Though I was happy to vote for him, I have to say, there are seriously no sparks for me with Obama. Honest to dog, he is just another politician. But all you have to do is look at any photo of ol’ Rahm Emanuel and intuit that he is a SUPER FREAK!!!! Is it wrong of me to fantasize about servicing Mr. Emanuel while he’s in full leather?
Henry, I totally share your yen for Rahm’s staff—so no, I don’t think you’re wrong. But on the off chance you are, I’m standing right there beside you. Salivating. As are the readers of Gawker.com who voted our boy their fave hottie out of all the incoming Obama staffers.
But what is it about Rahm that makes him a standout among an administration with no shortage of lookers? Is it his shock of perfectly groomed silver hair? Unlike David Gregory (barf!), Rahm knows the importance of keeping it short. I wonder if he and Anderson Cooper share a barber? Perhaps we’re drawn to his warm brown eyes—such a contrast to his fiery temper. His very unpoliticianish way of speaking his mind is also appealing. This is a dude who described Republicans as “bad people who deserve a two-by-four upside their heads.” I couldn’t agree more! Also, he refers to D.C. as “Fucknutsville” and calls Republicans “Knucklefucks.” Hot damn, I love a pottymouth.
Then again, maybe it’s because he used to be a ballerina—meaning he’s also quite limber. Mrow! Rahm’s mother has mentioned to the press on more than one occasion that she remains disappointed her son gave up a promising dance career in favor of politics. Like Rahm, I also disappointed my mother repeatedly. We have so much in common!
Even though he’s no longer rockin’ the leotard, Rahm still keeps his tight little bod (reportedly a power-packed 5′ 7″) in tip-top physical condition. He’s a triathlete, and The New York Times reported that he usually swims a mile a day, but “on days he does not swim, he works out, and conducts business, at the House gym: 25 minutes on the bike, 20 minutes on the elliptical, 120 situps, 55 push-ups, and many sweaty conversations with his former colleagues.” Oh, to be a fly on the wall in the White House steam room.
In my fantasy, Rahm is growling into his headset, pacing across his office like a caged leopard in a rumpled suit. He’s pulled his tie open because the veins in his neck were choking him after a morning spent screaming at Republicans who wanted to cut affordable birth control access out of the stimulus package. (I love a man with a fiery temper, don’t you?) Rahmbo’s mid-snarl to the laughably misnamed House Minority Leader, John Boehner (like that douche would give anyone a boner), when he notices me standing there wearing only a vintage slip, a smear of red lipstick, and a coy smile. He gives me a gruff nod and gestures for me to shut his office door. He offers one final cutting insult to Boehner, pulls his headset off, and throws it to the floor.
“C’mere,” he growls.
I happily obey and slide onto his desk. Rahm has one arm around my waist, and the hand with the half-finger is gripping a handful of my hair. I ask if I can suck on his stump. Rahm shoots me a hurt look and turns away. I fall to my knees and beg for forgiveness. Rahm turns and roughly pushes his abbreviated digit into my willing mouth. I suck on it until I get distracted by another, more pressing appendage.
Anyway, I’m also with you as far as Obama goes. No doubt our new prez is a fine-looking man, but he’s just so calm, so dignified. Perfect for running the country, but nothing that appeals to me between the sheets. He and Michelle look like they “make love,” but I think you and I, Henry, are looking for more of a fucker.
And I think we found that fucker in Chief of Staff Rahm Emanuel.