So this is appropriate… President-elect Obama’s speechwriters can party hard and that’s fine. But please explain to me how someone so inarticulate that they have to grope a cardboard cutout of Senator Clinton instead of scathingly critique her– and so misogynistic that this is how they treat women in politics– is head of speechwriting for the whole freaking White House?
Mr. Obama, give me a break. If you’re going to give this silver-platter job to some twenty-something screwup… I’ve got your screwup right here. See, I thought I wasn’t bestest and brightest enough to make the cut for the Obama dream team… but seeing staffers such as Favreau makes me realize I, too, have a chance! If this kid is qualified, I’ve no doubt that my intellectual prowess and communications skills are up to snuff. I have… what’s that… word… hope!
I’ll tell you this much: Closeted skeletons or past e-mail indiscretions aside, I’d definitely disable my Facebook upon acceptance of the job– and I can promise you I’d find better criticisms of political rivals than pointing out that they have breasts. Oh yes, yes I can.
So give that speechwriting gig to me instead, President-elect Obama. I may not have the Heineken-drinking skills or cardboard-breast-groping talents of Jon Favreau, but I promise you I could do the job at least as well as that guy.