I could almost recommend subscribing to National Review just for Florence King’s column. Her latest says in two paragraphs what I tried to say in “Every Man a God-King“:

If the season of town-hall meetings has left you shell-shocked and cringing, you are not alone. Or maybe it’s the other way around: You applauded the apoplectic convulsions of the Grassroots Right and it’s I who am alone. In that case I’m in for another epistolary nuking such as I got when I defended the deportation of Elián González and some of you wrote me, “Go back to Cuba!”

Let not your heart be troubled, as Sean Hannity would say. Despite my distaste for the town-hall howlers I am in no danger of turning into an Obamamaniac. If you tried to get to the right of me you would fall off the end of the earth because, you see, it’s flat. I started out as a paleoconservative but that eventually ceased to satisfy. Paleos are comparable to the Romans of the Early Republic, but I had stopped believing in republics because they invariably degenerate into democracy, that Great Fan that everything hits sooner or later. There was only one place for me, politically and temperamentally, so I became a royalist. I believe in absolute monarchy and the divine right of kings, but other than that I’m moving left.