Help him make it through the night

Man walks into a... Drawing by Garrad at DrawCeption.

World-famous cornpone philosopher David Brooks works out a homespun fable ("It's not too late!", New York Times, March 8 2016):

It’s 2 a.m. The bar is closing. Republicans have had a series of strong and nasty Trump cocktails. 

Wait, in this analogy Trump is something you drink? And probably shouldn't, like very cheap tequila?

Suddenly Ted Cruz is beginning to look kind of attractive. At least he’s sort of predictable, and he doesn’t talk about his sexual organs in presidential debates!

And Cruz is something you might go home with because anything's better than spending the night alone! But Trump is the one who talks about his dick in public, suggesting that he's also something you might go home with, if you're the kind of person who likes that kind of thing, which Brooks suggests you're not, although the evidence so far is that, if you're a Republican, your likelihood of being that kind of person is remarkably high.

(I'd like to mention here, because people keep leaving it out, that of all the candidates only Cuban Heels Rubio has talked about other people's dicks in public, though not at an actual debate, in an evident effort to get the thin-skinned Trump to do exactly what he's done, which is certainly what you'd want to call a dick move, revealing just as much about himself as it does about his rival.)

Why is picking a presidential candidate like picking up somebody in a bar?

No, that's not a riddle, that's a serious question. Is this something about Republicans in particular? You know how they say, "Democrats fall in love, Republicans fall in line"? Should we revise that for this year to, "Democrats go on an endless series of caffeinated speed dates, making careful notes, while Republicans drink themselves into a mood where they're willing to sleep with someone whose judgment is as impaired as their own"?

Can you remember your 8 p.m. selves, and all the hope you had about entering a campaign with such a deep bench of talented candidates?

If you were so hopeful earlier in the evening, why did you immediately start slinging back shots of Señor Wences with apple-wine chasers? Why were you holding the event at the Fixis Inn in the first place? How was this contest supposed to end other than with Beer Pong, wet T-shirts, or worse?

There is another path, one that doesn’t leave you self-loathing in the morning

which is to not go home at all—Danny will gladly make everybody a pot of coffee, and I'm sure there's somebody getting paid to clean the vomit and unwound toilet papers rolls out of the bathrooms. Call Dad and he'll be here to drive you home in a couple of months. Dad is apparently Willard Mitt Romney, and he's not going to get mad at you, at least if you can fend off the suitors and keep your pants on until July:

First, hit the pause button on the rush to Cruz. Second, continue the Romneyesque assault on Trump.

(Does the Times really not have a copy editor to change "Romneyesque" meaning "like something Romney might do if he were around" to "Romneyan" meaning "something Romney did do, even though it's entirely out of character"?)

...And then once we get to Cleveland we can start partying again, heartier than ever! Jack Daniels, Red Bull, and oxycontin!

 It would be bedlam for a few days, but a broadly acceptable new option might emerge. 

Might, that's certainly a comfort. And for God's sake put on a raincoat or something over that analogy, it makes you look like a whore!

Oh, there's some other stuff, because it's not merely about the election but the future of the Republican party, which has been dominated for 60 years by the anti-government views of Nixon and Bush (haha, caught you! Brooks said Goldwater/Reagan), so maybe it's time for one of those gigantic ideological shifts, to a positive, compassionate but conservative government agenda like those advocated by—oh, never mind. And Paul Ryan.

It’s a moment for audacity, not settling for Ted Cruz simply because he’s the Titanic you know.

Oh my God, Skipper, there's another analogy off to starboard! ("You must always choose the more unfamiliar of two Titanics.") And it looks like an awful big one, sir!

Update: As if that all weren't bad enough, you know who he's been stealing from now? And getting it all wrong, as usual? Driftglass!