Is the President Fit?

I know, I know, in Blog 5, I said my next blog would offer further corroboration of the Fit-Foot Fetish that has thus far dominated this literary canon.  But, frankly, I put my foot in my mouth.  It's come to my attention, you see, that a host of voices blogging across the land espouses the President of the United States, Barack "Don't Call Me Barry" Obama, as the creme de la creme of Fitness, a model to be emulated, admired - perhaps even envied - so lean does he appear in his suit.  One blogger - presumably a Democrat - went so far as to label him "strong," and envision a hypothetical fight pitting Obama against George "I Don't Need a Tele-prompter Because I Don't Read" Bush in a partisan cage-match.  "Obama," he claimed, "would kick Dub-ya about the ring, knocking him senseless, before the latter 'tapped-out.'"  

Mind you, this wasn't the Huffington Post, Keith Olberman's Panty Party, or Rachel Maddow's "You too Can Be a Bull-Dike" web-page.  The person (Marv in Wichita), responding to an "expert's" Obama Workout, was merely adding to several voices appreciative of the president's ability--according to them--to beat the hell out of who, despite Barry's (Steel Cut Oats is unafraid) ridicule, had welcomed him to the White House.  

It got me to thinking---How would Obama, pitted against the Icon of Idiocy, fare?  Clearly, he would stand a puncher's chance.  But upon delving deeper, juxtaposing the Body Politic (Democrats in the blue corner, Republicans in the red), I found the Dems addled with touchy-feely types - Harry Reid, Fritz Schumer…. - throwing into question the party as a whole.  Reid, de facto party "strong man," in particular, represented what many of his generation call a "pip-squeak," who, when physically challenged, "rolls into a ball."  On the other side, in contrast to the Armadillo Strategy, Fred Thompson (R-Tenn) conjured images of a bouncer whose atavistic forehead can deflect small-arms fire at extremely close range.

Hardly evidence to draw conclusions.  Yet the more I considered it, the more I began to question the liberal ethos, its standard bearer, Obama, and the notion that anyone who hides a cigarette habit has the will to "kick butt." Examination of each party's "Eagle"(in the Dems' case, Obama, and, on the G.O.P. side, McCain) solidified, conceptually, that, given the option to repel a foreign army, or issue a French-style mock threat, the Democrats would buy kepis and order fondue. Reviewing further, I recalled (vividly) that Gerald Ford, an All-American lineman for the Michigan Wolverines, had been replaced, on the Dem side, by a peanut farmer whose poetry, though well-conceived, would be considered torture by the Geneva Convention. The farmer, it turns out, was perceived as a panty-waste by extremists, and heavily mocked at the expense of embassy workers who yearned for a New Guy (R-California) to restore Yankee Will.  

The "tough guy" ship canted starboard.  The Administration's announcement that the phrase "War on Terror," because it's mean, scary, and offensive to Muslims, would be changed to "Overseas Contingency Plan," appeared frail.  Just as Iranian extremists had mocked the peanut farmer, taking advantage of a poetic worldview, today's terror-cells seem equally committed to usurping the Closet Smoker.  As for McCain, after extended time at the Hanoi Hilton (six years), more positive X-rays than Evil Knieval, and a skull reconfigured to resemble a boomerang, he'd earned the title: Bad Ass.  Not by any stretch of the imagination could I imagine Barry "taking" torture.  Bush, who lolly-gagged in the Texas National Guard, would never be Roger Ramjet---yet, via party cachet, if not privilege, he seemed capable, in old school vernacular, of "thrashing the goat."

  

Now it is late, the moon is high and, according to the National Weather Service, a shift in the jet-stream will soon expose buds.  Somewhere, in a propitiously languid breeze, a former president lays in the dark, wondering "what might have been," while, his foe, dazzling admirers in foreign capitols, moons grandiloquent....  Far be it for me to judge. All I know is that My Country is fading....  In the end, Obama's being suckered by Big Tobacco, while pretending to be Adonis, leads to the conclusion that, despite their ages, he, not Bush, would 'tap-out'."  Issues - a pencil-neck, skeletal arms, a reed frame - suggest upside.  But if Obama aspires to mollycoddle pissed Muslims, he'll find, in the end, he's not Steel Cut.

Makten, S.C.O.

Next Blog: Fit Feet for Couch Sloths