Do It To Me Now, Mr. President
When most couples I know move into a new house, they like to, you know break it in by having sex in every room.
How many places can Mr. and Mrs. Barak (That’s what my mom calls them) have sex in the White House? And more importantly, do you think that they did it after that 10th ball? Or sometime yesterday? Or today? Or is running the country so exhausting that it kills your libido altogether?
Mrs Barak: Give it to me, Mr. President.
Mr. Barak: I’m not into it, Mrs. Barak. That replay of Ann Coulter on Dr. Phil has left me semi-permanently impotent.
Since I’ve only been a guest on the public White House tour, I mean obviously George and Laura didn’t invite me over, I don’t have much of a mental picture of what the private living quarters look like. Except that I would expect that there is a secret service agent, or two, or three of them posted nearby. How can you possibly get down or go down when you’ve got the secret service listening in?
SS Agent 1: Oh my God, what are the strange noises coming from their bedroom?
SS Agent 2: 3-2-1 and…. he’s done.
SS Agent 1: Roger that.
It’s impolite, I know to imagine our President and First Lady doin’ it. But I can’t help it. I just want to know, you know, do they do it like the rest of us? Or the rest of you, my now 13 faithful readers because despite recent and growing ever-more-random offers, I am not bumpin’ uglies with anyone.
It’s just that, well… I’m not sure I could, uh, get there, um in the same bedroom that George and Laura Bush slept in for 8 years. Because that’s just not hot.
Hell, I don’t even like to have my cat in the room when I’m gettin’ busy. So there’s no way I could do it with one or more secret service agents posted outside the door.
Which makes me wonder about thier closets, bathrooms…
Can you actually have sex in the Lincoln Bedroom? Can you get felt up in the White House Movie Theater or slide around on the White House Bowiling Ally?
What is wrong with me that I don’t have anything better to do that wonder about the sexual proclivities of our newly minted President?
I need to get a life. A naked, between-the-sheets, more than once every-not-often-enough-life.
Until then, you know what I’ll be thinking about at the McPherson Square Metro stop.
I’m fairly certain most Presidents look forward to applying the presidential seal to their wives in the WH as one of the first orders of business. Or, in the case of Clinton, to anyone other than the wife. But Obama strikes me as being of higher moral character than Clinton though, so I’m pretty sure Mrs Barack has had her ticket punched.