St. Obama

I like Obama. I voted for Obama. I wanted change. Change I got.

But ... I hate to say it.

I think he's getting ready to jump the shark, folks.

Bush combined religiosity with a smarmy cowboy swagger. The nation goes to war, and he tells us it's time to NOT sacrifice. "Buy bigger SUVs and Hummers, born more gas, buy more shit. The time has come to affirm America's deepest value: acting like selfish pigs."

Well, OK. Like a fratboy on a cocaine binge in his daddy's convertible, Bush drove us into a dangerous neighborhood and wrecked the car. Now, St. Obama has to deal with the wreck. A righteous alternative to hog-wild cowboy Bush.

But he's too damn righteous.

There's a fine line where it starts to seem prissy and hectoring. Brush your teeth, floss, eat your oatmeal. St. Obama is getting very, very close to that line. What happens when you cross it? You start to look like Jimmy Carter.

Fortunately, there are warning signs of Carter syndrome:

Enlarged front teeth.
The use of the word "malaise."
Peanut butter breath.

These signs are not necessarily fatal.

The day Obama swims in terror from a killer rabbit, you know it's over.