For Mitt, Huckabee is the New Teddy K


Colin Kingsbury, an Eastie-based William Buckley fiend, businessman, and friend, has launched a new blog, TheSnob. Kingers doesn’t make a living by the pen, which is too bad, because he should; he’s one of the sharpest and funniest scribes in town.

Conservatives will find much to agree with here, and liberals, even if they disagree with him, should at least be able to enjoy some fine, lacerating, Hitchensian prose. The blog, if updated regularly enough, could really gain a following. To give you an idea why, here’s Kingsbury’s analysis of Romney‘s beating last night.

It reminded me too much of his folding like an accordion in his 1994 debate with Ted Kennedy, which I remember as vividly as Red Sox fans over a certain age remember Bill Buckner’s moment of doubt and pain. It was a race he stood a chance of winning right up until the moderator lobbed up a meatball about raising taxes for to pay for anaesthesia for children dying of early-onset Alzheimer’s or some similarly transparent paean to Cantabrigian pieties, whereupon Uncle Ted yawned and crawled out of his den and did things to Mitt Romney that would have been deemed over the line at George Michael’s birthday party. It’s not that he lost–forcibly removing a Kennedy from office in Massachusetts would have earned Romney a deserved spot in the pantheon of great political conquerors–it’s the way he choked and fell to pieces.

And here he is on Iowa:

I won’t mince words: I hate Iowa. For years I listened to family members from out yonder tell me that there was in fact interesting life between Las Vegas and that part of the country West of the Hudson River. Then one day I went to work as a traveling IT consultant and had the luck of getting saddled with a client located in Cedar Rapids. After a lifetime of scoffing at people who tried to tell me that the Midwest wasn’t the dullest, blandest place you could possibly imagine, going to Iowa was like visiting Paris and seeing every woman walking a poodle and every guy pedaling a bicycle in a beret and striped shirt. But I digress.