The hebrewized/androgynized/hipsterized Obama PR imagi-cultural putsch making the viral rounds in all its murky delicately framed slather got me thinking about something having to do little with Obama or health care.
Frankly, the photo is repulsive to clear thinkers and it says so much more than I could ever attempt to embellish verbally on this damn blog. A picture speaks a thousand words, they say, but that is not true in this case. This photo speaks one word: faggy. If it makes you feel better, repeat it a thousand times. But that word is all we need to know of this photo portraying an archetypal Obama-loving, Prius-driving effeminate boy of the 21st Century. Faggy.
Not “faggy” in the classic sense of the word. This guy, and the cultural so-called testosterone dearth that he epitomizes in this smart-phone, flip-flop-wearing micro-masculine age of today’s First World self-absorptions, is probably straight. But he is so faggy. Effeminate. Skinny, pampered, soft, demure, delicate, too fragile to be shipped, FAGGY.
This is today’s man. This is today’s President. Skinny manboys who are browbeaten and glared into willful subservience by the man-jawed exceedingly sensible women who rule their lives, and by extension, mold our shivering dystopia.
And why is hot chocolate so faggy?
Everybody loves hot chocolate, right? And pancakes. Pancakes are faggy as well! Pancakes and hot chocolate are faggy things to eat. Women love these sensual pseudo-foods because they are comforting and emotionally bloating. Women love that shit.
Hot chocolate as portrayed by Wilbur in his flannel onesie reeks of female soft comfort. I guess it’s our motivation for eating this sugary, sweet crap that spells our manhood. In the event Wilbur’s cute plaid outfit is not keeping his soft, fuzzy loins warm, he should be attempting to stay warm with a cup of hot Joe. No cream, no sugar. And he should opt for the meat lover’s omelette instead of those estrogen-enhancing blueberry pancakes he keeps eyeing behind those raised brows.
Obama’s cultural doctors are crafting and exploiting our cultural reticence and evolving male weakness. What better image than this featureless branch of male expulsion swathed in a warm glow of domestic delicacy?