I’ve just returned from a week of bicycling through the Italian countryside, eating, drinking and thinking about America. In a moment of heat-induced inspiration, I decided to name my bicycle seat “Chris Christie.” After a week in the hot sun, I suddenly realized how similar they are. They’re both a giant pain in the ass.
Speaking of pains in the ass, here’s a really big one: The only American “news” channel that I was able to get in Italy was — wait for it — Fox. Right-wing insults added to my gluteal injuries.
But it wasn’t a total loss. It was how I learned, as I peacefully pedaled through Tuscany, that the real Chris Christie, the Garden State Governorsaurus, got into yet another shouting match (surprise!) with one of his constituents or, as he likes to think of them, his “subjects.”
Seems the bully-in-chief was strolling the Atlantic City Boardwalk when he stopped to purchase an ice cream cone (he calls that “investing in the private sector”; I call it comedy gold). Armed only with his trusty dairy product, King Chris passed by a New Jersey voter who had the audacity to criticize his recent decision to divert funding away from the state’s struggling public schools.
Christie angrily wheeled and began lumbering toward his accuser (the Boardwalk is now closed for repairs), yelling at the guy, “You’re a real big shot!” The man replied, “Nah, just take care of the teachers.” Big Bullyboy’s handlers had to hold him back from going after the guy, so Christie was reduced to shouting menacingly, “Keep walkin’ away!”
In Italy, this kind of hotheaded behavior is far more common. Except over there, it’s about soccer or women. Here we call it auditioning to be Mitt Romney’s vice president. Or Tony Soprano’s understudy.
I know it’s selfish, but I really hope Mittens picks him. Can’t you just see the headline? “Christie rides dressage horse in campaign parade. Horse crushed. Seamus unavailable for comment.”
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(Photo: Getty Images)