Sep 15, 2015, 06:53AM

Swanky the Deuce

Again with the giant cufflink candidate.

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For all his success in the polls, that ruby-eyed skull cufflink big as your head can’t catch a break from the pundits and pros. They savaged Swanky for his lack of specifics—the gold standard of American political discourse.

Our streets are littered with specificities of the sort to which this country has become accustomed. “I am not a crook.” “Read my lips.”  “If you like your plan, you can keep your plan.” “What difference does it make?” Messages like these keep the well-oiled wheels of government and a free press churning a generally distasteful but situationally useful revenue stream.

Yeah, Swanky knew he blew it with the chattering class. He admitted as much to this reporter in a recent, disarmingly candid telephone conversation.

JM: History teaches that George Will Class hearts and Mike Barnicle Class minds are won by nothing less than specific, laser-like nitty-gritty. Do you feel that your lack of policy specifics let down America’s arbiters of political reality?

SWANKY: Very much so. I realize that in some eyes I have presented myself in a less-than-adorable, delicious and comfortable manner. But I learn from my mistakes. That’s why I fired my campaign chefs and drilled down on brilliant policy finger food prepared with fresh local specifics.

JM:  Sounds like somebody’s been working on his appetizer menu!

SWANKY: Yeah, back at Trattoria di Swanky the critics weren’t loving our Tomalley-Slathered Tournedo-Stuffed Kobe Beef Cocktail. Too strip club. Too Billion Dollar Jackpot SkeeBall. Not enough Gaia mined by five year olds they complained. Not enough Free Range MSG. All right I said, Himself can take a hint. Swanky’s Seven Very Special Specific Specials coming right up!

1. Carly Fiorina has a great personality. I mean, we’re talking one diverting apéritif of a woman. Did you know when Carly was Hewlett-Packard CEO she came up to me at some dinner in Dallas with one of those folded paper things girls operate with their fingers and predict who you’re going to marry? So she asks me a series of questions, like pick a number and then a color… and she manipulates the paper thing and then lifts up a little flap and it says I’m going to marry six more bombshell bouncing Czechs. Fun-NEE Lay-DEE!

2. Jeb! wears Garanimals. To die for or what? Talk about amuse bouche! Not exactly nosh, not so full-blown antipasto, but rather a grown man dressed in children’s theme pajamas, drizzled with Juicy Juice and garnished with Goldfish cracker dust. What did Mary Matalin call him, the “Energizer Bunny?” Where are we, Mister McGregor’s garden? I almost feel bad for the guy. She coulda called him “Bugsy,” or “Thumper”, but no—he’s an itsy-bitsy bunnikins playing rump-a-bum-bum on his little tin drum. Sorry Jeb!, time for Bed!

3. Mario Rubio needs aging at Chuck-E-Cheese. Hold the carpaccio! Can I say it? Mario is one sensational starter. Bright fella, but seriously baby-faced and always a little short, right? We can help him out. Suppose we spot Mariolito a few large and see if seven consecutive mozzarella-based birthdays can grow some hair in his ears. Oh yeah. Just a little seasoning and he could make somebody a great Secretary of Action Figures.

4. Scott Walker does not sell Amway. Better save room for this pot-sticker! No kidding, Scotty actually IS an Amway Home Product. I hear he’s great for cleaning rustic coffee table tops laminated with color pictures of timber wolves. I’m told that after a humdinger house party those coffee table wolves get all smudged and their eyes go really cloudy, but a little Scott Walker on a damp sponge brings back that like-new sparkle.

5. Mitt Romney ties brisket to his bonnet. Yeah, him with Rover on the roof of his Caprice wagon. I hear Harvard Boy with Brigham Young Sauce on top wants give it one more college try. Not so fast Mittens. Word on the interstate is, you haven’t learned your lesson.  They say you still strap weird stuff to your family car. Briskets, tiskets, taskets, green and yellow baskets, it’s a sickness. Can you get some help? Please, you’re making us all very nervous.

6. Ted Cruz looks too much like Droopy. I hate to lay a crudité of such specificity on this sweetheart of a man, but there it is. If they were Bette Davis eyes, the look might have Betty Grable legs.  VaVaVoom! Never mind. All we can see is that droopy-eyed doggie in the window of a vintage comic book store. We know, we know—Princeton, Harvard Law, World Champion Debater, but who are we gonna believe, you or your lazy eyes?

7. Roman Hands, Russian Fingers, Joe Biden is creepier than a leisure-suited centipede. Not so appetizing maybe, but I gotta tell ya, Fibber McBiden’s got Moxie, I’ll give him that. And not for nothing, I got a funny feeling it’s gonna be Swanky and Jo-Jo, Moxie y Moxie by this time next year.”

Swanky cut short our conversation to answer the latest slings and arrows launched by thousands of nobodies nobody likes and Swanky swears aren’t on his payroll, in addition to vaguely familiar Bad Boy Bobby Jindal who risked his very political future to make fun of Swanky’s hairdo.

Can the ruby-eyed skull cufflink big as your head bear another day of such relentless punishment? Could this lead to a growing perception of Swanky as too rude, tasteless, mean and gluten-rich to be seen in the company of an understated Swedish automobile with Thule bike racks and a Nantucket ferry sticker?

America’s ruby-eyed skull cufflink is at a crossroads. If Swanky gets prematurely bigger than our noggins, he could well be headed for a nice trip this fall. Pretty please, your ‘umble reporter hopes most certainly not.

“Too soon!” we declare, “Too darn soon!”


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