I Love the Smell of Desperation in the Morning

We've had a couple of encouraging signs in the last few days.

On Friday it was Jim Geraghty's dismay at Obama's supposed contempt for New Rochelle commuters. (If the lifestyle of Rob and Laura Petrie isn't sacred, what is?)

Yesterday it was faux outrage at Obama quoting The Untouchables, showing that the Republican War on Metaphors continues unabated. More... See, for example, Flopping Aces:

Does it strike readers as somewhat odd that the Dems who screech at the very mention of the word gun would be backing a candidate who threatens to use one in a fight?

And then there's Mac Ranger, as sensitive as he is literate (and as literate as he is sensitive), with a post called Obama's Inner Gangsta Comes Out featuring this image:

And the single most obtuse comment of them all comes from Andrew Malcolm:

Or how about the fact that he stole that line from Sean Connery in "The Untouchables," which is from Chicago too, come to think of it.

And if quoting movies is plagiarism, somebody should sue the corpse of Ronald Reagan.

So what's encouraging about these? Simple: they're flailing. They're more strained than the usual attacks, and they aren't just reaching--they look like they're reaching. More importantly, they don't form a coherent narrative. Is Obama a wimpy street thug, or a violent elitist? Is he scary or not scary, and which is worse? What's the storyline here? Besides, of course, sheer desperation?

To be sure, some of it will stick--but they haven't succeeded in defining Obama. Mondale, Dukakis, and Kerry were all summed up in a few words; Clinton was harder for them to get a handle on. In that respect, I think Obama is a lot more like Clinton.

It smells like...victory.

[Cross-posted at Property of a Lady and No More Mister Nice Blog]