Early Thursday afternoon, I was visiting Biagio’s up at du Pont Circle, planning ahead for Valentine’s day. I know Cerise is very fond of the exotic chocolates at Biagio’s, and I wanted to make sure that a selection of the best was on order for the 14th. But to my surprise, who should I find there but Kirkland, a staunch member of the Conservative Political Action Conference, gorging himself on everything from almond nougats to cherry creme truffles.
An adult so obsessed with sweets was a bit disturbing to see, I admit. I crept up behind him and asked “Need a side of insulin with that, by any chance, old boy?”
Kirkland nearly dropped the peppermint frost and ginger jelly yin-yang round he was holding.
“Damn it, Collins,” he protested as soon as he recognized me, “can’t you let a man drown his sorrows?”
“Oh, yeah,” I replied as I realized what he meant. “You’re Southern Baptist. You folks are so conservative, you refrain from fornication while standing up because it might lead to dancing. You don’t smoke and you don’t drink, either. So, of course – I would never run into you in a bar, crying into a beer – instead, you’re in here, weeping while you work up a massive sugar and chocolate high, eh?”
“I’m entitled!” Kirkland asserted as he popped the ginger mint candy into his mouth defiantly. “You have no idea how upset I am!”
“Good Lord, Kirkland,” I implored, “what in the world could get a rock-ribbed, family-values, love-it-or-leave-it hyper-patriotic American conservative like you upset enough to go on a high-octane candy jag?”
Kirkland grabbed a huge chunk of macadamia brittle, taking a man-sized bite before volunteering a reply. “I guess you haven’t heard yet, Tom, but when you do, I’m sure you’ll understand – less than an hour ago, Mitt Romney suspended his presidential campaign!”
“Oh, my God,” I commiserated, “I assume he gave a speech?”
“Yeah,” Kirkland affirmed, eagerly stuffing a huge pecan turtle between his chocolate smeared lips, “and it was a really, really great speech, too.”
“So, Romney did a good job of blaming others for his shortcomings, I suppose?”
“Of course,” Kirkland verified as he snarfed down a three-inch peanut butter cup. “He told everyone he was pulling out of the race for the good of America. He said that if he stayed in, it would only benefit the Democrats. ‘Barack and Hillary have made their intentions clear regarding Iraq and the war on terror,’ he said; ‘They would retreat and declare defeat. And the consequence of that would be devastating. It would mean attacks on America, launched from safe havens that make Afghanistan under the Taliban look like child’s play.’ Well, then, there you have it, don’t you? The Democrats are all traitors who oppose the Iraq war! In a situation like that, how could Romney possibly be responsible for anything that happens?”
“I guess he couldn’t possibly,” I admitted. “Did he make some of those solid, stirring and slightly over-the-top militaristic statements he’s so fond of?”
“Oh yeah,” Kirkland assured me, downing a handful of espresso beans coated in thick, dark chocolate, “absolutely. He quoted Simon Perez, then he said ‘The best ally peace has ever known, and will ever know, is a strong America.’ He lambasted Clinton for letting our armed forces atrophy while the evil jihadists plotted to destroy our way of life, then called for an across-the-board increase in military spending equal to 4 percent of the GDP, to ‘purchase the most modern armament,’ and ‘re-shape our fighting forces for the asymmetric demands we now face.’ Pretty hot stuff, huh?”
“Scalding. Any appropriately vain analogies?”
“Oh, yeah, Tom,” he vouched, devouring marzipan miniatures. “He compared himself to Ronald Reagan taking a bow to Gerald Ford for the sake of party unity. Pure, unadulterated poetry, that one.”
“Demonized the liberals real good, did he?”
“You bet, Tom!” Kirkland assured me as he downed three key lime pie filled white chocolates at once. “Blamed them for poverty, lazy welfare cheats and encouraging people to get sick when they know can’t afford to! Called them the opponents of true American culture and asserted that if they come to power, they will push the throttle all the way forward in devising new ways for judges to subvert the Constitution, burden our families and businesses, slow the economy to a grinding halt and throw open our borders to dangerous competition that can only further erode the lead God Almighty has given us.”
“Sounds like he pulled all the appropriate jingo strings, then, I guess?”
“Wouldn’t be a Romney speech without them,” Kirkland nodded, washing down the key lime white with a volley of milk chocolate covered vanilla custard ganache. “He praised the courage, valor and sacrifice of our brave service men and women. ‘We have asked for no more foreign land than enough to bury our valiant dead,’ he said – or something like that, anyway.”
“Not bad for a guy who got out of the draft on deferment as a religious minister, cycling around France pushing Mormonism.”
“Right,” Kirkland agreed, popping a milk chocolate gianduja rolled in caramelized hazelnuts so large, it barely fit in his mouth. “Absolutely inspiring hypocrisy,” he managed, chewing lustily, “world class, all the way. Completely true to all the best genuine conservative Republican principles.”
“Wrapped himself in the American flag, too, I suppose?”
