Republican Party Reptile.

Essays and Outrages by.

P. J. O'Rourke.

To Warren G. Harding.

The original get-down Republican.

"I am not fit for this office and never should have been here."

Acknowledgments.

"A Brief History of Man," "Myths Made Modern," "A Long, Thoughtful Look Back at the Last Fifteen Minutes," "Just One of Those Days," "How to Drive Fast on Drugs While Getting Your Wing-w.a.n.g Squeezed and Not Spill Your Drink," "The King of Sandusky, Ohio," and parts of the introductory essay originally appeared in the National Lampoon. "Tune In, Turn On, Go to the Office Late on Monday," "Goons, Guns, and Gold," "In Search of the Cocaine Pirates," and "With Hostage and Hijacker in Sunny Beirut" appeared in Rolling Stone. "Hollywood Etiquette," "Dinner-Table Conversation," and "Moving to New Hampshire" appeared in House and Garden. "Ferrari Refutes the Decline of the West," "High-Speed Performance Characteristics of Pickup Trucks," and "A Cool and Logical a.n.a.lysis of the Bicycle Menace" appeared in Car and Driver. "An Intellectual Experiment" and "Safety n.a.z.is" appeared in Inquiry. "Ship of Fools" appeared in Harper's. And "Horrible Protestant Hats" appeared on the op-ed page of the Wall Street Journal. The author would like to thank these publications for permission to reprint this material. The author would also like to thank editors, past and present, for their a.s.sistance and suggestions. In particular, he owes a debt of grat.i.tude to Susan Devins at National Lampoon, Carolyn White and Bob Wallace at Rolling Stone, Sh.e.l.ley w.a.n.ger at House and Garden, David E. Davis, Jr., and Don Coulter at Car and Driver, and Michael Kinsley and Bob Asahina at Harper's.

Contents

Introduction: Apologia Pro Vita Republican Party Reptile Sua THINGS OF THE INTELLECT.

A Brief History of Man An Intellectual Experiment Myths Made Modern Tune In, Turn On, Go to the Office Late on Monday A Long, Thoughtful Look Back at the Last Fifteen Minutes WORLD POLITICS.

Safety n.a.z.is Ship of Fools Goons, Guns, and Gold Just One of Those Days MAN AND TRANSPORTATION.

Ferrari Refutes the Decline of the West High-Speed Performance Characteristics of Pickup Trucks A Cool and Logical a.n.a.lysis of the Bicycle Menace How to Drive Fast on Drugs While Getting Your Wing-w.a.n.g Squeezed and Not Spill Your Drink MANNERS AND MORES.

Hollywood Etiquette Dinner-Table Conversation.

An Alphabet for Schoolboys Horrible Protestant Hats THE ENDS OF THE EARTH.

In Search of the Cocaine Pirates With Hostage and Hijacker in Sunny Beirut Moving to New Hampshire.

THE KING OF SANDUSKY, OHIO.

A boy is. .h.i.tchhiking on a country road. A car stops for him,

and the driver asks, "Are you a Republican or a

Democrat?"

"Democrat," says the boy, and the car speeds off.

Another car stops, and the driver asks, "Are you a

Republican or a Democrat?"

"Democrat," says the boy, and the car speeds off.

This happens two or three times, and the boy decides he's giving the wrong answer. The next car that stops is a convertible driven by a beautiful blonde. "Are you a Republican or a Democrat?" she asks.

"Republican," says the boy, and she lets him in.

But as they're driving along, the wind from the open top begins to push the blonde's skirt higher and higher up her legs. And the boy finds himself becoming aroused. Finally he can't control himself any longer. "Stop!" he hollers. "Let me out! I've only been a Republican for ten minutes and already I feel like s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g somebody!"

-popular joke from the 1930s.

Introduction:.

Apologia Pro Vita.

Republican Party.

Reptile Sua.

The twenty-one pieces collected in this book were all written from a conservative Republican point of view. There's nothing unusual about that except that these pieces are-at least are intended to be-funny. "Funny Republican" is an oxymoron in the public mind. Sense of humor and conservatism are not supposed to go together. There are some well-known exceptions-William F. Buckley, Jr., R. Emmett Tyrrell, Jr., and Pat Robertson (though there's always the possibility that Robertson isn't kidding). But Americans usually think of their humorists as liberals, like Art Buchwald and Garry Trudeau, if not radicals, like Lenny Bruce. People who read my essay "How to Drive Fast on Drugs While Getting Your Wing-w.a.n.g Squeezed and Not Spill Your Drink" ask, "How can you be a Republican?"

