor, the well-satisfied Lutheran preacher, keeping his parishioners from a square meal with hot takes on the Donald’s sins.
His attack sounds like some aged deb from The Heathers, carving the uncool in the name of keeping the club pure from the unwashed and uncultured. “Your eyes look dead and your scowl does not suggest American greatness so much as American indigestion. Your hair is the wrong color: People don't want a president to be that shade of blond. You know that now. Why doesn't someone in your entourage dare to say these things? So sad.”
Indeed. So sad for Garrison and the chic creatures of the wankerati to live in the same Republic with this riff-raff, (He should also check his own countenance-- shown above-- before he rips someone else’s appearance.) But someone from the faculty lounge had to speak up. One can just see the calming effect of the cretaceous Keillor and his rumbly baritone on his prune-faced radio listeners in between the sweet-chili recipes and bad folk music.
“Remember when liberals were the ones who got the jokes? Keillor’s column and the entire progressive circle jerk could serve as parody if it weren’t so good as straight comedy. But liberals like Scheft, steeling themselves against Dread Donald by trading Jon Stewart epistles and John Oliver jeremiads, don’t recognize that they are now the joke.”
Keillor’s bold insight is that, whatever Trump promises, he’ll leave his fans at the electoral altar. “Profanity is your natural language and vulgar words so as not to offend the Christers but the fans can still hear it and that's something they love about you. You are their guy. You are losing and so are they but they love you for it.”
Naturally the catty critiques of Mr. Keillor are drawing huzzahs from liberal worthies in the media. Bill Scheft, part of David Letterman’s retinue back in the day, proclaimed on Twitter that “this is as well wrought a column as I have ever read on anything. I mean get-out-of-the-business good.” (One can only hope Keillor seizes this advice and gets out of the business.) The cognoscenti love his more-in-sorrow-than-in-anger lecture for the poor rubes too dense to listen to PBS or read his books.
Remember when liberals were the ones who got the jokes? Keillor’s column and the entire progressive circle jerk could serve as parody if it weren’t so good as straight comedy. But liberals like Scheft, steeling themselves against Dread Donald by trading Jon Stewart epistles and John Oliver jeremiads, don’t recognize that they are now the joke.
I have little doubt that a Trump presidency could resemble The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald. Unless he has been hiding some indefinable genius beneath the blond hair that so offends Keillor. America can likely look forward to four bumptious years if he stages the upset. There are ample reasons for concern.
But not the dystopian world Keillor predicts where Trumpkins won’t get what they think they’re getting.
Au contraire. Whatever perils Trump may bring, his triumph would in fact leave his fans with a plethora of gifts. First among them is the vanquishing of those aging Arkansas grifters, Bill and Hillary Clinton. Seeing their shabby act shuffled off the Washington stage in perpetuity would be 1000 Christmases wrapped in one for tens of millions of Americans. No more legal parsing, no more sheer coincidence, no more classified misunderstandings, no more DC mandarins allowing them to work schemes worthy of Bernie Madoff.
Wait, there will be more Clinton benefits. Trump trashing Hillary will also mean the demise of the Chelsea as Crown Princess to the presidency. The Clinton coat of arms will end in an empty throne. (No doubt NBC will still throw another $600 K sinecure her way to bore the MSNBC overnight demographic.)
But the Trump bounty does not end there. A win by the real-estate rascal will also shut the pie hole of dreary scolds like Keillor, who will have nowhere (alright WaPo will still publish him) to spread his vegemite of progressive gloom upon the public for four years. Their assumptions of liberal and governmental authority will disappear like Hillary’s emails.
Speaking of media, there will be gifts aplenty for Trump followers— even if they don’t get their Mexican wall. Media liberal plants such as Chris Matthews and Andrea Mitchell may just expire in shock as the electoral-college vote rolls in on Nov. 8. The rest will be condemned to walk the world like Marley, keeping alive the collapsed narrative of the Obama regency in the dark days ahead.
Think of George Stephanopoulos propping up Barry and Michelle with double-enders from their Hollywood hideout. “But Obamacare… it was good, wasn’t it, George?” Obama will plead to the diminutive Greek anchor. “And the Iran deal. I showed my genius at re-ordering the Middle East, no?”
Wait, there’s more. Those Hollywood hacks who’ve been churning out liberal propaganda to empty cinemas for years will have to … how can I put this?… entertain people again. No more Cher ad hominems, no more Ed Begley orations on environment, no more holier-than-thou from Ellen Page about sexual-identity politics. The vox populi will chant as one: We don’t care,
Watching the collective grand mal on every front from the preening intelligentsia will be worth a few years of Trump summoning up the boogeymen of liberal fantasies. The Prairie Home Choleric will be the last to get it, of course. The joke’s on him and his corrosive pals. Trump has so much more to deliver— namely, their heads.
Bruce Dowbiggin @dowbboy
Bruce's career is unmatched in Canada for its diversity and breadth of experience with successful stints in television, radio and print. A two-time winner of the Gemini Award as Canada's top television sports broadcaster, he is also the best-selling author of seven books. He was a featured columnist for the Calgary Herald (1998-2009) and the Globe & Mail (2009-2013).