Even if you didn’t watch the annual Aren’t We Awesome Festival more commonly known as the Oscars, you’ve probably heard by now that Michelle Obama’s armpits made yet another public appearance.  Showing up in yet another dress that forced us to wonder if anyone has ever explained to her that no one wants to see her bare arms, the Mooing One upstaged Jack Nicholson and hijacked the Best Picture presentation while standing in front of a few troops who most certainly had better things to do with their Sunday night, like maybe give themselves a root canal with a garden spade, or perhaps sit in a beanbag chair eating dryer lint.

The list of problems I have with this shameless display of arrogance and personal hubris is, as Top Gun’s Slider would say, long and distinguished.  First, we have a woman who is on record making statements that show a disdain and even contempt for our country’s founding principles.  We aren’t even talking about someone who simply disagrees with a few political views, we’re talking about a woman who honestly, truly hates what this country stands for.  The fact that she is in a position even NEAR power in this country disgusts me on a level that I can scarcely find words for.

Secondly, this woman does not comport herself in a manner fitting of the wife of the President.  One only has to go look at the pictures of her coming off Air Force One in cut-off jean shorts, a tank top and sneakers to be aghast at her lack of decorum.  That’s not even counting the photos of her ridiculously wide rear-end, wearing something that looks like it was purchased at either Frank’s Tent and Awning Shop or Clowns R Us, going up the stairs next to two other women who obviously know how to climb a flight of stairs without looking like they need a chair lift.  And yet, this is the same woman who wants to tell my son, who can run a mile in just over 6 minutes and row a 5K in under that, how much he’s allowed to eat for lunch at school?  As the saying goes, take care of the burger on your own plate before you deal with the fries on mine.  I don’t even care that you’re overweight.  Lots of people are.  I care that you dress and act with no culture and no class.  Nancy Reagan, Jackie Kennedy, Laura Bush…these are classy women.  These were women who brought grace to the FLOTUS position.  Michelle Obama is more like the neighbor who’s you secretly wish would just move already because their screeching from the sidewalk and all the trash in their yard brings down the value of the neighborhood.

We now get to what is really the point: Her choice to show up and present the Best Picture award surrounded by troops is inappropriate.  In fact, it’s so ridiculous and beyond the pale that  to call it inappropriate is like saying Hitler didn’t practice diversity.  Speaking of Hitler, this little Queen O stunt is the equivalent of Eva Braun lighting the 1944 Olympic torch, for instance, while surrounded by a group of Jews.  Yes, I just said that.   Her husband’s administration is not only directly responsible for giving guns to known criminals in an effort to bolster his agenda of disarming American citizens–which resulted in the deaths of Americans, but he is also directly responsible for the needless, senseless, UNANSWERED deaths of four Americans in Benghazi.  That’s not even counting the unanswered questions about whether he would use drones against US citizens here on home soil.  That’s not counting the failing economy, the rabid use of powers not given to him, and the absolute disregard for Constitutional rights.  Her presence at this function in that capacity was nothing more than a bid for attention, and the portrayal of herself as, quite frankly, royalty.  Oh, look, the First Lady is here to present the award…what an honor.  What an amazing thing for her to laud our performances.

News flash: You’re not a queen.  Your husband isn’t a king.  To be quite blunt, you serve us.  You are to serve the people of this nation.  It is a responsibility, not a vacation.  It is a terribly grave responsibility.  It is not an eternal campaign.  This isn’t the UK, and we don’t have a love affair with our royalty–because we don’t have royalty.  Just because the ever-sycophantic and paid-off media can barely contain their drool at such huge breaking news as you cutting some bangs into that mop you call hair, doesn’t mean the patriots and countrymen of this nation give a rip.  We’re too busy fighting tooth and nail against the total rotting of our nation–a phenomenon, by the way, that your husband is currently pushing FORWARD as fast as he can.  The rest of the nation is too busy scratching their rear ends with one hand and grabbing more of my money with the other.

So, do our nation a favor.  To paraphrase Uncle Buck, take this quarter, go downtown, and get a rat to gnaw your bangs correctly.  Go away.  And take those freaking armpits with you.