Well, in the first place, I was born one. My grandfather Jake O'Rourke was-as you can guess from his name-born Catholic and Democrat. But about the time of WWI his first wife died and he remarried. The second wife proved to be insane, leaving my Uncle Joe, just a year old at the time, out on the porch until his diapers froze, and committing other gaffes. My grandfather went to the bishop to get an annulment. The bishop refused. And Grandpa, according to the family story, joined the Lutheran Church, the Republican Party, and the Freemasons all in one day.

The other side of my family was more rock-ribbed yet. My mother's mother, Grandma Loy, came from downstate Illinois. Her father was county sheriff, Republican committee chairman, and a friend of President McKinley's. Grandma thought the Democrats were, like drought and wheat rust, an inexplicable evil of nature that America had done nothing to warrant. She was given to statements such as, "No one's ever so poor they can't pick up their yard." And she wouldn't even speak the word "Democrat" if there were children in the room. She'd say "b.a.s.t.a.r.ds" instead.

When I was nineteen I embarked on the obligatory collegiate flirtation with Marxism and announced it loudly to everyone. Once, when I was home at Christmas, my grandmother took me aside. "Pat," she said, "I've been worrying about you. You're not turning into a Democrat, are you?"

"Grandma!" I said. "Democrats and Republicans are both fascist pigs! LBJ is slaughtering helpless Vietcong and causing riots in America's inner cities and oppressing workers and ripping off the ma.s.ses! I'm not a Democrat! I'm a Maoist!"

"Just so long as you're not a Democrat," said my grandmother.

But I couldn't stay a Maoist forever. I got too fat to wear bell-bottoms. And I realized that communism meant giving my golf clubs to a family in Zaire. Also, I couldn't bear the dreadful, glum earnestness of the left.

People who worry themselves sick over s.e.xism in language and think the government sneaks into their houses at night and puts atomic waste in the kitchen dispose-all cannot be expected to have a sense of humor. And they don't. Radicals and liberals and such want all jokes to have a "meaning," to "make a point." But laughter is involuntary and points are not. A conservative may tell you that you shouldn't make fun of something. "You shouldn't make fun of cripples," he may say. And he may be right. But a liberal will tell you, "You can't make fun of cripples." And he's wrong-as anybody who's heard the one about Helen Keller falling into a well and breaking three fingers calling for help can tell you.

Neither conservatives nor humorists believe man is good. But left-wingers do. They think man's misbehavior is caused by a deprived environment, educational shortcomings, and improper bonding within the family unit. They believe there are people so poor they can't pick up their yard. Down that line of thinking lie all sorts of nastiness. Just ask the Cubans.

So I'm a conservative; what else could I be? However, I'm not completely happy about it. Let's face it, conservatives can be b.u.t.theads, too. There are the reborn Jesus creeps, for instance. We should do to these what the conservative Romans did, with lions. But even regular country club-type Republicans can be stuffy about some things-dope smuggling, for example, and mixing Quaaludes in your scotch, and putting your stereo speakers on the roof of your house and turning the volume all the way up and playing Parliament of Funk at 3:00 A.M.

So, what I'd really like is a new label. And I'm sure there are a lot of people who feel the same way. We are the Republican Party Reptiles. We look like Republicans, and think like conservatives, but we drive a lot faster and keep vibrators and baby oil and a video camera behind the stack of sweaters on the bedroom closet shelf. I think our agenda is clear. We are opposed to: government spending, Kennedy kids, seat-belt laws, being a p.u.s.s.y about nuclear power, busing our children anywhere other than Yale, trailer courts near our vacation homes, Gary Hart, all tiny Third World countries that don't have banking secrecy laws, aerobics, the U.N., taxation without tax loopholes, and jewelry on men. We are in favor of: guns, drugs, fast cars, free love (if our wives don't find out), a sound dollar, cleaner environment (poor people should cut it out with the graffiti), a strong military with spiffy uniforms, Nasta.s.sia Kinski, Star Wars (and anything else that scares the Russkis), and a firm stand on the Middle East (raze buildings, burn crops, plow the earth with salt, and sell the population into bondage).

There are thousands of people in America who feel this way, especially after three or four drinks. If all of us would unite and work together, we could give this country . . . well, a real bad hangover.

P. J. O'Rourke.

Jaffrey, New Hampshire.

1986.

Things of the Intellect.

A Brief History of Man.

