He's like a 1980's bond trader, but not the cool kind who did cocaine while not wearing socks—he's the kind who would have gotten all hot and bothered while wearing socks and talking about Reaganism for five hours.
I seem to be one of the few people who does not think Mr. Atlas P. Badger is a fine figure of a man. I acknowledge that he has no body fat and that many people find sculpted muscles covered only by a thin layer of skin attractive. But there's something about his fatlessness that I find repellent; whenever I look at his muscles, I imagine them being sculpted by the forces of boringness, earnestness, and remorseless parsimony.
It's not not like I've spent a whole lot of time and effort trying to imagine what's under all those suggestively cut suits and skimpy ties—he's more than happy to give us two free tickets to the NRA convention that is his biceps. He POSED WITH WEIGHTS for this Time Magazine photo shoot.
All I think when I look at those photos is that the man might have muscle tone, but he has no lips. WHAT HAPPENED TO HIS LIPS?
Now THIS is a man I find both personable and lippy:
And now I have to go assemble a buffet of snacks, liquors, and convincing rationalizations because the debate is only two-ish hours away.