Seriously though, America…

…Barack Obama really isn’t your boyfriend.

I know that post I wrote (read by approximately 0.0000000000001/smallest percentage possible) of you might have led you to believe that you are actually in a relationship with him.

But you’re not.

So stop writing things like :

Ronald Reagan could convey command with a smile; Clint Eastwood, with a whisper. Americans need to know [Barack Obama] cares so they can be sure he’s taking fast, muscular and proficient action.

Anytime you hear yourself saying “I wish this person was more like Clint Eastwood” (or more likely, his on-screen persona) just know that you’ve taken your belief in the power of masculinity to vanquish all evil way too far. And while we’re at it, stop whining about how Obama’s not showing you that he cares enough about the gulf, because it literally means nothing if Barack Obama gets emotional about the oil spill. I know that some stereotypes may have you convinced that all brown people have a special, mystical connection to the Mother Earth, the kind of power which we can  summon in times of unspeakable disaster. But I feel compelled to tell you that even Barack Obama’s angriest tears are not going to initiate a magical process that heals the Gulf.  Oil is not get sucked up into the Earth, and millions of pelicans will not gather in front of the White House in honor of  The Great Healer. The reality is that this is a truly awful situation we’re all in, one that has no easy solutions and will likely not change any time soon.

But I get that you are a famously romantic people, and the boyfriend metaphor is too powerful for you to let go. So I’ll work with you.

Asking Obama to “show he cares” about the gulf  is like if you suddenly realized that there was an explosive in your house,  and while you were feverishly trying to locate it before it detonated, your partner was following you around the house, getting mad at you because you didn’t want to talk about how stressed out it was making you feel. Wouldn’t your response be: “You know what, I’m trying to make sure we don’t die!”

And let’s assume that something your partner did, perhaps his/her career as a spy who goes around fomenting unrest in the Middle East (kinda like BP!), led to the explosive being placed in your house in the first place. Would it be so unreasonable for a) your partner to feel guilty and begin reflecting on the danger of the lifestyle choices he/she is making and b) for you to ask your partner to stop doing those things that are putting all of you in danger.

But no, America, you have spoken, and you do not want to talk about renewable energy or even consider a moratorium on the very thing that led to the disaster in the Gulf . Instead, you’re busy getting your “drill, baby, drill!” bumper stickers, and it won’t be long till you’ve scraped up enough cash to get that phrase tattooed on your ankle. And you will not rest until Barack Obama is MacGruber, and we all die in a conflagration we had the time to prevent.