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Page 1 of 2 There is an awful lot of chatter afoot. The man’s been in office for nary a week, and already the blogsphere is so dense with finger-pointings, gotchas, conspiracy theories and reassessments, heads are beginning to tilt. Whether the declarations of staunch reform groups, or snarky barbs of virgins typing quietly in their mother’s basement, all that chatter shares a common thread: Obama must glean knowledge from lessons laid in the past. However, sources cited are all too often policies of the preceding fourty-three, ideals sought by Clinton, and fire-stoking campaign pulpits of old relegated to storage as soon as the boxes were unpacked at 1600 Pennsylvania Ave.
A sticky net, poised for collapse.
I’m left to wonder why Obama should have to navigate the torrid waters of White House ancestry in hopes of finding his footing – when there’s a treasure trove of lessons available, in a considerably more palatable format.
I contend: Obama can accumulate all the tools he needs for governing the free world, simply by watching 80’s movies. Allow me to explain… 
A Nerd We Can Believe In | If You Spend Enough Time Alone with Them, Even Rethuglicans Can Become Your Friends:
A lanky frame (when suit is present – those post-gym, shirtless photos are fodder for a whole other magazine), pronounced ears -- Obama may seem a bit nerdy, but there’s no denying the man has a gift for prose. Meanwhile, beneath their ethics-touting exteriors, those war-mongering conservatives may well just be trying to impress their fathers. Does anyone doubt Ann Coulter can slip a gloss stick into her brassiere for a flawless, hands-free application? Pelosi may sweeten her sandwiches with pixie sticks – but it doesn’t mean her wardrobe is pink.
If The Breakfast Club taught us anything, it is that common ground need not take months nor years to forge. The lesson then, Mr. President: Just invite the powers that be, and all their flunkies, into in the Senate building one Saturday, and bolt the doors. Eight hours later, you’ll have another gorgeous speech -- and a diamond in your hand. |
Problems with China?
Sure, Chinamen might have a tendency to counterbalance their quirky sense of humor with staggering work ethics – but if Long Duck Dong is any indication, they are not a breed of man without an easily exploited weakness. When appointing an ambassador to the land of Kung Fu, be sure it’s a woman. Not just any women – but a tall one, of sturdy frame, sexually aggressive demeanor, astounding upper body strength and breasts for days (may I suggest: Joanie Laurer).
There would be a hefty aspirin, earplug and Bloody Mary bill for taxpayers to foot the next morning – and, no doubt, claims of amnesia all around – but the papers would be signed, and progress achieved. Wolfman’s Got Nards!
… and if Wolfman’s got ‘em, surely The Terrorists do as well.
Monster Squad raptly illustrated even the most venomous of foes bears an Achilles heel. If bumbling pre-pubescents can take out Dracula and his henchmen, then bearded McDonalds haters should be no match for our dark-skinned Man of Action. The second pearl of wisdom purported by Monster Squad is not that squished Snicker bars are still edible Snicker bars, rather, that even the Big Bads of this world need a little Wilson Pickett accompanied fun now and then. So, instead of solely concentrating on smoking Bin Laden out of shadowy caverns and Hooverville-like Pakistan/Afghan Border Badlands… maybe check the bowling alleys. |  I vahnt to suck your uranium. |
The French Are Smarter Than They Appear
If a French chick smiles at you politely, but you have a sneaking suspicion that look in her eye is saying, “Oh mon Dieu, I sure hope crazy isn’t contagious” – that’s probably precisely what she is thinking, because the whole “I can’t speak English” thing is a ruse! It only happened in Better Off Dead, because it could happen anywhere. French bread, French fries, French dressing – there’s got to be a hidden agenda in there somewhere.
Speaking of imports…
Husky – not Labradoodle
The first choice for multifaceted canine accompaniment would be a Hound of Hell, but we certainly don’t want Politico to imagine the hound’s sole function is to protect our leader during daylight hours, and channel the inspiration to fuel Regan comparisons. Also, Cerberus might not be quite the cuddly puppy Malia and Sasha long for. Huskies, on the other hand, are keen, puffy and, hailing from wolf heritage, protective of the young. They have the added distinction of being a wicked-accurate Blood Sucker Alarm System. After all, young Sam Emerson’s sing-a-long bath would’ve ended in foamy red bubbles if it hadn’t been for Nan-Nuk’s enviable olfactory prowess. It would do my Irish proud to see our chief with a wolf-like beast by his side. Of course, those chieftains ultimately lost – and Ireland was so strewn with carcasses of man, the Isle’s native wolf population acquired the taste for human flesh… and were ousted from the country as a result. But, whatever – Obama’s task at hand is to reduce the amount of Americans in peril. So, there would almost be a poetic resonance to the husky’s presence. Putting right what once went wrong, or something very much like it. Back on point: The Lost Boys brings more parables to the table than help in selecting the proper canine companion:
- Just because you’re new in town, doesn’t mean you have to join The Gang.
- Never put food in your mouth without first inspecting it.
- Harvard alums aren’t the only bookworms in town. 
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