Mutts like me

I don't want this blog to turn into a whole Obama/Stan thing where I just talk about him all the time. Besides, Misstra Knowitall has many interests (see them on the top right of the page?) and I didn't help get out the vote or canvas or knock on any doors or drive old ladies to the polls or any of that, so I can't even act like I helped get him elected (besides my vote). Plus, I thought that the election thing would be the end of this very compelling story line. Now that he's President, I figured everything would go back to normal.

But, no. We got to know Obama as a candidate and now we get the distinct privilege of getting to know him as an actual President. That didn't dawn on me until I saw him in his press conference today.

...and by the way, the price of the package is going up.

The press conference made me nervous because I wondered how he might perform with all the pressure he was under, but then I remembered that this dude is, in the words of Phife Dog, "like Jordan on the mic--want to gamble?" And that's an understatement. Jordan only played basketball. Even though he was great, he didn't change the game like Obama already has. Obama hasn't just changed the game, he's changed The Game. He's like the Neo of racism.

Slow your roll.

Only a brother as smooth as him could be so brilliant and biting and funny when one of the reporters asked him about what kind of dog the Obamas were going to have at the White House. Everyone wants to know because when you live in the White House you have to have some kind of domesticated animal. Hopefully not a dog like Bush's psycho dog, Barney, who tried to maul a reporter's hand the other day, but something.

I probably need to be put to sleep.

Nixon had Checkers, Reagen had Rex (whose dog house was dedicated by Zza Zza Gabor, uh...random), and Clinton had Socks (BTW: Has anyone seen this cat lately?).

Seriously, does anybody know where I am?

The pet is our reminder that these are actual people who live in this White house and that they are supposed to have some kind of normal life. So, what of the Obama dog?

What I love about our President-elect is that he laid out his criteria for the new dog thusly: It's got to be hypoallergenic because of Malia's allergy and he would prefer it were a shelter dog, which means it would probably be a mutt, "like me," he says--perfectly deadpanned. That was a deadly moment. That was a Dave Chapelle moment.

Yeaaah!

All the (mostly White) moneypeople behind Barack didn't know whether to laugh or act like they didn't hear him. He gave a hint of a grin that let everyone knew it was okay, but there was that Moment. And I love that he is totally aware of how jarring it is for the American people to hear that their President is a mutt. A damn mutt.

This red pill is shiznit!

Oh, but why did he have to start snapping on Nancy Reagan like that?
I swear I seen Rahm Emmanuel slapping him five when they walked off stage.