Obama Pulls It Out

As the old dog said, “Pardon me while I hump for joy”. This old dog is so happy, he’s got your leg in a vise grip. It was not always so. Just yesterday, I watched the video of Biden, wearing shorts and longish hair, jump behind the wheel of a white club-cab pickup, take off down the driveway, and call out to reporters, “I’m not the guy!”

Could someone say that if indeed he was the guy? No. Not with Obama watching. Obama is a strict son-of-a-bitch. Like a nun in Catholic school, you know he’s quick with the ruler. Some of those times back there when Hill was being insolent, you could feel his desire to push her into the ground and be done with her. She was standing in his way. You don’t want to stand in Obama’s way. Not anymore. He’ll ride right over you.

Obama’s got what he calls a “narrow message.” So how could he stand for a clown delivering it? Biden’s already started turning the campaign into a catch-me-if-you-can, rolling down the road past those reporters and sending out the biggest, fattest lie he could tell. That, dear ones, is a lie. A playful lie, but an absolute untruth, unless you think that when Joe came home last night he found Obama’s van outside and Obama in the kitchen with a cup of coffee, waiting for him to get a few things together and come on over to Illinois to show up as his second.

Ah, yes, can you tell I am deliriously happy? I’ll tell you why, folks. Joe Biden reminds me of myself. A tall, good-looking old white guy who’s not ashamed of his height, and can stand up straight and look the world in the eye. Biden is funnier than hell and a lot hotter. You’re going to be checking in every day to catch his latest flash of wit. Like the one where they asked him in a debate, can he assure the American public that he can keep from running off at the mouth. “Yes,” says Biden. Camera switches to the moderator whose face is waiting for more. Then back to Biden, smugly smiling, lips tight shut. Then back to the moderator as he “gets it.”

Yes, this man plays with the foundations of our emotional understanding. He plays with words. His timing is exquisite. He’s Jon Stewart, with old-fashioned breeding. He doesn’t bludgeon you, he tickles you to death. You die laughing. That might be what’s happening to me. Right now, with the exception of national security, I don’t want to know what he thinks. I won’t like any of it, I’m sure. But I like him. I trust him. He’s superbly smart in a way none of the other candidates are. He can put things together.

When Joe Biden talks about his international dealings, you get the feeling he’s been sipping wine in the boudoir of every head of state. He’s knows what they think, what they want, what they’re like. He’s got a map in his head, and he is supremely capable of moving the pieces around on it. Now Barry doesn’t have to know a goddam thing about the Middle East. Not, that is, if he accepts Joey as part of his brain – lets him in there to tinker with his ideas.

There is precedent for that now. The agent of change was Cheney. Gore was the guy in the guest house. You feed him, you change his linens, but you don’t let him move the furniture around in your own home. Barack will, because the guy living in his guest house is the best fucking international designer you could hope for. Barack has other things to do. Like turning us into a slave nation where we’re all living in the guest house, have no say in anything, the food’s getting worse and worse, and they only come in to change the linens once a month. That’s where we’re headed with Obama.

But now he’s shown one thing. He’s not afraid to have a running mate with better credentials than he has. An enormous plus. It means his over-all administration can be better than he himself is, and that’s what we should always hope for, no matter how grand a leader we’ve found. Barry picked a Democrat with balls. He’ll have to let him off the leash sometimes, and that big white tail of his might slap a few notions down while it’s wagging. We really do not know what to expect. And that is exciting.

Tell me, folks, were you happy when you heard the news? Come jump on my private poll and whisper in my ear. I have not checked my mail; I don’t know what you’re thinking. Were you happy? Did you smile? Do you feel good? It’s almost like having Imus, another tall, good-looking loudmouth with a wicked tongue in his cheek.

I know you don’t like my harping on good looks, but I’m doing it for a reason. Obama does it, and I want you to notice, because it’s a large part of why he picked Joe Biden. Number one you already know. When he was teaching law, he’d use himself as an example and say, “Take Barack Obama. He’s a good-looking guy.” When he got up on stage after his three ladies had paraded into the gigantic venue, he said, “(Damn?), I have a good-looking family.” When he came out of the wings in Saddleback, he said to Rick Warren, “Good-lookin’ audience.” He had to say it twice to be heard over the clapping. Good-looking is on his mind. And now, he and Biden can go before the country, an old white god who has aged well, as a god should, and a young black one. The ancient leader in his leopardskin loincloth passing the information of the ages to his nubile sidekick, preparing him to take over, filling him in on all the secrets. That’s what Barack needs. A little filling-in.

And now Barry’s got a soldier who can stand up to McCain. Joe’s son will be in Iraq come elections. That balances McCain’s sordid experience. And does McCain really have anything else? Sure, the heads of state will see him. Out in the parlor, not in the inner sanctum. Tea instead of brandy. Diplomacy instead of truth. Biden gets to the bottom of things while McCain’s in a snorkel and fins, skimming along on the surface.

I’ll still have to go for McCain if Obama doesn’t shape up in certain serious arenas, which as I said, I don’t want to contemplate now, while I’m happy. Please, if you don’t mind, let me have a little more of that leg.

White Pickup