His Ineptness went to Kansas yesterday to channel a little William Jennings Bryan and a lot of the old Bull Moose.
Pardon me for saying so, Sir, but you don't make a very credible prairie populist, and it's even harder to picture you leading a battalion of actual men, charging up a Cuban hill in the face of other actual men shooting back.
Mr. President, this country knew Teddy Roosevelt. Teddy Roosevelt was a friend of ours. You're no Teddy Roosevelt.
If you want to Americans to quit dissing you as a street wimp who lucked out, flying Unicorn One to Hawaii at our expense for a 17-day golf junket won't do the job.
You want to be Teddy Roosevelt? Fine. Book a train to Libby, Montana. Find yourself a Flathead guide. Hire a good old quarter horse with some mountain pony in his pedigree (demand a birth certificate) and an agile, hefty pack horse or two. Learn to throw a diamond hitch. Head on up into the Kootenai country. Be ready to pull your weight when it comes time to pitch the big wall tent and fire up the Sibley stove.
I'm pro-choice when it when it comes to personal weapons, but your image consultants probably will recommend something like a Model 95 in .30-40 Krag, scabbarded under your leg.
Get in, shoot at a quarter-ton of something with teeth and claws, and get out. Then maybe some of us will listen to you prattle on about big sticks and heroic presidents.
Until then: President Obama as Bull Moose? Bull Shit.