“Best flag wrap I’ve seen in months,” Kirkland effused, laying into a medley of passion fruit, kiwi and guava creme hearts enrobed in Swiss mocha. “Complete coverage, head to toe; utter self-righteousness exuding from every pore.”
“He had a go at lax morals, also, then?”
“Beat the tar out of that,” Kirkland smiled with satisfaction, the words slightly obscured by his own bout, chewing a full mouth of hazelnut caramels. “Read all those people having out-of-wedlock children the Riot Act, he did. Condemned pornography, excoriated sexual permissiveness, railed against same-sex marriage…”
“Disapproved of polygamy?”
Kirkland paused, a cashew praline halfway to his lips. “What?” Kirkland stopped, mid-chew, concentrating, trying hard to remember. “Ah, not as such. I believe he said something about same-sex marriage leading to polygamy. But maybe that was another speech.”
“Immigration?”
“Sure!” A flood of pleasure spread over Kirkland’s face as he plowed into a generous scoop of white chocolate covered almonds. “He was absolutely masterful – first, he said ‘All of us are immigrants or descendants of immigrants who came here for opportunity. Opportunity is in our DNA.’ Then he blamed those disease-ridden, freeloading, drug-smuggling illegals who refuse to talk English on the liberals and their social policies! ‘The threat to our culture comes from within,’ he said, and I don’t have to tell you who the culprits are, skulking within, who pose that threat, do I?”
“Nope. What kind of job did he do on general xenophobia?”
“Well,” Kirkland proudly related as he plopped one chocolate covered blueberry after another into his mouth, “Romney’s speeches are always good for some rousing foreigner-baiting. He loves that Nativist stuff, you know. He called Europe a ‘demographic disaster… the inevitable product of weakened faith in the Creator, failed families, disrespect for the sanctity of human life and eroded morality.’ Then he went on about what an economic threat the Asians in general and the Chinese in particular are. After that, he laid into the oil states, saying how we ought to become energy independent so we won’t be ‘held hostage by the likes of Putin, Chavez, and Ahmendinejad.’ But the best part of that was when he waded into radical Islam. ‘… consider the greatest challenge facing America — and facing the entire civilized world: the threat of violent, radical Jihad. In one wing of the world of Islam, there is a conviction that all governments should be destroyed and replaced by a religious caliphate. These Jihadists will battle any form of democracy — to them, democracy is blasphemous for it says that citizens, not God shape the law. They find the idea of human equality to be offensive. They hate everything we believe about freedom just as we hate everything they believe about radical Jihad.’ I tell you Tom, it was awe-inspiring.”
“Gee, tough talk like that ought to put all of America’s enemies on notice,” I opined. “He took a meat ax to Big Government, no doubt?”
“Lopping at the monster left and right,” Kirkland affirmed as he ate a hand full of milk chocolate nonpareils, “lambasting liberal activist judges, over-regulation and entitlements – he went after them all! Said we need to ‘take a weed-whacker to government regulations!’”
“How about taxes?”
“Fantastic policy statement on taxes, Tom, just fantastic,” Kirkland proclaimed proudly as he tucked into a dark chocolate coconut bar. “He said that the politicians act as if money just happens – that it’s just there. Then he said that they forget every dollar represents a good or service produced in the private sector. ‘Depress the private sector and you depress the well-being of Americans,’ that’s how he put it.”
“Fiscal policy?”
“He made some great points on that, too,” Kirkland chortled, now quite stoked and approaching giddy from all the sugar and chocolate. He actually smiled as he began savoring a jumbo butterscotch mousse with a semi-sweet coating. “He bravely told the world that we’re burdened by an ‘inexorable ramping’ of government spending. Then he told us ‘look past the pork, even though that’s disgusting,’ or words to that effect, anyway, and look at entitlements. We’ve got to solve that problem, Tom! Not just acknowledge it!” Kirkland’s eyes began to glaze over as his gaze left the room and focused, like any true American conservative stoned by their own blood sugar would, at that Shining City on a Hill they all believe in.
“Why, Tom?” Kirkland pleaded in a tiny, wistful voice, as he first wiped the prodigious candy smears from around his mouth and then began stuffing it with dark coated orange malt truffles. “He had eleven states. He had four million votes. Why couldn’t Romney have stayed the course with us?”
“Ah, well,” I ventured, “might it be that every one of those four million votes cost Romney about ten dollars out of his own pocket?”
“Yeah,” Kirkland sighed, “that’s probably it. History, Tom,” he shrugged, “it’s all history at this point. Now, I have to go back to C-PAC and attend a meeting where we will formulate a strategy to support…” His voice cracked. “… John McCain.”
“But, Kirkland,” I beseeched, “isn’t there still hope for true blue troglodyte conservatives like you? What about Huckabee?”
Kirkland’s face fell. “Oh, my God… Sir!” He gestured to the man behind the counter. “Give me three pounds of that walnut fudge there, and one piece each of every single chocolate candy you have – to go!”