Obama and Clooney Party Hardy

OMG, look how photogenic we are.

Your humble correspondent’s morning typically begins with a quick perusal of The New York Times, one of the few remaining dead-tree newspapers whose prose doesn’t seem aimed at the reading level of paste-eating first-graders. Lately, however, even a few seconds with the Gray Lady sets his already-suffering molars to a hard grind. Every time he flicks to a new page, he’s assaulted by banner ads for an opportunity to meet Commander-in-Chief Obama and Pimp-in-Chief George Clooney at the latter’s Los Angeles abode on May 10.

Yes, for a mere fifteen bucks United States currency—roughly the same price a Secret Service agent expects to pay for a rocking night on the town in Columbia—you can earn the chance to stand in the megawatt presence of the two men guaranteed to transform even the most well-spoken ultra-conservative into a sputtering Neanderthal of rage.

Your correspondent has precious little idea what Clooney’s house is actually like in real life, but imagines it featuring enough marble, artwork and nubile young lasses to make Caligula blush. Where else do you live when you’re worth eleventy-billion dollars?

It doesn’t take a James Carville to see how this whole shindig might prove a bad move for the Obama campaign. As the election year intensifies into outright rhetorical war, Obama will do his level best to paint Mittenz Romney as hopelessly out of touch with the needs of the American middle class. And Romney, between his car elevators and multiple Cadillac sedans and NASCAR-owner friends, isn’t exactly making himself a hard target in that regard.

But the second Obama is seen hanging out in the Hollywood Hills with movie stars and assorted hangers-on, he loses some of that advantage; it’s harder to claim you’re the one true defender of the middle class when an Oscar winner (or the Oscar winner’s comely young lass) is freshening up your glass of chardonnay.

It must be noted at this juncture that your humble correspondent has been in the same room as Obama and Clooney, and thus feels confident in saying that any meeting between the two men will almost certainly descend into a wonkish policy discussion. But the GOP will inevitably do its level best to portray the evening as decadence amidst high unemployment and general malaise, the most tin-eared celebration since Nero fiddled against the backdrop of a burning Rome. And thus will the nastiness continue.


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