“Mitt in Talks for 3rd Party Bid” ran the Boston Herald’s headline this Sunday. “Jesus Christ,” I thought to myself, “what’s Bill Kristol up to now?”
That’s what I like about Bill: He’s predictable. The problem, I guess, is that he’s predictably batshit crazy. If you see a headline that says “Top Conservative Calls for War with Russia,” you can be sure it’s Bill. “Republican Journalist Defends NSA”? That’s Bill, too. “Fall of Saddam Caused ‘Very Healthy’ Chain Reaction”? Yep, Bill.
Sure enough, Mitt’s in talks with none other than Bill—and literally no one other than Bill. It was just Romney and Kristol, having a chat at a Washington Marriott “over a couple of glasses of water.” This is what it’s come to for Billy Boy, I guess. He doesn’t even get the dignity of a smoke-filled back room—just a tap-water-soaked hotel tryst.
Bill Kristol’s kind of like Matthew McConaughey. Everyone seems to hate his work, and yet he keeps getting more of it. For years, he was the butt of every cheap joke in the industry, but now you can’t help but feel bad for him, knowing his professional career has amounted to virtually nothing. And the worst part is that he doesn’t even realize it. He struts on stage with that toothy, arrogant grin like he’s a singular act of God and it’s our privilege to be alive at just this moment in history to witness him practice his craft.
The worst part is that The Weekly Standard, on the whole, isn’t a bad magazine. Steven Hayes is a decent commentator, albeit in the way David Brooks is a serious conservative thinker: He uses a lot of words to say nothing in particular, so he’s never really wrong. Kristol, to his credit, has been more forthright in his opinions; but he’s never been right about any subject he’s weighted in on. He said the Iraq War would last two months. He said it would cow Syria and bring the Palestinians to the negotiating table with Israel. And it goes on and on.
