They’re already here
One of the most gratifying / terrifying aspects of child-rearing is to see one’s own expressions, mannerisms and proclivities mirrored back by a brand-new human being. I experience this regularly as the mother of a girl who is possibly the world’s most sarcastic middle-schooler.
The cockles of TX Representative Ron Paul’s heart must be frequently warmed by observing how near his son, KY Senator Rand Paul, fell to the filial tree, what with their shared interest in Ayn Rand, medicine, fringey conservative politics and goldbuggery. But despite these similarities, Paul the father and Paul the son strike me as two very different types of men.
The elder Paul is definitely a crackpot with many unsavory associates, but on a personal level, he doesn’t come across as an arrogant prick. This is not the case with Paul the younger, who seems smarmy, egotistical, priggish and utterly humorless.
However, as it turns out, Rand Paul’s prickly, giggle-repellent exterior contains an absolute laff riot, only we’re not allowed to experience Funny Rand because of overly sensitive females. Commenting on the Herman Cain sexual harassment story yesterday, Rand Paul said this:
“There are people [i.e., men—ed.] now who hesitate to tell a joke to a woman in the workplace, any kind of joke, because it could be interpreted incorrectly. I don’t. I’m very cautious.”
So there you have it, ladies: Rand Paul could have us rolling in the aisles with a vast assortment of knock-knock jokes, limericks featuring men from Nantucket, jibes about 9-inch pianists, jests about priests and rabbis walking into a bar, etc.
But thanks to your silly aversion to a “hostile work environment” (whatever the hell that means) and unreasonable insistence on not being treated like a cocktail waitress at a frat rush, Rand Paul is forced to stifle the hilarity he would otherwise share and assume the persona of a hectoring, smug, mirthless asshole. I hope you’re happy now.