There's not much I'd be ashamed to admit to liking, but this might qualify.
It's one of the weird ticks of the West Wing - the surprisingly frequent outbursts of the dreadfully desicated sounds of close-harmony privilege. Yale songs, camp songs, it keeps popping up. Perhaps that's why the jackal is such a jolt when you hear it.
Anyway, for all the weirdly dead inanity, and the I'm-singing-musical-theatre-grins, and those limply hanging arms, I quite like it. The sound of it, really, looking at it, in this instance, doesn't make it better. I love acapella, voices that close. The Ink Spots, though, they're the ones.