Holy celestial coincidences, Batman! Yesterday was Easter, Passover, 4/20, WrestleMania, AND Hitler’s birthday. (Truly, there was something for everyone!) But if you were going to pick the one event that best explained the national mood, obviously, it would’ve been WrestleMania Easter.
The resurrection of Christ is kind of a big deal. Those other holidays might be important to different groups, but Easter is more meaningful to more people than anything else on that list.
By a wide margin, too.
If your local newsman went on TV yesterday and led the nightly news with, “Today, the world celebrated the miraculous rebirth of… John Cena’s career — Woohoo, he just won his 17th WWE world title, take THAT Ric Flair!!” you’d probably think your newsman’s been sniffing glue. (Again.)
The words we use, the comparisons we make, and the stories we choose to accentuate say more about us than anything else. You show me a man’s pet causes, and I’ll show you a man’s heart.
It’s why political parties and political movements must be deathly cautious about the causes — and the people — whom they embrace. One of the telltale signs of a smart, capable political organization is its selectivity.
Take the civil rights movement: In 1955, a brave black woman refused to go to the back of the bus in Montgomery, Ala. When the bus driver ordered her to surrender her seat to a white woman, she stood her ground and was arrested.
It kicked off the Montgomery Bus Boycott, one of the seminal moments in civil rights history.
But the brave woman I’m referring to wasn’t Rosa Parks. (Nothing against Ms. Parks. She was, by all accounts, an exemplary woman — which was precisely why the civil rights movement trumpeted her story.)
I’m talking about Claudette Colvin. She’s still alive. And, just like Ms. Parks, she was arrested for refusing to surrender her seat in Montgomery. She refused to bow to a racist law.
And her cause was just as noble as Ms. Parks’.
Unfortunately, Ms. Colvin was also unmarried and pregnant — which, back then, was a big taboo. As Rosa Parks noted, “If the white press got ahold of that information, they would have a field day. They’d call her a bad girl, and the case wouldn’t have a chance.”
The civil rights movement was holding a casting call for the Public Face of Jim Crow Racism, and to their credit, they weren’t interested in a DEI hire. The part went to Rosa Parks, not Claudette Colvin, because Rosa Parks had better qualifications.
In the real world, optics matter.
It’s a lesson Sen. Chris Van Hollen (D-Md.) forgot when he did his margarita BOGO photo-op with Kilmar Abrego Garcia. Of all the people deported by the Trump administration, HE’S the most sympathetic, media-friendly option for the Loony Left?
This is the guy they want as their public face?
ProTip: “He’s not a fulltime gangbanger and doesn’t beat his wife anymore” isn’t a compelling sales pitch for Middle America.
Sadly, it’s a lesson Larry David never bothered to learn.
In an astonishingly tone-deaf “guest essay” in today’s New York Times, the comedic mind behind “Seinfeld” and “Curb Your Enthusiasm” became the 500 millionth member of the left to think it’s clever, witty, and daring to compare President Trump to Adolf Hitler.
The op-ed, entitled “Larry David: My Dinner With Adolf,” is a short (just six paragraphs) “Mean Girl”-styled attack on Bill Maher.
Why?
Because Bill Maher had dinner at the White House with Donald Trump. And that’s a bridge too far:
Imagine my surprise when in the spring of 1939 a letter arrived at my house inviting me to dinner at the Old Chancellery with the world’s most reviled man, Adolf Hitler. I had been a vocal critic of his on the radio from the beginning, pretty much predicting everything he was going to do on the road to dictatorship. No one I knew encouraged me to go. “He’s Hitler. He’s a monster.” But eventually I concluded that hate gets us nowhere. I knew I couldn’t change his views, but we need to talk to the other side — even if it has invaded and annexed other countries and committed unspeakable crimes against humanity.
