Hail to the fatass?
Even in this age, some news articles defy belief. The Wall $treet Journal published one Friday speculating—seriously—as to whether Obama might be too thin and physically fit to be commander in chief in this nation of flabbies whose main physical exercise these days is flipping open our cell phones.
The article wonders if Obama, who is over six feet and ten pounds underweight, and who apparently does not always chow down all the pancakes, hot dogs, apples on a stick and everything else he’s offered at campaign stops, can appeal to Americans who like portlier presidential potentials.
It’s bad enough you have to be the candidate the plain folks can sit down and drink a beer with. Now you have to be the candidate they can eat burgers, french fries, onion rings, Cheetos, and guacamole dip with, as well as get high blood pressure and cholesterol, hypertension and diabetes with. You have to be as unhealthy as the average American, in other words, to qualify for the highest job in the land.
I wonder if they have this problem in Europe. Did French pundits worry that Sarkozy wasn’t “latte-drinking” and cigarette-smoking enough? Was Angela Merkel the kind of candidate you had to have a bratwurst and a dark beer with?
Compared to most who’ve run for president, Obama’s done so little wrong so far. Now he’s paying the price. Suddenly he can’t do anything right. Poor Obie’s had to endure it all: depicted in Al Qaeda garb, fist-bumping his wife. Portrayed as black, not black enough, plain, not plain enough, elitist, not elite enough, too provincial, too much of a globe-trotter. When do they start making fun of his ears? (“Tonight on Fox, is Barack Obama aerodynamic enough to be president?”)
Going back in history a bit, I wonder if FDR seemed the kind of guy you could take a walk with. Was Lincoln a president you could go see a play with? Did Washington come across as the sort of leader you wanted to cross the Delaware with? Was JFK the type of man you wanted to sit down with to eat a bowl of New England Clam Chowder?
I have a book on Hitler that features a picture of der Fuhrer sitting in a Munich beer hall in the early days of the Nazi party, surrounded by adoring youths (much like a contemporary College Republican rally, if you’re trying to picture it). The caption notes that although Adolph appeared at such places often to reach out to disenfranchised German youth, he himself never drank, and sure enough Hitler sits at the table with nothing but his empty hands in front of him. He also didn’t like smoking, and refused to allow people to smoke around him. He particularly disliked it when beautiful women smoked. Unfortunately for him, Eva Braun, like Obie, had a nicotine habit.
No wonder Obama had to go over to Europe and pull all that statesman crap to appear presidential. He can’t get by with his belly. He needs to get more leadership skills—and Belgian waffles—under his belt.
I’m surprised the John McKook campaign hasn’t latched onto this yet. I can see the ad now: “My friends, my friends, can we trust a man who is ten pounds lighter and four inches taller than the average American male? That, and he may be a Muslim! Now, I am not questioning Obama’s patriotism, my friends, but clearly he puts a priority on jogging and controlling what he eats, whereas I put my country first. Remember I was a POW in Vietnam, my friends. I may have gotten skinny in that bamboo cage, but I made sure I put the weight back on when I got home.”
One doctor claims that although McCain doesn’t follow a strict workout regimen, he did “walk the Grand Canyon rim to rim” back in 2006. One wonders, though, if maybe he didn’t just wander away during a press conference and was found by some aids a while later, mumbling to himself.
For what it’s worth, in the Wall Street Journal article Obama family members say that as a child Barrie was “pudgy.”
Yeah, yeah, too little too late there. I’ll bet he smoked dope but didn’t inhale, too.
Well, I can’t speak for you, but as a proud American, I know how this whole revelation makes me feel:
(Actually, seriously, picture a Kirstie Alley/John Madden candidacy. Dream ticket: not too elitist, not too worldly, and they’re both the type you can sit down with and have beers, pizza and Ho-Hos. Just bring lots.)
Now I’m off to get some Twinkies and watch reality TV…