Normally, the Manolo he does not care to think too much about the sartorial choices of such ridiculous and dangerous peoples, preferring in the stead to devote his precious thinking time to weightier matters, such as whether or not the loathsome Jeffrey will be one of the Project Runway final three, or if the Hasselhoff will ever again find the true love with the career chick of his dreams.
But, the Manolo he is nothing if not obliging to his internet friends, and so he will make the brief remarks.
Briefly and remarkably, the President of the Iran wears the same khaki windbreaker, wrinkled trousers, cheap oxford shirts, scruffy beard and wild eyes favored by the aging high school chemistry teachers everywhere.
Yes, in his youth he was the firebrand who would shake the very foundations of the society, but today he is content to expound upon his paranoid conspiracy theories while exercising his petty autocratic powers over the dull kids who sit in the back of the class.
In the word, he has tenure.
“Umm, Mr. Ahmadinejad, it’s time for recess.”
“Shut up and sit down, Chad, we’re not done discussing how the international Zionist cabal is controlling the lunch room.”
The Manolo has nothing more to say about the clothes of the Ahmadinejad, other than that they are bad, terribly bad, even when judged against the already lamentably low standards set by the current crop of tyrants, despots, and dictators-to-be.
For the example, the shoe-denying tyrant of Cuba appeared in the most recent photographs, given as proof of his aliveness, wearing the Adidas track suit, like the Lithuanian plumber on his day off.
Indeed, the un-super fantastic El Supremo has for the last forty-five years displayed the most egregious fashion sense. Yes, there was the initial dashing image of the young Fidel, victoriously riding into Havana looking muy romantico in his olive drab fatigues, the manly phallic cigar clenched in his bearded maw.
But like many peoples, the Fidel never evolved beyond the styles of his youth. And as he grew into old age he still dressed as the young revolutionary. Worse, when he did put on the adult clothes it was to don the typical dark suit of the commissar/pimp— pin-stripes, double-breasted, big shoulder pads, and presumably the two-toned spectator shoes —as if he were the swarthy Sky Masterson in the Byelorussian community theater production of the Guys and the Dolls.
Such deplorable gangster clothes, however, are normal for the tyrants as the class. Consider the loathsome Saddam, who dressed like the debt collector for the second-rate loan shark.
Of the course, the alternative to the gangster look, it is to affect the Bond-villainous style favored by the Asian tyrants, such as the Kim Jong-Il who wears the jump suit, the pompadour, the outsized sunglasses, and the four-inch platform heels. Is he ruling the reclusive hermit kingdom, or preparing to do the karaoke medley of the Tom Jones greatest hits?
Naturally there is the exception that proves the rule, the one dictator who knows how to rock the clothing. The man who in his prime was the movie-star handsome tyrant with the mythic fashion sense.
The Manolo is speaking, of the course, about the Mu’amar al-Qaddafi, who has eschewed the cheap gangster look, preferring in the stead to wear the flowing natural-fibers and earth-toned robes favored by both the Bedouins of the Sahara and the Jedi Knights of Tatooine.
And when he was not sporting the Bedouin robes, the Qaddafi he wears the kinte-cloth dashikis! And he had the personal bodyguard comprised entirely of the super hotty she-devils!
This, Mr. Ahmadinejad is how the real tyrants do it, with flair and drama and color, and Amazons in the tight-fitting camouflage cat-suits!
Qaddafi, he’s not just the despot, he is the Arab Superfly, White Shaft in Africa! And, and you, you’re just the crazy Mr. Ahmadinejad, the scourge of the first period homeroom.
Published by
Pajamas Media, the Best of the Blogs, and
POLITICSCENTRAL.
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