Uh oh. Looks like my presidential campaign has just had a serious setback. No, my exploratory committee hasn't decided I can't win. Far from it. But I just went bowling today at my daughter's classmate's birthday party, and only bowled a 92; far cry from Joe Scarborough's minimum of 150. Apparently, this not only makes me not presidential material, but I'm no longer a man. Or at least not a real man.
Sure, it's quite possible I could kick Scarborough's ass, if I was into that kind of thing. In fact, one of my problems is that I couldn't really find a bowling ball with the holes spread out enough for my big hand, but who am I kidding? I've only bowled three times in the last five years, and only twice did I bowl over 150. I'm nothing but a sick joke. A priss who might as well trade in his manly man wallet for a purse and lipstick. I rolled two gutter balls, for christ's sake, and only one strike in ten frames! And I thought I knew how to solve our foreign policy and economic problems. What the hell was I thinking?
Maybe if I stopped wasting so much time reading political news and more time tossing balls down the lanes, I could actually earn the respect of such politically astute manly men like Scarborough and Chris Matthews. They know that what's between a president's ears is less important than what they carry between their legs. They know all the true test's of a man's worth. And there's nothing manlier than being overly concerned with looking manly and talking about other men's wangs.
So if my blog posts get a little lighter over the next few weeks, you'll know why. It's not that I'm busy doing other things. It's that I've decided to become a real man. Before I'm done, by god, I will bowl at least 150 every time. I will prove my manhood to all those in doubt. I will earn my wallet.