|Or special politicians: When you are in the time-out chair, there will be no talking, no TV, and no fathering illegitimate babies.|
I have one thing to say to Barack Obama today. If I hear one word about you having an affair - one word, mister - I’m going to come up there and smack you but good. For that matter, I don’t want you to even make eye contact with anyone younger than John McCain’s mom.
I mean it. I have had it with politicians and their pubescent boy behavior. Since the day I turned on the TV in a Philadelphia hotel room and saw Monica Lewinsky’s head in a tam (followed by my head in my hands) I’ve been afraid to pick up the newspaper for fear that some politician I supported, talked up at my family reunion and went to bat for in rooms full of Republicans, was caught acting like a frat boy.
Reading about John Edwards yesterday brought out the mom in me, despite the fact that I think he might be older than me, and I felt a strong urge to drive up to whatever Carolina he’s in and give him a piece of my mind. In my plan I was pointing an index finger right in his face and talking with clenched teeth and a very furrowed brow.
What the heck is wrong with these guys?
They spend their entire adult lives building a rep that pretty much guarantees that they can sit on the porch and write books for the rest of their lives while their wives take over all the do-gooding duties, and they throw it all away to have sex. How good are we talking here? I mean, I’ve been around the block 1.5 times and I think I can say with some authority that while sex is great, there’s a limit to its value. Sure, it might bereally great with that smooth guy on the Ciallis commercial, but I don’t think anyone sane would pay for it with a career. I’m pretty sure that’s price gouging.
At least Edwards saw the light, or at least a small penlight beam, when he said the reason he risked throwing away a beautiful family, a wife that everyone likes a lot, a successful political career and the respect of about a third of the American people in blue states, is that he began to think too much of himself. “I began to think that I was special,” he said.
Now I’m talking to the whole lot of you: You’re not that special. (Especially you, Dennis Kucinich.) None of you are even close to being as good looking as even the least handsome movie star, so don’t think that just because you have straight teeth, all of your limbs and no hump that you are tripping our triggers. And that girl flirting with you? She doesn’t think you’re special, either. She has her eye on that PAC money. And if that doesn’t pan out, she’ll be a household face and can sell her purses on the Home Shopping Network.
So. Barack. I don’t think I’m going to have to worry about you. I think your wife would whoop your ass before you could finish even winking at another woman. Michelle is tall and formidable enough to take the fist bump in a whole new direction. But just to play it safe, I’m putting a stipulation on my campaign contributions: If McCain wins because of a sex scandal involving you, I want my money back.