Obama's Rippling Pecs

Just as I didn’t want to hear the explicit details about Bill Clinton’s private parts when Juanita Broderick accused him of rape back in the 90’s, neither do I want to see the current President of the United States featured on the front page of a magazine with his chest bared.
Color me a prude for caring more about the image of the United States than Obama’s rippling pecs. Personally, I don’t think they ripple that much but hey, the media says they do, so they must. Color me old fashioned for believing modesty is not an outdated virtue. And color me disgusted that the president of the greatest country on earth allows his half naked image to be displayed and included in the new culture of celebrity.
Yes, sales of the magazine will go through the roof. And yes, the younger set will consider Obama the essence of cool. And the feminists? They’re having a collective orgasm as we speak.
To feminists, Obama is the quintessential metrosexual. For all you other prudes out there, a metrosexual is a feminist invention designed to redefine a ‘real man’. Guys like John Wayne and Clint Eastwood are out – they exemplified the now outdated version of strong men who used brute force instead of relying on dialogue and charm.
The new revised version of manhood is more politically correct. Body hair is out and testosterone is best kept under wraps. Strong silent types are passe. The new male is sensitive and knows how to cry. The new male is more gentle, more feminized, less threatening, less male. More, well, Obama.
In the face of overwhelming acceptance of the new-improved ‘man’ I feel kinda silly. My idea of a real man is more along the lines of Clint Eastwood or Sean Connery. You know, the type of guy that wears the pants as opposed to the dude who uses hair spray and nail polish.

As I gaze on Obama’s bare and rippling chest, I don’t see a real man. I see the nerd that gets sand kicked on him by more powerful members of the species. I see a narcissist who values his exterior over his interior. But like I said, that’s just me. And my kind of thinking is way out of tune these days.
As my feminist mother will tell you, my problem is I can’t alter my basic nature in order to be in tune with the times. My nature insists there is a basic difference between men and women. Men are stronger. They are the protectors of women and children, whether or not those women and children think they need protecting. Women are the nurturers, taking care of their men and their children. You know, the role they’ve played since the dawn of man.
When I see Obama cavorting around in his swim suit, I don’t feel, well, secure. I keep thinking of all those nasty terrorists that want to annihilate us. I know its silly, but I just can’t envision Obama as a warrior, a protector, a ‘real man’. I also can’t keep from wondering why everyone sees him as handsome and sexy and virile. Not that there’s anything wrong with that.
Our president has been called the world’s greatest celebrity. That may be true. My question is, what happens when the celebrity fades, as it always does. Who will be left to deal with the threats our country faces, both at home and abroad?  If I had to bet my last dollar, (and its almost come to that) I’d bet on murdering jihadists over a cool guy with rippling pecs any day. But that’s just me.