This column appeared in The Virginian-Pilot on December 19, 2010

P.J. O'Rourke is shorter than you might expect. More boyish than any man has a right to be at 63. And every bit as witty as the best-sellers he's written.

During an interview Tuesday morning in the lobby of The Founders Inn - where he was scheduled to speak as part of the Executive Leadership Series - the legendary satirist nimbly vaulted from topic to topic, beginning with an account of a voodoo ceremony he once attended, to his thoughts on befriending politicians (don't), to the method by which his mother chose the family's denomination: The O'Rourkes switched from being Methodists to Presbyterians because the Presbyterian church in their Ohio town was "where all the nice people went."

Confession time. P.J. O'Rourke is one of my literary heroes. His writing is exquisite. His humor, hilarious. Best of all, his insights into human nature and politics are blisteringly on target.

Still, I resisted the urge to bring my battered copies of "Parliament of Whores," "The CEO of the Sofa" and "Republican Party Reptile" along for autographs.

It's a generational thing.

To those of us who came of age in the 1970s, O'Rourke, Hunter S. Thompson and a handful of other writers pioneered gonzo journalism, penning scathing commentaries on politicians and world events through a lens of, well, crazy.

O'Rourke, who's written for scores of publications, catapulted to fame at National Lampoon, was the foreign affairs desk chief for Rolling Stone and now writes for The Weekly Standard. Along the way, he's catalogued his own evolution with more than a dozen books. The most famous was probably 1991's "Parliament of Whores," which contained an unforgettable description of Marilyn Quayle at an inaugural ball "looking less like a Cape buffalo than usual."

His most recent offering is "Don't Vote - It Just Encourages the Bastards," a slightly more mature offering, which includes a Venn diagram on religion that lumps "Pat Robertson on the subject of Haiti" with other examples of religious wackiness: "throwing virgins into volcanoes" and "bombs in boxer shorts."

Very funny. Just one problem. On Tuesday, O'Rourke was in Robertson's house.

So, when he arrived, fresh from a taping of "The 700 Club," I had to ask if the irreverent writer - who once said that "making fun of born-again Christians is like hunting dairy cows with a high powered rifle and scope" - had enjoyed his time with the Christian Broadcasting Network founder.

Absolutely.

Had Robertson read his latest book?

"I don't think so," O'Rourke replied with a smile.

Good thing he didn't see page 89, eh?

"I think Pat Robertson had a Juan Williams moment," O'Rourke quipped, of Robertson's bizarre blurt last year that blamed Haiti's killer earthquakes on a long-ago deal between the people of that island and Satan. "I have tremendous respect for him."

That's part of the charm of P.J. O'Rourke. While he's an unapologetic conservative/libertarian, he never hesitates to lob verbal grenades at public figures of all persuasions. He seems to especially enjoy poking fun at those with whom he mostly agrees.

One thing is clear: O'Rourke simply doesn't like politicians. At all. And in a series of lunchtime one-liners, he brought his gospel of government-doesn't-work to Virginia Beach.

"Democrats are the party that says government can make you richer, smarter, taller and get the chickweed out of your lawn," he told the crowd of about 400. "Republicans complain that government doesn't work, then get elected and prove it."

"Getting government to fix the economy is like saying 'Dad burned dinner, let's get the dog to cook.' "

O'Rourke said President Barack Obama's philosophy is simple: "If it's working, tax it. If it isn't, bail it out. If that fails, just drop Barney Frank on it till it screams for help."

Naturally, O'Rourke isn't a fan of health care reform.

"Government can't run a post office," he said. "It has trouble figuring out where mail goes, and mail has our addresses on it."

Part of the problem, the humorist said, is the language of reform.

"Health-care providers," for instance.

"A health-care provider is the school nurse who gives you peppermint oil when you break your neck on the playground," he scoffed. "I want a doctor."

Still, O'Rourke says he's not entirely pessimistic.

"Long term, there's only one thing that gives me hope as a Republican," he said with a grin.

"Democrats."