Douchebag of the Week (Week Ending 1/20/2024 -- Chris Christie)

 Oblivious (adj):

1. Lacking conscious awareness, unmindful.
2. Lacking all memory; forgetful.
3. Promoting oblivion; causing forgetfulness.

The bullshit beauty contest that is the Iowa Caucuses -- where Republicans go to tell farmers that theirs is the only corporate welfare they won't cut, if elected -- is now over.

It was over before it started, in many respects, but the yokels who live in a place so flat you could watch your dog run away for five days (and this would be regarded as entertainment by such) must be given their five minutes in the Sun.

The form of the thing must be kept, for tradition's sake, though the outcome was hardly ever in doubt.

I've never seen Frank Luntz so despairingly downtrodden before. It was almost as if someone had pantsed him during gym class and gave him a big, beefy smack on his backside that echoed, to boot.

You already know what happened in Iowa.

But, speaking of things big and beefy, we come to the winner of this week's coveted prize, a man so corpulent that when it is said that he "bowed out" after the contest it couldn't possibly be taken literally.

The only thing that had a longer shot at success in this Presidential race was Christie's belt.

One of the things that strikes this would-be Galactic Dictator as strange (and perhaps a sign of mental illness) is the persistent presence of "fringe candidates" in American Politics who, like Prometheus, are chained to a stone of impossibility only to have their (in Christie's case, ginormous) metaphorical liver eaten out on a daily basis.

It is more like having their ass handed to them...repeatedly.

In Christie's case, unlike Prometheus, he beat the eagles to dinner a long time ago and devoured his own liver.

With bacon and onions.

You could say that Trump "ate Christie's lunch" in this race, but that would be two lies for the price of one: Christie's lunch doesn't sit around long enough to be eaten by another and the only race Christie is in now is the one against the massive coronary headed his way.

Which is not surprising, considering all the other things Christie probably has swallowed to get to both his enormous girth and to this place in politics.

Pride being the main course, one would think, because it takes a certain sort of stuck-on-loser mindset to keep running for an office you'll never achieve and to keep losing.

But, its only other people's money, right? Isn't that what politicians DO? Spend other people's money?

And I would think this particular loss hurts all the more, considering the competition for second place (the best one could have hoped to achieve with Trump the Martyr on the bill).

I mean, you couldn't even pull more votes than Nikki friggin' Haley?

Nikki Haley is Mitt Romney in frillier underwear and sporting a for-real vagina.

Nikki Haley can be elaborate while still being vague.

I've taken an X-ray and confirmed it: Nikki Haley has no spine.

Nikki Haley is so dumb that when someone asked her to roll a joint she went out and sprained her ankle.

If they named a hurricane after Nikki Haley it would become a hurri-can't.

Perhaps if Christie wasn't chain snorting White Castles all day, someone with half a brain and the guts to get within fork-and-knife range would have told him why he will never, ever win this race from now until Armageddon:

YOU HUGGED OBAMA, DUDE.

It is your Scarlet Letter.

Like the name "Lewinski" is forever entwined with a certain sexual act, the name "Christie" will be forever welded to the bro-mantic moment you and Barry embraced on a beach.

Like you were on your honeymoon at Sandals, or something.

Except it was New Jersey. Where the only sandals are the ones that wash up on the beaches after a spate of mob hits.

It was a moment captured forever on film and video, perhaps the most cringe-worthy event ever recorded on media that didn't involve the poster boy for both Dementia and Super Poli-grip currently getting lost on the way to his own desk in the White House.

The Overlord gets it, because he's savvy that way: you were the governor of a state devastated by Hurricane Sandy (alas, not named after AOC, who is a natural disaster of another sort) seeking federal aid.

Yes, it is smart to be politic, polite and somewhat fawning at such a time, but did you have to grip him like a barnacle on a tugboat? 

Like how Joe Biden clings to a 10 year old?

(Perhaps we've misunderstood: that bear hug wasn't so much sucking up to Obama as it was trying to suck him into your digestive system?).

It took all the air out of any Presidential aspirations you ever had. A feat you used to accomplish all by yourself by pushing all the air out of any room you ever entered with your enormous muffin top. 

It didn't help that looming over the whole shebang was Trump in much the same way as you loom over the buffet at China King.

There was a time when Christie was the proverbial breath of fresh air in American politics.

He was brutally frank (I'm told he eats about 22 of those a day, with sauerkraut, onions and a pork chop). He was a willing combatant against the left. He was in an unofficial competition with Rudy Guiliani to see who could be the biggest badass in the Tri-State area; this pushed him to be (slightly) more conservative at times.

He was a vast (and I do mean "vast") improvement over what had preceded him in office, Jim McGreevy, who only publicly announced his homosexuality with his stunned (and obviously medicated) wife standing at his side.

To be fair, though, Christie thought his name was "McGravy" and it was the newest dish on the menu at McDonald's: a sausage slipped into a bun from the back end and slathered in Vaseline.

And let us not forget that other milestone in Garden State dumbfuckery, another of Christie's predecessors; the oleaginous Jon Corzine, the fabulously wealthy-virtue-signaling-Clinton suckup from Goldman-Sachs, who burned $62 million of his own cash to become a Senator only to get caught up in the Ponzi scheme of MF Global, proving that financial acumen is not a requirement for executives on Wall Street.

You outshone a homo and a thief; by comparison you were as bright (and large) as the Sun.

But somehow Nikki Haley was a tougher nut to crack? 

(Perhaps if you ate more nuts you'd lose a few yards around the waistline, no?)

But you never had a chance against Trump. I reckon in your more-conscious moments (i.e. whenever Dunkin' Donuts wasn't rolling a tractor trailer up to your doorstep) you probably knew this. So, the run for the Rose Garden probably had some other agenda that the general public is unaware of.

You did it for the check, didn't you, Chris? Don't candidates get to keep a portion of their unspent campaign funds? is it enough to keep you in Whoppers and Ho-ho's for a week, at least? I certainly hope so.

So, take heart (unless yours explodes from the 40-weight cholesterol in your veins) , Chris Christie, because you've finally won something.

Unfortunately, you can't eat it.

But you can use it to relive your shining moment on that beach on the Jersey Shore and hug this douche with as much passion and fervor as you did that other one.

Good riddance, Fatboy.