The Two Year Itch

Posted on Tue 09/14/2010 by


Burt PrelutskyBy Burt Prelutsky

People used to talk about the seven year itch as the time in a marriage when one or both spouses was likely to start fantasizing about hooking up with another man or, as is more often the case, another woman. Well, I’ve reached that point. Not with my wife, you understand, but with Barack Obama.

The truth is, I wasn’t that into him even during the courtship. But after nearly two years, I have to say it’s just not working out, and it’s not just one thing. It’s everything.

Frankly, I’m surprised that his campaign, along with his books, didn’t red flag his red beliefs for more people. But I suspect that a lot of folks wanted to garner racial brownie points by voting for a black man and allowed their hearts to rule their heads.

Oscar Wilde once cynically observed that Niagara Falls was the second biggest disappointment in the life of a young American bride. I suspect that even more than his stimulus bill or ObamaCare, it was Obama’s insufferable arrogance that quickly ended the honeymoon he was having with the voters.

The man is so smug, over-bearing and self-aggrandizing, that he is, as he promised to be, the antithesis of George Bush, but not in a good way. Furthermore, I can’t believe that anybody ever thought he was eloquent. Without a Teleprompter, he turns into Porky Pig. I keep expecting him to end a press conference with “Th-Th-Th-That’s all, folks!”

Speaking of the Teleprompter, I believe I have finally figured out why he keeps breaking every sentence into two or three parts. I suspect that when he’s reading his speech and comes to the end of a line, he thinks he’s supposed to pause even if there’s not a comma or a period anywhere in the neighborhood. Try it yourself and you’ll see what I mean.

I realize that a president doesn’t ever want to paint a gloomy picture, lest he create a panic, but Obama’s lies are so blatant that he seems totally divorced from reality. For instance, every time the economic news is bad, which is just about every day, he tries to spin it to his advantage. For instance, when he pushed the stimulus, he claimed it would create or save three million jobs. At the time, I thought I was making a joke when I said that when he added “or save” to that sentence, it meant that if down the line there were still three million Americans who had jobs, he’d be taking credit. And sure enough, in spite of watching unemployment soar from 7.5% pre-stimulus to 9.6%, this buffoon is actually taking bows for having saved jobs!

The fellow I feel sorry for is Joe Biden. He’s the guy Obama sent out on the road to hype the economy. I’m reminded that kings employed food tasters, Mafia dons had their flunkies start the car in the morning and Obama used Biden to talk up recovery summer. I’m sure that if Obama ever has occasion to visit a coalmine, he’ll use Biden as his own personal canary.

Having suffered through recovery summer, most of us are waiting impatiently for recovery fall, which, this year, comes on November 2nd.

One of the more obnoxious exhibitions of hubris came when Obama threw out his rotator cuff patting himself on the back for pulling our troops out of Iraq. I realize that he couldn’t possibly bring himself to acknowledge that he and Biden had actively opposed the surge, but would it have killed him to acknowledge that George Bush displayed a lot of moxie when he went against what passes for political wisdom in Washington and turned ignominious defeat into a military victory?

Is Obama so disconnected from the American public, so emotionally tone-deaf, that he fails to understand that Americans despise glory hounds and appreciate good sportsmanship, whether it’s on the sports field or in the Oval Office?

Something else that annoys the heck out of me is having Mrs. Obama, who apparently regards herself as America’s own Nanny McPhee, constantly lecturing us about what our kids should be eating. How about if she gets off our backs and starts nagging her own husband? Every time I see him — at least every time I see him off the golf links — he’s scarfing down waffles, ice cream and cheeseburgers.

On the other hand, one of the few joys I have with the Obamas in the White House is imagining dinner time, with Michele pestering the kids to eat their greens, and little Malia pointing at the bozo-in-chief and saying, “Why do we have to eat broccoli when he’s having a hot fudge sundae?!”

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