Moms and Dads

Back in the primary season, and especially when the manly manliness of Fred Thompson was going to save us all from the likes of girly-man Rudy Giuliani, the Render unto Caesar Jeebus lover Mike Huckabee, and the immigrant loving Johnny McCain, there was a favorite theory amongst wingnuts that the Democrat party is the "Mommy" (or "Nanny") party and the Republican party is the "Daddy" party. (I invoke my Goldbergian privilege of not linking to anything because I am too busy to look it up).

You see the Democrats are the Mommy party because they want you to wear your bike helmet and think that things should have warning labels and that you should be able to sue companies. They care about things like health care and education and helping the little guy. They are concerned about things like sexism, racism, and (oh sweet jesus!) the gays. They think we can fix our energy problems through passive means like conservation and solar energy. Worst of all, they think you solve problems by talking about them. The Democrats are going to lick their hand, knock down your cowlick, and give you kiss on the cheek when they drop you off for school--right in front of the guys.

Daddies understand above all else that this is a dangerous dangerous world and Muslim terrorists must be killed before they kill us. Daddies will protect you when necessary. They will patrol the border of the lawn, keeping out unwanted strangers. They know that you must learn and grow on your own; sure you'll make mistakes, but you'll learn from them. Tough times will make you strong. Energy policy works best when it is also a half-veiled euphemism for sex. That's just nature right there. Common sense is more important than book learning. Dad may not give you a lot of hugs, but maybe if you win the big game, he'll loan you the down payment on a beat up Mustang and you can drive yourself to school, like a man.

That's the theory. If I can take the analogy a step further...

The Daddy party is calling us in the middle of the night. Drunk. He bet all the house money on a pony named Free Market and he needs us to come give his bookie large sums of cash or the whole family is fucked. Fortunately, he is pro-actively telling us we can go fuck ourselves if we think that this means that he has to stop betting the ponies. In fact, he's we need to give him the college savings because he needs to keep playing. The only way to win.

Ah Daddies, why do we love you so?