Skeletons In The Closet

Why I'll never be president, Exhibit A:

I was reading an article today about how New Jersey governor Chris Christie is going to undergo lap-band surgery. Pundits are divided over what the impact of this will be. Some think that this can only help Christie in a possible run for the White House in 2016, while some think, holy shit, those lap bands better be made of solid steel because otherwise all it’s going to take is a single trip to Crispy Creme and BLAMMO! Lap-band shrapnel and icing everywhere. Governor Christie is a big boy. What everyone can agree on is that you cannot become President of the United States if you weigh more than a Volkswagen.

I don’t feel this is fair, frankly. I mean, we obviously don’t have a problem electing mental-defectives to office, so what if a candidate is packing a few extra pounds? Still, it’s obvious that you will not be elected to the office of President of the United States if you’re from Milwaukee seriously overweight. You’d have to go all the way back to FDR to find our last chunky president. (The whole polio thing was a ruse. The real reason FDR was never pictured from the chest down was that he looked like Jabba the Hut. He weighed over 1,600 pounds and once lost Eleanor in a roll of fat for over a month.)

The article then went on to list ten things you could not do if you hoped to be elected president, which I laughed at because it was woefully incomplete. I mean, I looked it over, and I didn’t see an entry for “Get caught furiously dry humping a washing machine at Sears”, and seriously, how can the list be complete without that? It’s what doomed Jimmy Carter’s reelection campaign.

As I thought more about the list, I started to wonder how old I was before I accumulated enough skeletons in the closet to make a presidential run impossible. You can get away with a lot of silly behavior when you’re a teenager, and certainly college students are known for binge drinking and pot-smoking, so I was probably good for a while. But I think that by the time I turned 20, I’d pretty much shot myself in the foot as far as running for office was concerned. Any one offense might be forgiven as a youthful indiscretion, but when you put them all together, they wove a tapestry of depravity. Seriously, the following clip may seem like an exaggeration, but there’s literally not a single thing in it that would’ve seemed out of place when I was 22, and it could’ve happened on a fucking weekday.

So, yeah, no presidential bid for me.