No chunky Pres for US

Would we elect an overweight person as President of the United States?

No, of course not. We aren’t that enlightened (no pun intended).

We do not respect and revere persons of the girthy persuasion enough to elevate them to such high office – err, because, the elevator might break? Okay, that was bad. But I couldn’t resist.

The problem is we elect a President on his looks as much as anything else. Both political parties know that. Take a gander back at the debates between John Kennedy and Richard Nixon if you don’t believe me. Obama looked a heck of a lot more dapper than John McCain too. McCain wasn’t overweight, but he looked so beat up from his POW experiences not even a good looking blonde wife on one arm and Sarah Palin on the other could compensate.

Howard Taft was possibly the last paunchy personage to be elected President and he got stuck in the White House tub. Boy, don’t you wish some snoopy television reporter had gotten that on tape?

“Mr. President, how does it feel to be stuck in your tub with millions of viewers watching? Is that your personal monogram on that washcloth covering your private parts?”

But you would think in a nation where 66% of the voting-age population reportedly is overweight and 32% is obese, someone like New Jersey Governor Chris Christie, Mississippi Governor Haley Barbour, former House Speaker Newt Gingrich or former Arkansas Governor Mike Huckabee could actually get elected.

No. Ain’t gonna’ happen – unless you voters go to the polls motivated strictly by your emotions - your disappointment that Obama didn’t turn out to be God or the Big Job Guru you thought he was.

See, the reason a man (or woman) can’t control his own waistline is because he or she is a passionate person – as in too passionate. Stuffing your passion, as a paunchy President surely would have to do, leads to over consumption of comfort foods. How can a chunky Prezzy control the national budget if he or she can’t control the old passion meter? Can’t you see Mr. Chunky Pres at a cabinet meeting?

“Hey, Sec. State, pass that plate of pastries down here.”

“Sir, you might want to go easy on the pastries, you have that state dinner tonight and the dance afterward.”

“Heck. I’ll work off whatever I eat at the dance. We’ll do the chunky monkey, cha-cha-cha.”

Now the President’s right-hand-person or advisor, his Dick Cheney clone, whispers in the President’s ear. “Sir, I know you’re still upset from that meeting with the Palestinians and the Israelis, but you know what the doctor said about your weight.”

“What are you, my mother?” The President barks. “Pass those blanket-blank pastries down here and do it now. That cherry turnover better still be on the plate when it reaches me too. And by the way, anybody who dares tell my wife I ate pastry before dinner will be looking at a new job posting as Under Secretary of Agriculture in Antarctica.”