We always knew he had no brain. Now the Chimp is proving he has no heart. Every shameless photo op lately seems to be in a cafeteria line with troops as camera fodder. The implication is that he’s sacrificing for the cause in eating what they do. But everybody knows he prefers chow to cuisine, tube steaks over Kobe beef. Have the perks of power ever been squandered on a more juvenile appetite?
Over at the Injustice Department, meanwhile, apparently no one is in danger of encountering an MRE in time of war. Television news was all over an audit that found $13,000 was spent on cookies at one staff conference; at another, Swedish meatballs were catered at nearly $5 a pop. That would be the same event where extravagances like coconut lobster skewers and butterflied shrimp were dished up. It all gives new meaning to the phrase “feeding at the public trough.” And isn’t that just what the party that hijacked the agency claims to disdain?
So Martha Stewart is now doing wine. Bottled water must be so over. But her latest venture is still a reminder of who pays for sins in the land of equality. She got caught in a lie and went to jail. Scooter was convicted of multiple national security whoppers and walked. In a just world, he would be baking pretzels in hell. I guess we have to settle for seeing her keep on cashing in with Gallo.
My other trip in the way-back machine was courtesy of the cafe upstairs at Fairway, where I went to refuel after a grueling bout of PT in preparation for braving the body-slammers down below. As I was waiting, and waiting, for my perfect cheeseburger, in walks Ed Koch, accompanied only by another dodderer. He took a table by the window just like anyone else and settled in unmolested, napkin tucked into the neck of his shirt, placidly awaiting his ex-chef’s food. It was just like the old days when he was mayor and we would constantly see him out in the street, wallowing in attention, long before Rudy “made it safe.” I admit the endorphins were still pumping, but it felt sorta warm and fuzzy to find someone so recognizable moving freely at a time when the allegedly most powerful man in the world cannot go anywhere without armed guards and still has to shut down entire cities “for security.” Maybe they’re right that you are what you eat. Who could ever have imagined a hot dog in chief? (Sorry to hammer, but they’re dying while he’s lying.)
Of all the dispiriting details in excerpts of the new “Dead Wrong,” the most stomach-churning had to be those describing the Chimp at trough, wadding cheese into his maw and spewing hot dog fragments while talking with his mouth full. Now we indubitably know “honor and dignity” in the White House really means a child with his boots on the people’s irreplaceable desk demanding, “Bring me an ice cream.” Which he needs, he admits, because he craves the sugar in booze. Surely Panchito could have passed along these kinds of tidbits in time to warn the world a disastrous boor was headed for power-drunkenness. He got seduced. And we got the sloppy seconds.
In showing his smirk in New Orleans, the Chimp was like a dog eating its own vomit. No true human with a scintilla of shame would ever have foisted himself off on an octogenarian restaurateur who has not been able to reopen for real after two whole years. What’s saddest is that the cheery photo op worked, yet again, for mainstream media — the world saw the smiling faces at Dooky Chase and not the devastation just outside. Potemkin was a piker compared with this sociopath.
The Grand Old Hypocrites must have taken Ray Sokolov at his word when he said the eating is getting better at airports. And was that sad sack the first guy ever to be destroyed for not getting a blow job?
It’s almost as if the NYC Health Department has dispatched inspectors to the Chimp’s joint — the rats are fleeing like Taco Bell’s. Typical of Fredo not to recall exactly why he was leaving. He should have just used the NYC cop’s defense and said his wife put marijuana in his albondigas.
Anyone who thinks the Skankier Twin’s wedding announcement is anything besides more sand in the umpire’s eyes probably believed Turdblossom’s excuse for leaving. If she does trade her tequila bottle for a Republican tool, the affair will undoubtedly be West Texas tasteful, with Jell-O shots for everyone. But somehow I suspect the ratings bounce is not going to happen, not when Americans are eating literally 200,000 pounds of painkillers a year and the Chimp misery still won’t go away.
Just when you think the Chimp cannot embarrass the country any more profoundly, they send him out to recite the menu for Sarkozy. A 5-year-old would have sounded more statesmanlike. Did he really say “he can have him a piece of blueberry pie”? And what were they thinking, serving corn on the cob when we know from the Blair incident how crude his table manners are? No wonder the Premiere Famille stayed away, “citing sore throats.” Weak stomachs are more likely.
What’s also interesting is that some news stories noted that “like Bush, he shuns alcohol.” And two google links below were a couple of youtube videos labeled “Sarkozy drunk at G8.” Unless Daddy was there as chaperone, the O’Doul’s must have been flowing big time at that lunch.