Don’t be shocked, but I’m writing today to defend Barack Obama. After all, the new President deserves a honeymoon, even from conservative bloggers, right? Since I can’t in good conscience defend the appalling Geithner appointment or the dubious Clinton one, I’m afraid my defense has to be on more frivolous issues, but still, a defense is a defense.
I am really, really tired of hearing people mouth off about how Mr. Obama should adopt a shelter dog instead of buying a pedigreed pet, or how he should set a good example for all the little kiddies by giving up cigarettes. To these pious do-gooders I say, will you leave the man alone please and mind your own business?
Whose business is it if those cute little Obama girls want a Portuguese Water Dog or whatever kind of exotic yuppie breed they want? And whose business is it if their dad wants to make them happy by buying the kind of dog they want instead of getting a pound mutt to make the PETA crowd happy? Who tells you what kind of dog to get your kids? So stop telling this guy what kind of dog to get his.
And whose business is it if the President-elect wants to have the occasional cigarette? His, and arguably his wife’s, that’s whose. Personally, the idea that the guy with his finger on the nuclear button is stressed out and craving a cigarette and making himself more stressed by fighting that craving makes me a little stressed myself. When he’s supposed to be worrying about the Russians or al-Qaeda or whoever and he’s worrying about whether he should have a cigarette instead, there’s something wrong with that picture. Now, I’m not saying I want the guy to keep smoking and damage his lungs. If he wants to quit completely, more power to him. But if he wants to pretty much quit but keep a pack handy for that occasional tense-situation smoke, well, that’s his business.
The degree to which my fellow Americans are obsessed by trivia never ceases to amaze me. The President-elect wants to continue the hemorrhage of your tax dollars into the gaping gullets of these greedy Wall Street bastards and four out of five Americans are more interested in what kind of dog he gets than in how much of their money he gives away. He appoints a guy to head the IRS who can’t even do his own tax return correctly, and the vapid majority of Americans demand not that he withdraw the nomination but that he quit smoking.
Truly, the fatuousness of my fellow citizens knows no bounds.