Upon meeting Perry, you can’t help thinking that he’s just like Dubya. They share not only the same speech patterns, but they also have that same je ne sais quoi that corresponds to the way a confident Southern male asks a girl to take a spin around the dance floor: “Wanna dance?”

There’s something slightly lazy in the mouth, half a smile, a knowing look. Both share a devil-may-care, towel-snapping streak — an attitude that either connects them to their quarry or sends their prey howling into the outer darkness. The same things that drove liberals mad about George W. will repeat themselves with Perry.

It’s that certitude mixed with bravado. It is also, dare I say, their certain brand of manliness. Weathered, creased and comfortable in jeans, they convey a regular guyness that everyday Americans relate to. Take it or leave it, it happens to be true.