Politics For The Dogs

Recently, while perusing the Internet for information on the Presidential race, I happened upon this fascinating piece. Naturally, I decided to take advantage of the fact this Jennifer Graham character cannot strike back at me and engage in exactly the sort of behavior I deplore: a paragraph-by-paragraph dissection of this drivel.

Ms. Graham (and I will assume she is not married) begins her article with this bold statement:

So, we find ourselves in a society where the American president must not only be telegenic, but athletic, and frankly, it was only a matter of time.

Nothing groundbreaking has been said so far, so let us continue:

This is a country, after all, in which an aging Baby Boomer is as likely to possess a heart-rate monitor as a toaster oven. The electorate not only knows its cholesterol level, but considers it appropriate dinner conversation. The Boomers, who spend so much time crouched in vaguely obscene positions over their inflatable exercise balls, demand physical perfection of themselves, even more so of their leaders.

Right...

I do not mean to offend our huskier readers, but 30% of Americans list their ethnicity as "repulsive tub of lard". Furthermore, the people who use their cholesterol level as dinner conversation are usually referred to as either boring or retired.

Also, John Kerry is an elitist schmuck because he plays sports no one else indulges in:

Despite his campaign's frantic efforts to portray Kerry as the quintessential American jock, the candidate's selection of sports — snowboarding, windsurfing, ice hockey — does nothing to bolster that image. Windsurfing is something the typical American may do for an hour on a two-week vacation at Myrtle Beach; you don't build a fitness program around it.

And your point is what exactly? One minute you say the public wants an athlete. Then you start telling me that hockey does not qualify. Furthermore, I think most of Hip Youth America (tm) would approve of snowboarding.

Bush, however, is the real deal:

Conversely, George W. Bush is an athlete, albeit an adult-onset one. He runs 6-minute miles, bench-press 200 pounds, chops wood out on the ranch. Heck, he's been on the cover of "Runner's World." Unlike Kerry's, the president's workouts are actual periods of elevated heart rate and significant exertion, not orchestrated photo ops. The president doesn't exercise for the benefit of the press corps.

Damn straight he doesn't. In fact, he lets nothing get in the way of his exercise. Not even visiting foreign dignitaries who might interfere with his 10 o'clock curfew. After all, who in their right mind attempts a 6 AM jog after sleeping less than eight hours?

Jennifer Graham clearly has wet dreams about the President's rock hard abs and chiseled biceps:

Of course you didn't, Senator. But we understand your surprise. In your world, where you get a trial run down the ski slopes before the photographers are invited along, it's hard to envision someone sweating and panting for the pure physical joy of it all. That's what the president does, and why his resting pulse rate is somewhere around 45 beats per minute... a lot closer to professional cyclist Lance Armstrong's resting pulse than that of the senator from Massachusetts.

I'll be damned. Let's study this: if Dubya's resting heartrate is lower than John Kerry's, and Lance Armstrong's is the absolute lowest, then, just like Lance, the President must be a real American hero!

Logic rules our world, it would seem. However, there is a flaw in this argument:

Of course, that's only speculation. We don't acturally know John Kerry's heart rate, because he won't release his full medical records. Search "John Kerry" and "medical records" on the Internet, and you get a statement from his campaign detailing his medical condition...in the 1960s. Weirdly, it has something to do with Vietnam. Imagine that.

So we don't know Kerry's resting heartrate? But we can assume it is fairly high, because he is a hedonistic liberal who eats babies slathered with champagne.

The best part about this article, of course, is that Ms. Graham writes her own punchlines:

And we're an empathetic nation. If Kerry has some minor health problems that preclude vigorous workouts — whether from prostate cancer (which we know he has had) or Agent Orange — Americans will understand, if he will just own up to them. Instead, he insists on demonstrating his athletic prowess and how fetching he looks in bike shorts.

Right on. If only Kerry was an honest individual like his opponent. Oh wait.

It only gets better:

The truth: Athletes fall, Mr. Kerry. They trip, they stumble, they are sacked. They fall off their horse, they get hit by a ball, they twist their ankles, bruise their elbows, and dislocate their shoulders, but they get up and ride back to the ranch. The real jock knows this and is not embarrassed by the occasional tumble. In fact, he knows that bruises and casts are tangible proof that he's giving his all: Witness the runner hobbling down the street with one or both knees swathed in bandages.

Okay. As an athlete myself, I am going to let you in on a little secret: injuries suck. They are not tangible proof that I am giving my all; they are a testament to the fact that I fucked up.

Furthermore, what kind of clumsy runner hobbles down the street with his knees swathed in bandages? Ms. Graham, as a former 400 meter runner, I can attest to the fact that running is a very simple sport; you put one foot in front of the other. Then you repeat this action. And you do it quickly. Anyone who scrapes his or her knee while running qualifies as criminally incompetent and should have their limbs amputated.

And finally, Ms. Graham delivers her spine-shattering conclusion:

Our president — the true jock — allowed himself to be photographed soon after his spill, unashamed of the scrapes on his face. Bush does fall, just like Kerry, but the president does so with class. And whatever you think of Bush's policies, there's no arguing with 14.5-percent body fat.

First of all, who wants to be compared to a jock? Jocks are stereotypically muscle-bound idiots, hardly the kind of character we want running the country. And finally, since when does a man's physical fitness atone for his mental and political deficiencies?

Whabaam.

Listening to: Breathe - Télépopmusik