Two weeks later, I found myself on the front steps of the Old Chancellery and was led into an opulent living room, where a few of the Führer’s most vocal supporters had gathered: Himmler, Göring, Leni Riefenstahl and the Duke of Windsor, formerly King Edward VIII. We talked about some of the beautiful art on the walls that had been taken from the homes of Jews. But our conversation ended abruptly when we heard loud footsteps coming down the hallway. Everyone stiffened as Hitler entered the room.
Larry David is a professional comedian. There are episodes of “Curb” and “Seinfeld” that are very funny. What’s so disappointing about today’s screed is the total absence of jokes. He took a hackneyed premise — “Trump is Hitler, nyuck nyuck” — and that’s the extent of it.
I guess he ran out of time to include anything funny.
He was wearing a tan suit with a swastika armband and gave me an enthusiastic greeting that caught me off guard. Frankly, it was a warmer greeting than I normally get from my parents, and it was accompanied by a slap on my back. I found the whole thing quite disarming. I joked that I was surprised to see him in a tan suit because if he wore that out, it would be perceived as un-Führer-like. That amused him to no end, and I realized I’d never seen him laugh before. Suddenly he seemed so human. Here I was, prepared to meet Hitler, the one I’d seen and heard — the public Hitler. But this private Hitler was a completely different animal. And oddly enough, this one seemed more authentic, like this was the real Hitler. The whole thing had my head spinning.
Bill Maher made a similar comment about President Trump’s warm, gracious behavior and laughter. Seems a bit on-the-nose for David to dwell on, but maybe he wasn’t sure if his target audience of insulated leftists would understand his point without it.
He said he was starving and led us into the dining room, where he gestured for me to sit next to him. Göring immediately grabbed a slice of pumpernickel, whereupon Hitler turned to me, gave me an eye roll, then whispered, “Watch. He’ll be done with his entire meal before you’ve taken two bites.” That one really got me. Göring, with his mouth full, asked what was so funny, and Hitler said, “I was just telling him about the time my dog had diarrhea in the Reichstag.” Göring remembered. How could he forget? He loved that story, especially the part where Hitler shot the dog before it got back into the car. Then a beaming Hitler said, “Hey, if I can kill Jews, Gypsies and homosexuals, I can certainly kill a dog!” That perhaps got the biggest laugh of the night — and believe me, there were plenty.
Oh good. A poop joke. (That’s the sign of a really clever comedian.)
But it wasn’t just a one-way street, with the Führer dominating the conversation. He was quite inquisitive and asked me a lot of questions about myself. I told him I had just gone through a brutal breakup with my girlfriend because every time I went someplace without her, she was always insistent that I tell her everything I talked about. I can’t stand having to remember every detail of every conversation. Hitler said he could relate — he hated that, too. “What am I, a secretary?” He advised me it was best not to have any more contact with her or else I’d be right back where I started and eventually I’d have to go through the whole thing all over again. I said it must be easy for a dictator to go through a breakup. He said, “You’d be surprised. There are still feelings.” Hmm … there are still feelings. That really resonated with me. We’re not that different, after all. I thought that if only the world could see this side of him, people might have a completely different opinion.
Two hours later, the dinner was over, and the Führer escorted me to the door. “I am so glad to have met you. I hope I’m no longer the monster you thought I was.” “I must say, mein Führer, I’m so thankful I came. Although we disagree on many issues, it doesn’t mean that we have to hate each other.” And with that, I gave him a Nazi salute and walked out into the night.
It’s been 27 years since the final episode of “Seinfeld,” and Larry David still hasn’t learned how to write a decent ending. Very disappointing.
Comedy is a brutal, Machiavellian equalizer. An authentically funny joke is undeniable; when it lands on a politician, you know it.
And when it doesn’t land, the opposite is true: It comes across as cloying, cringe, and pathetic.
Maybe he’s mad that his house burned down in the Los Angeles wildfires. Maybe he feels guilty for making Steve Bannon ridiculously rich. It could be a lot of things.
But unfortunately, none of ‘em are funny.
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