For no explicable reason, The Daily Beast continues to pay Matt Lewis to write stuff. And today Mr. Lewis took it upon himself to speak for all Never Trumpers when he asks why-oh-why his former party refuses to fuck him even thought he's right there, on the street corner, face down, ass up, eager and willing and wagging his hind parts in a colorful display of mating readiness rarely seen outside of some of the more explicit nature shows.
Why Isn’t Anyone Trying to Seduce the Never Trumpers?You would think 2020 would spur Republicans to find a way to win back tens of thousands of conservative-leaning swing-state voters. You’d be wrong.
Since it's obvious that no one in Matt's life ever cared enough to sit the lad down and have the political "talk" with him, I feel a sense of civic obligation to do so.
Matt, your for as long as you have been alive, your political party has had a big, throbbing fascist streak. And while it may seem quaint to you youngsters these day, there was a time long ago when these Republicans felt pressured not to wave their fascism around in public. Not to deny it, of course, since a deep contempt for democracy is their defining characteristic, but to at least keep it covered up while in public out of a sense of propriety and electoral necessity.
And even though you Never Trumpers may have been seated every Sunday morning, starched and proper, in the front pew of the Church of Reagan, loudly singing hymns about deficits and small gummint, all of us dirty hippies could see you sneaking out every Saturday night, heading down to the Limbaugh Roadhouse to dance dirty with the bad boys and their throbbing fascism.
We knew that every time you left the Weekly Standard Purity Ball you scampered out to the woods with the brownshirts for a wild drunk and some Dirty-Gingrich-everything-but-intercourse fun, after which you could tell yourself you were still technically virginal enough to screech about decency and virtue and whatever fake scandal y'all had cooked up about the Evil Left with no pangs of conscience. And if you happened to notice at your next Purity Ball that everyone there was walking like John Wayne after a cattle drive because everyone there had been out in the woods with you getting ass-railed by Glenn Beck or Bill O'Reilly, well, as long as all of you kept up the pretense and none of you mentioned it...it was as if none of it ever happened and you could go right on feeling righteous and godly.
And so it went, year after year, decade after decade, until at last the fascist majority in your party got tired of meeting you in the woods. Got tired of you telling them not to wave their throbbing authoritarianism around in public when it was so clear that you loved it in private. And most importantly, they finally grew tired of your ridiculous pretenses of virtue. They knew you for who you really were in the dark, and at last, with Trump, they demanded full, public, fascist penetration.
Which is when you shrieked "What sort of person do you think I am!", hiked up your pantaloons, and marched off to your op-ed columns and book deals and cable news jobs to denounced your secret, midnight lovers as monsters about whom you never had the slightest inkling of the depths of their depravity.
Never had a hint.
Never had a clue.
A lie which you Never Trumpers have been passionately exhorting from your op-ed columns and the pages of your books and your cable news gig while your Fox News butt-plug is still clearly visible dangling from your ass.