Man developed in Africa. He has not continued to do so there. Previously, all the dinosaurs had died. Paleolithic, Neolithic, and other oddly named men spread. They used fire, but, being very primitive, they used it for everything-food, clothing, and bodily decoration. Caves were painted, also fixed up and furnished in a simple but attractive style. They were ideal for young couples who were just starting a human race.

There was a fertile crescent and a cradle of civilization and several other things that the Sumerians combined to invent writing, though they did not write novels or short stories. They wrote only clay tablets. The Egyptians built very large items out of whatever came readily to hand. Jewishness cropped up and has never been successfully put down. At the same time (or slightly later, counting Phoenicians) there were the ancient Greeks. These were followed by the less ancient Greeks, who were, in turn, followed by Greeks even less ancient than that. The various periods of Greeks can be told apart by how silly the things at the top of their columns are. The less silly, the more ancient. The Greeks invented amateur theatricals and the incredibly long poem that does not rhyme. It was a relief to all when their Golden Age was over. Greek philosophy, however, has survived the ages and gives us such modern concepts as atoms and platonic love affairs where no one gets laid. The most famous Greek, Alexander the Great, was not really a Greek at all. In modern parlance we would call him Yugoslavian. He conquered what pa.s.sed for the world at the time but was made to give it back. Meanwhile, in China, there were the Chinese. Rome rose and fell. Barbarian hordes descended from wherever it is that barbarian hordes descend from. They burned the library at Alexandria, destroying most of the great literary works of antiquity and bringing a gleam to the eye of anyone who's ever been forced to study the cla.s.sics. The barbarians, who had time on their hands, invented feudalism, but it proved too complicated to survive anywhere but in the lexicon of liberal social critics when they discuss South America. Christianity, bubonic plague, and use of the moldboard plowshare spread. France had so many kings named Louis that they had to be numbered. The Dominican Republic was discovered by Columbus. The earth was proved to be out there somewhere and round instead of right here and flat. There was an extensive series of religious debates that killed everyone with an IQ over 50. Prague was defenestrated. Poland was part.i.tioned-the Russians still have the part they got. Napoleon menaced Europe. Then he didn't. Industrialization came to England but has since left. There were some more wars, usually with the Germans but not lately because we're friends again. America had a revolution, a great rebellion, a depression, the New Deal, and then some trouble with its young people during the late sixties. Which brings us up to the present: Sunday, February 1, at 10:45, no 10:46, in the morning. Excuse us, but we've got to go out and get a Times and fix breakfast for our dates.

An Intellectual Experiment.

Recently I performed an intellectual experiment. I read one issue of the New York Review of Books (Vol. x.x.xI, No. 7, April 26, 1984), then watched one evening of prime-time network television (Monday, April 23, 1984, 7:30-10:00 P.M.). The comparison would, I hoped, give some clue to an ancient puzzle: Which is worse, smart or stupid?

The experiment seemed fair. The New York Review of Books is undeniably intelligent, and television is famously thick-headed. I'm impartial. I'm bright about some things. I don't watch television or read the New York Review. About other things, I'm rather dim.

RAW DATA.

I began reading the New York Review at 3:00 in the afternoon. The lead article was by Harold Bloom, Sterling Professor of the Humanities at Yale. It was a review of Walt Whitman: The Making of the Poet by Paul Zweig, though that book was hardly mentioned. Mr. Bloom took some five thousand words to say Walt Whitman is a very, very important poet who m.a.s.t.u.r.b.a.t.ed a lot.

The piece had many phrases like ". . . the true difficulties of reading Whitman begin (or ought to begin) with his unnervingly original psychic cartography," and contained such Whitman quotes as: O great star disappear'd-.

O the black murk that hides the star!

O cruel hands that hold me powerless-.

O helpless soul of me!

Mr. Bloom said, "Only an elite can read Whitman." This may be why I always thought the poet was a self-obsessed ratchet-jaw with an ear like a tin cookie sheet. "How," asked Bloom, "did someone of Whitman's extraordinarily idiosyncratic nature become so absolutely central to nearly all subsequent American literary high culture?" Beats me.

There were eleven other articles in this issue of the New York Review and one poem. Some of the articles deserve brief summaries: Neal Ascherson reviewed A Warsaw Diary, 1978-1981 by Kazimierz Brandys and The First Polka by Horst Bienek. Mr. Brandys was a communist but got over it. After twenty years in the Polish Communist Party he decided that communism, at least when it has Russians in it, is not a good idea. Nonetheless the Solidarity movement caught him by surprise. Now he lives in New York and writes books about being confused.