In light of the Cain train slowly losing steam, I got to pondering over these very naughty boys of politics, or in Herman Cain’s case, the wanna-bes. Typically, I don’t care all that much about what goes on in folks bedrooms but I’m gonna tell you, my mind can’t help but linger on the after-story. You know, it’s like these fellas do all this romping in the sheets in the darkness, and then, because they run for public office and get found out, we get pulled into it by the media. And it’s not the media’s fault. It ain’t ’cause they’re doing what folk in their positions are trained to do. It’s that political posse that’s ultimately inviting us into their mess, taking all our focus off the real issues and directing our imaginings to them naked. Literally.
Am I the only one who’s tried to restrain from imagining Newt Gingrich naked or can I get an amen on that? And what about Anthony Weiner? Ain’t you just a little bit ticked off that you didn’t get to Skype in on the marriage counseling he and the wifey must’ve had to go through after the whole world saw his nakedness on Twitter, the cell phone or where the hell ever he got bold enough to show that chest? I mean, for real. It’s one thing for Wifey to be exposed to him but now the whole world knows what she’s working with. Folks, I tell you, it just ain’t fair that we didn’t get locked in on a handful of therapy sessions after looking at ole dude, don’t you think? Don’t you think if we’re that deep in it, that we deserve to know how Wifey dealt with this? All I’m asking for is some closure.
And I can’t stop thinking about the number one playa…Well, I’m kinda confused now ’cause John F. Kennedy just popped up in my head when I thought of the still surviving playa, Bill “Horn Playing” Clinton. Now, I’m gonna let Mr. Kennedy rest in peace. But that damn Bill had it going the hell on, didn’t he? Wasn’t there a cigar or some smoking items used for sex toys?…Folks, a quick revelation’s just come to me. I don’t know why I never put two and two together before this very second but there was some evidence of some hanky panky going on right there at the oval desk, right? Now, Monica, Lewinksy that is, had to be working ole Bill’s mojo under that oval desk when he got it in his mind to sign NAFTA ’cause no President in his right mind would ship millions of jobs over the waters that would make folk lose their jobs, right? I mean, think about it. Bill was about to push the papers off the desk and Monica was under there making that man lose his mind. Exactly what it would take to reverse that piece of paper, I ain’t figured out. Maybe, and I know this gonna sound wicked, but just maybe if Hillary gets in office, she could do a little somethin’-somethin’ on America’s behalf with this leader they got over in China. You feel me? Matter of fact, she’d be justified to do a little, (ahem), screwing around since that’s what Bill did to her and America, right?
Though, for 2011 Playa of the Year, I’m gonna have to give a shout out to my main man, Arnold Schwarzenegger. I’m kinda ticked at him for a different reason than you may think. And I’ve been meditating on this here thought for a good while, folks. Now, you tell me if I shouldn’t be a little teed off. Let me first say, and you may already know this from the accent and all, but no, I ain’t from or in California. The maid ain’t from there either, is she? Don’t matter none really. Thing of it is, I get to thinking that I could use me a paid-off house if I’d backed my thang up and made Arnold a baby. Like, I ain’t into cleaning or nothing like that but it ain’t a bad trade-off. I mean, how hard would it’ve been for me to back it up while I was bent over scrubbing a toilet or fluffing a pillow and ended up parking it, oh shit!, right there against my new Big Daddy and say I didn’t mean for shit to happen, Maria? Damn, damn, ditty damn damn, for missing out on the interview for that job!
And what’s that southern governer’s name in South Carolina with that rich wife who catapulted his political career into being a great man of success and honor to the people, who had his staff and the world hunting all over the map for him, only to wind up telling us he found his soul mate in Australia? Ain’t that ’bout a bitch for you?
But back to Herman, folks, ’cause he’s the man of the political hour. I see some dark ass days ahead for ole dude, y’all. I really don’t think he’s talking as loud at home as he’s been on the campaign trail. Though, I could use him to foot a few mortgage payments for me…(Thinking of a kinky strategy Herman may like)… Do I have to look at him naked or should I play little sex games and make him seek me out in the dark before we get low down and dirty with the wild thing?