So there I sit, watching Texas Governor, Rick Perry, make the televised rounds as part of his presidential bid for 2012. I know, from watching liberal media, that he seems to be a rather odd man – with an odd vision – as described in his own words. But I really haven’t heard those words as of yet. Still, as of this night, I can’t get past his continuing catwalk parade of poorly tailored, ill-fitting suits, awkwardly donned, at least creating the illusion of physical deformity.

I haven’t quite figured out if Perry looks more like a down-on-his-luck, lost-everything, divorced and lonely man who pulled just enough cash together for a mismatched suit ensemble at the Salvation Army in preparation for an upcoming, live or die job interview at a Kia dealership … or … if his suits were, indeed – as rumored – originally styled for an action figure assembled by child laborers in Malaysia.

Behold …

See?

Admittedly, as he now seeks national exposure on a daily basis, someone – somewhere – is seemingly endeavoring to clean up his act. I mean, in Texas, it never much mattered – sure. For the people of that state, breeding only pertains to the ranch animals. But one can’t keep appearing on a national stage wearing a random medley of charitable neighborhood donations offered after a catastrophic event of some sort.

I mean, yes – the four button suit, with a high gorge broad notch lapel is something of an assumed risk even for a man of normal proportions. Christ, I even know this as a reasonably cultured heterosexual. But with Perry’s bloated physique, as an appropriate match for his ego, it looks like he’s wearing hand-me-ups from a much younger brother who was originally outfitted by a well-intentioned, depression era grandmother.

Totally classless. Horrible, horrible, ill-fitting suits – and what Perry gets for – you know – not knowing any Jews. Christ … even Governor Chris Christie wears a suit better – though his ensembles are custom-tailored by situational demand, I reason.

Sure, the regrettably departed William Buckley never could get his tie knot and shirt collar in the same place at the same time, I know. But that was different. Buckley simply didn’t care. He really didn’t have to. But Perry … He comes across as one who’s notably conscious of his appearance in a hyper-narcissistic kind of way. I mean, no one would have their own natural hair styled to look like a cheap toupee otherwise – even if such a motif is a Republican trademark …

Indeed, the whole Perry fashion presence may even be worse than Laura Bush showing up to one of her husband’s presidential debates in a mock Chanel cut that compressed her chest with more brutality than the most sadistic of breast examinations.

There’s just something about southern (and midwestern) conservative women who acquire a little bit of money – or even a fair amount of it … They still retain their seemingly uncontrollable fetish for cheap, fabric-saving, abbreviated cuts out of Kohls, giddy in the belief they’ve finally moved upscale from the old Montgomery Ward catalog. You know – the ones who also purchased the Craftsman undergarments from Sears because they had a lifetime warranty on the bra clasps.

And then there’s Michele Bachmann … Yes, her counterfeit apparel at least fits, I suppose – having an off-the-rack body, serving as the perfect compliment to an off-the-rails mind. But then she attempts to fluff up innately limp and scrawny, women’s shelter hair with a cocktail of Nice ‘n Easy and Aqua Net in the hopes of creating more exterior volume than that on the opposing, interior side of the skull.

I swear … I look at many, newly upscaled, conservative Republican women – at least the ones with some sort of national name recognition – and can’t help recalling the first-acquaintance conversation between Hannibal Lecter and Agent Starling in ‘Silence of The Lambs’ …

Yeah … They can commit a short wine list to memory as a means of synthesizing some form of breeding in a city restaurant that takes reservations, but the curious presence of more than one fork on the tablecloth still confuses them. Indeed, it takes the Nuevo-Conservative woman some months before they stop looking for a knob-triggered toothpick dispenser at the cashier stand.

Me … I can spot the cultural fakes at a distance of 100 meters as they reveal themselves by way of a strained and unnatural equanimity – with more posture than poise.

Point of fact, as many of you already know, mounds of empirical data suggests that low-end, white trash women harboring the dreams of “getting out, getting anywhere” – much like Agent Starling – often become Republican conservatives in the misguided belief that it’s the shortcut path to upward mobility, poor dears. But tell them that their old AJ Wright gift card is now good at Marshalls and they simply glow with rapturous delight.

All of this is what happens, I suppose, when you have a political party pulled apart by its opposing penchants for three-piece suits and three chord music.

Now, I don’t really don’t want to slap down Sean Hannity here - despite being featured in the toupee styling section, above. I never met him, but among those who do have a personal familiarity with Hannity - liberals inclusive, it’s been relayed to me that he’s a good and decent man, not really wishing harm on anyone. Moreover ... his suit jackets are well tailored – even if they’re provided for him, without his involvement. And, at a quick glance, you might not guess that he was from Hempstead – to his credit. I mean, to think … I used to look down at him (geographically, naturally) from Port Washington.

But despite acquiring some poise, if Hannity continues to incrementally move the part of his hair any further to the center, he’ll soon end up looking like the tenor in a barbershop quartet.

Sean … Listen to me, man … Go back to the toupee cut. And the grey doesn’t make you look any more distinguished, either. It just makes you look like you lived a taxing life … in Hempstead.

But as to Governor Perry, as the feature act of this presentation … Rick … You can’t be a ‘Cultural Warrior’ when you’re fundamentally uncultured, you Yee-Haw.

And to the rest of you who may have become recently enamored of this ill-bred, wanna-be cowboy in horrendous suits … remember …

The Europeans are watching.

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