We weren't going to say anything, but then Jon Stewart did, so there you go. Crown Royal? How gay is that? To get the blue collar, brisket-and-potato eating, Pabst Blue Ribbon drinking, remote control wielding, butter-sweating, My-daughter-isn't-marrying-a-black-man stating, The-surge-is-working-believing voter? Crown Royal isn't even good whiskey. It's faux good whiskey. It's a fucking Kennedy off-brand whiskey. It's what "Big Teddy" would grudgingly accept after the barkeep told him they were out of "Chivas."
-- Which calls to mind our favorite Sargent Shriver story. Told by Sam Stossel here in The Atlantic, April 9, 2004:
"A campaign-trail legend from 1972 places Sargent Shriver, the dashing Democratic candidate for the vice presidency and the former director of the Peace Corps and the War on Poverty, in Youngstown, Ohio, chatting up voters in a working-class tavern. Shriver is his usual genial self, and seems to be connecting with the assembled steelworkers, who will form part of a vital voting bloc in the general election. As the merrymakers call for another round, people shout out the names of their favorite beers. Not to be outdone, Shriver eagerly joins the chorus: 'Make mine a Courvoisier!' For Congressman Tip O'Neill, who had been traveling with Shriver, this faux pas was the last straw. 'That's it,' said O'Neill, stepping away from the bar. 'I'm getting back on the plane and going back to Boston. There's no hope here.' (Indeed, there wasn't. Richard Nixon was reelected in a landslide that November.)"
Are we going to trust someone with such a gay choice of whiskey to hold the nuclear footabll? The people of Pennsylvania should make the right choice and send that gay-whisky-drinking, socialized-health-care advocating, Yale lawyer back to her brie-and-cracker loving social swim. Pronto.
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