And You Thought Reagan Was Old!

The Presidential election occurs on Tuesday, November 4th... this year for anyone living in the sewers under New York. Whoever wins (cough, Obama, cough, cough) will be inaugurated on Tuesday, January 20th, 2009 at exactly 12:00 p.m. That means should John McCain win (cough, he won't, cough, cough) he will be one-hundred and eighty-seven years old. Actually, it's only 72, but still... DAMN!








To put that into perspective for you, Ronald Reagan, generally regarded as the oldest and most senile of all the Presidents, was only sixty-nine (there should be some crude, veiled sexual reference here, but that joke is just too damned easy) when he was elected. And again for the benefit of the mutant mole people, by the end of his second term he was in his jammies watching "Bedtime for Bonzo" on a loop by 4 p.m. every afternoon, so that he could turn in at the ripe old hour of 6:30.





Ok, here's the thing. Because of the morons below, the office of the President of the United States of America holds


















about as much global political weight as that guy who just declared his island independent from The United Kingdom (which will undoubtedly claim that the island still belongs to it because the Crown has historically believed that every piece of land on the entire planet belongs to it).

By the end of his presidency, Reagan was nuts. The White House knew it. The media knew it. The American people knew it. And foreign heads of state the world over knew it. And you know what? It scared the living shit out of them.

Think about the 80's. A bastion of wealth and poor taste that reeked of an Appalachian family winning the lottery. Paisley. Thin ties. Leg Warmers. Haircuts like this:


The Yuppie. The Beemer. Hair Metal. Deborah Gibson (when she was still Debbie). New Kids on the Block... fuck me! Oh, it makes me want to vomit just thinking about it. But, it was also arguably the most prosperous, expansive and progressive decade of the 20th Century. Although, I'll put the Roaring 20's up against it any day of the week. You know, up until that whole Great Depression deal. I mean who wouldn't want to live like this?




















But, I digress. The 80's was everything that it was because we could do pretty much anything that we wanted and no body would screw with us. Why? See the whole Reagan was nuts thing above. And because the Penis and the Frat Boy have really screwed the reputation of the office globally over the last four terms, I say it's high time we have another kook in the oval office.

Imagine this, it's the last year of McCain's second term. He's taken to wearing his Depends adult diapers on the ouside of his pants because he likes the "crinkly noise" it makes when he walks, and the noise is too muffled when the diaper is inside the pants. He wears one red sock on his left hand and three purple ones on his right hand. All of the right sleeves of his shirts and suit jackets have been cut off, revealing bare, flabby arm from shoulder to, well, sock. And he is never seen in public or private without a full indian headdress adorning his now totally bald head.

He shows up like that at a state dinner. He eats his baked beans with his hands... without removing the socks (I don't know why they are serving baked beans at an official State Dinner. Just go with it). And for the grand finale, he gets the 25 piece orchestra to play the theme song to "Flashdance" while he pathetically attempts to recreate Jennifer Beals' dance sequence from the last scene of the movie. Oh, and in a veiled attempt to cover the fact that he's freaking bonkers, since he can't remember anyone's name, he has begun to call everyone he comes into contact with "Freb". I'm sorry but if I'm the Ambassador from Candyland, I return to my country and tell my potentate, "Do not, under any circumstances, piss this guy off. In fact, I'd say lay low for the next four to eight years.

Anybody remember this guy?

"WE WILL BURY YOU!" Nikita Khrushchev scared the fuck out of us like very few before or after him have... and all this guy did was hit a shoe on a table. Can you imagine what crazy, sock hand-puppet, no sleeved, indian chief, "What a Feelin'" dancing, senile President could do?

I tell you what. The choice before us this November is between a liar and a loon. And I gotta tell you, I'll take the loon every day of the week and twice on Sunday. Let's face it, because of the Penis and the Frat Boy (that'd be Clinton and Bush, respectively, for those not paying attention for the last sixteen years), the Presidency just does not hold the same prestige, respect and, yes, fear that it once did.

It is time to restore those superlatives to synonymity with The President of the United States. The liar can't do it because no one respects him or trusts him, and it's irrelevant whether the loon has those things innately because others will be scared shitless not to give them to him.

The Presidency is in critical condition. What this country needs more than anything else right now is an old school sort of hard-ass that can rule as a stern taskmaster. No offense to the liar, but I personally think the loon has a better shot at doing that.