The lunatics are running the asylum . . .

. . . but at least we still have Mark Steyn. He comments on the escapades of our nation's weirdest (please let it be true) governor. Given Mark's musical theater background he's not going to miss the Evita! angle.

Excerpt:

Not that the governor didn't do his best to keep his end up on the pop culture allusions: "I've spent the last five days crying in Argentina," he revealed, in presumably unconscious hommage to Evita.

The plot owed less to Tim Rice and Andrew Lloyd Webber than to one of those Fox movies of the early Forties in which some wholesome All-American type escapes the stress and strain of modern life by taking off for a quiet weekend in Latin America, and the next thing you know they're doing the rhumba on the floor of a Rio nightclub surrounded by Carmen Miranda and 200 gay caballeros prancing around waving giant bananas. In this case, the gentlemen of the South Carolina Press were the befuddled caballeros and Gov. Sanford was bananas.

You already know, don't you, that Mark isn't finished with the banana motif.

But seriously, folks, he has a point, and this is it:

. . . big government more or less guarantees rule by creeps and misfits.

Read it all.

I haven't had the heart to read his column on the life and death of Michael Jackson yet. But I will.

Update: Read it. Here's a bit:

In an in-depth interview with Oprah Winfrey, the King of Pop pooh-poohed the preoccupations of the press. “If I had a chance to talk to Michelangelo,” he squeaked, “I would want to know about the anatomy of his craftsmanship, not about who he went out with. That’s what's important to me.” [He walked right into that one, didn't he?]

But, as with Michelangelo’s David, Oprah’s eye was drawn to one region in particular. “Why do you always grab your crotch?” she asked, alluding to his principal choreographic innovation. “It happens subliminally,” he said, although a more plausible explanation is that he was just checking on the one bit of him the plastic surgeon hadn’t got to. I remember running into the critic John Simon after some terrible musical: “I enjoyed one couplet,” he said. “‘When did Michael Jackson/Become Anglo-Saxon?’”

[. . .]

By the Eighties, his celebrity pals were mostly post-menopausal women such as Katharine Hepburn and Sophia Loren. When asked whether he’d proposed to Elizabeth Taylor, his lips remained sealed, although that may be just an unfortunate side-effect. It could be that the marriage story was simply a misunderstanding: he asked Liz for her hand and she said: “Why not? You’ve already got Diana Ross’s nose.”

Ba-da-boom.

Linked by Michelle Malkin (buzzworthy)

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