The last time I saw Milo Yiannopoulos – from a distance – he was careening around the bar-tents at the 2016 Republican convention in Cleveland, belle of the monsters’ ball. (He had leftie journalist Laurie "Red" Penny in tow for a while, something she used to brag about, but on which she is now vewwwwwy vewwwy quiet).
They couldn’t get enough of him there. Shark-grey suited DC operatives and barge-size mid-western rubes in stars and stripes shirts alike, they were charmed and enlivened by the political Peter Pan act, the platinum blond hair, teardrop glasses, sometimes a tailored suit, sometimes a white shirt open to the waist.
The operatives thought of him as a useful troll. The rubes couldn’t even begin to understand what he was on about or where he was coming from. But they loved the hits at "ugly, lesbian" feminists and progressives, etc, and American progressivism is, well, target-rich in absurdities. He looked like a Bowie tribute act opening a Tulsa rodeo.