This blogging thing can get a little strange at times. Recently, a female blogger from Think Progress was followed by two Orcs from Fox across the entire northern portion of Virginia just so that they could leap out at her and harass her with a camera and questions. I figured I was safe here at Chez Siberia – this is the sort of place The Unibomber would pick to hide out…if he wanted to hide out in plain sight.
But this morning, it definitely got weird when The Boy looked out the window and announced, “Ma, there are a couple of guys in suits and sunglasses getting out of a sedan – they’ve got wires on ‘em. Whadya do this time?”
Yep – definite FBI or Secret Service; they have the look, you know? And wearing sunglasses at 6:30 a.m., when it’s barely light is a definite give away.
Ding-dong.
“Ma’am — are you the blogger known in some circles as Aunt Toby? We’d like to speak with you a minute.” I showed them into the kitchen (where else) and sat them at the counter (ditto).
“What’s this about, gentlemen? I just write about food, gardening, saving money, that sort of thing. The political and ecological stuff gets posted at firedoglake; I try to keep the whole thing neat and tidy, you know?”
“That’s what we want to talk to you about, Miss Toby,” the taller, beefier agent said, folding his sunglasses and putting them in his coat pocket. “It looks as if you are not doing your part to support President Obama’s efforts with the economy.”
You couldn’t have shocked me more if you’d hit me with an axe.
“Excuse me? Moi? Aunt Toby? Miss “spend your money wisely? Miss “make your own bread” and “how to reline a coat by yourself?” What more can I write about that is going to help people get through the depression we’re having?”
“Not a depression, Ma’am,” the agent said, taking out a small notebook and flipping a couple of pages. “We need you to promote more distracting material – give people something else to think about, to work on.”
“Well, we will be starting a new series on raising chickens next month,” I told them. “The chicks will be here next week – I assure you, they will be very very cute. Very distracting.”
“No, Miss Toby, the President needs your most patriotic efforts in this matter,” the agent said, snapping a rubber band around the notebook and looking me straight in the eye. “He’s asking you to write about…(cue scary music)…the First Lady’s arms.”
A guffaw escaped my lips. “We don’t DO fashion here, gentlemen, “ I told them, turning to the stove to take out a pan of coffee cake. The scent of cinnamon permeated the kitchen; the agents sniffed appreciably. “Besides, for a set of naked arms, those biceps, delts and triceps have received so much coverage that even the most ardent critic should be silenced by this point. What would I write about them that has not been dealt with already?”
The second agent interrupted me. “Ma’am; the President thinks of Mrs. Obama’s arms sort of like FDR’s fireside chats. He believes they give people confidence..make them feel uplifted; he wants as much attention paid to the First Lady’s arms as possible. Everyone needs to do their part.”
And with that, the two men grabbed a couple of pieces of cinnamon coffee cake and left.
So, here is my ‘bit’ for the national economy, courtesy of Michelle Obama’s biceps:
America, you need to get Mrs. Obama’s upper arms. Not doing your part is letting the country and your underarm dingle dangles down. We all need to think of the entire economy is being exemplified by the First Lady’s firm and effective arms because:
1) We don’t have ‘em now. I’ve got big arms – I’ll bet I can benchpress a whole lot more than Michelle Obama because I live on a farm and have to lift a whole heckuva lot. So, I have big arms – but seeing the individual muscle groups is impossible.
2) Getting arms like that requires work. There is so much coverage out there on what our First Lady does to get those arms that I don’t have to cover it in detail. Just remember this: Find something heavy (see “No Excuses Weightlifting” and the gallon jug of water) and lift it. Then lift it again. And again. If the back of your arm hurts, do that again. Stop when you start crying.
3) Getting arms like hers requires sacrifice. The reason we can see Mrs. Obama’s muscles in her arms is the same reason that we can see the muscles in Madonna’s arms and the arms of every weight lifter and fitness model out there. It’s called ‘lack of coverage’ as in ‘not a whole lot of body fat lying on top of that stuff’. Want a six pack? Everyone has a six pack; the trick is uncovering it. I’ve got big honkin’ biceps, delts and triceps but no one can see them unless they’ve got x-ray vision because …well, Aunt Toby is definitely built for comfort, not for speed. If I want Michelle Obama arms, I’m going to have to sacrifice a whole bunch of caloric intake and burn up a whole lot of caloric outtake to uncover them.
So, there you go – use Michelle Obama’s arms as your blueprint to fixing the economy: work and sacrifice will work for both.
Just don’t tell that to the folks from AIG.
(photograph courtesy of touchyphiliac)
This is cross posted at relaxed politics
“Whadya do now, Ma?”
I love it. Just what I needed this morning, Toby!