Tuesday, November 11, 2008
I've been trying to think of a witty title for ten minutes... I've got nuthin'
I've been biting my tongue a bit lately. Thought I'd see what that was like. Not all the time, obviously. I wasn't biting it when someone almost related to me suggested Kevin Rudd was responsible for ruining the economy (dear sir, a terrifying thought: I now know more about the economy than you) or to a very dear friend who told me the other day he's now "anti abortion" (dude, nobody's exactly pro-abortion but you're two steps away from voting for Sarah Palin in 2012). But on another matter I have remained quiet. Ish.
Obama. Or at least a very specific subject relating to Obama.
And now that he's, you know, IN and everything and we can all breathe a massive sigh of relief-slash-start-excavating-any-long-lost-almost-American ancestory I feel I can finally say it. Because he's um kinda hot. Isn't he? And yet it's not the sort of thing I've felt I can bring up in recent weeks when someone much smarter than I is banging on about Obama's policy on awfully serious matters. One feels compelled, even, to come up with SOME kind of contribution that isn't along the lines of "Yeah sure but have you ever had that dream where you just dive into the depths of his eyes?" Trust me: it doesn't play as well to your highbrow mates as you might suppose.
But now things have moved on. I've made it through the election by faking a handful of wanky remarks I barely understood, the dreamed-for has happened and he's in - I can come out and say it. Because he's a dreamboat. Possibly even the dreamiest dreambot to ever step into the role of US head of State. Maybe? I don't know - shall we reflect?
I mean starting with the lowball of Bush? You've have to scoop out your eyes first. And your brain.
Clinton? Yeah, yeah I hear he's a hit with the post-menopausal crowd but... meh.
The other Bush? I thought he was dead. BEFORE he was elected, I mean.
Freakin' Reagan??? Sure he'd be able to forget it in a flash but for you you? The memory of those wrinkly jowls wobbling towards your pink pits (ew, I'm sorry) would linger forever.
Back a bit further (and skipping a few so as to skim over my frankly sub par knowledge of American history - don't blame me, blame my delicious uni history teacher who seduced and distracted me with his gravelly tones) the obvious parallel is JFK. Also charismatic. Also with a stylish and semi banging wife. And I know he was supposed to be hot and all and maybe if it's good enough for Marilyn Monroe I shouldn't complain but... really? That guy? What with the giant hair and the jaw and everything he kinda looks like Family Guy's piss-take of an in-bred writer for the New Yorker. Times two.
Back a bit further still and, yes, while you might go there with FDR it'd only be a)pity shag because of, um, you know, the legs and all and b)because he was FUCKING AWESOME.
And so we circle back to Obama. Who is decidedly tasty. But... too tasty? Is it possible to be just a little too dreamy to have sensible chats in the white house, strut about like you're on West Wing and generally resist the temptation to take off your shirt?
I think not. Because while the uber hot should be, frankly, avoided when it comes to relationships (here's a tip: look for porn. If you find none he gets his kicks wanking into the mirror... flee and don't go back for your bag) when it comes to politicians a little tasty on the side can't be a bad thing. Because if Australian history has taught us anything it's that electing a douchebag toe-rag who wouldn't look out of place in a line-up of massively eyebrowed paedos is never a good idea. The mere knowledge that absolutely nobody was listening to John Howard rag on refugees/bloody gays/insert minority here and wondering what his lips looked like when he said the word "fuck", gave the fucker strength to continue his rule for five hundred million years. Or did it just seem that way?
Paul Keating on the other hand? Arguably the best Prime Minister we've ever had. At least in my lifetime. And come on, I mean, hé's got to be 60 if he's a day now and you'd STILL go there. Me too. Case closed.