THIS REVOLUTIONARY GOVERNMENT MAY MOVE SLOW, BUT THAT'S BECAUSE IT DOESN'T HAVE TO MOVE FOR ANYONE

The time has come to talk of statecraft. In Western society, all too often skinny fuckers dominate, leaving one nation sorely under-represented and in need of a voice. Of sovereignty. Of our own very large flag. With nearly a century having past since the presidency of William Howard Taft, and the pale shadow that was the first Clinton administration being almost two decades old, Fat Guy Nation needs a cabinet, stocked with something other than peanut butter.

With this being America (and the forum being a movie blog), our cabinet will be drawn from movies and television. I speak as a man somewhat smaller than I have been, but still a man of appetite, a trencherman, an enemy of the thin in all their nefarious forms (except in fashion advertisements, pornography, subway seats, and various other expedient fora). Thus, I feel qualified to appoint the government of my people.


The President (in exile)—Hugo “Hurley” Reyes, Lost

Although Hurley's actual administrative experience was as the undemocratically appointed guardian of a possibly supernatural island—and all took place off-screen with the exception of the vignette in the Lost season 6 DVD—this is, unquestionably, our leader. Not only is he very large indeed, and nobly resisted one of the best opportunities ever to lose weight (being stranded on a deserted island with nothing but fruit and fish to eat), any just society should be proud to have as its leader a man who addresses people as “dude.” Think of the opportunities in American history which would benefit from such a leader:

Nikita Krushchev (banging shoe on podium): I vill moof nuclear bums to Cuba! I vill threaten your very vay uff life, American svine!
Hurley: Dude, seriously? You need to chill. Let's have some nachos and talk this out.

Bob Woodward: Mr. President, the burglary of the Democratic national headquarters has been connected to a slush fund for the Committee to Re-Elect The President. I demand your resignation.
Hurley: No way, dude. I don't share my slushies with any committees. Dude, someone fed you some bogus info.

Ken Starr: Did you, or did you not have sexual relations with that woman, Ms. Lewinsky?
Hurley: Yeah, I did, dude. It was nice.

Much better than reality, no? Also, let us not forget that Jorge Garcia's experience as a drug dealer on Curb Your Enthusiasm is highly relevant, considering the American government's complicity in drug trafficking going back at the very least to Air America in Vietnam; even though he is the president of Fat Guy Nation, not the United States of America, relevance is relevance.


Minister of the Interior—Jay Landsman, The Wire

Any real grown-ass man government needs secret police. That's just the way it's done. Who better—and who, by God, of larger physique—to run our secret police than the glib, pornography-loving sergeant of the Baltimore PD Homicide squad? Sure, when Ziggy Sobotka killed Glekas, Landsman fucked up and didn't tell Daniels about it, the Greek to flushed all his drugs, and the detail had to be content with popping Sergei, but you don't want the Minister of the Interior to be too competent, otherwise it's coup d'etat time.

More important than his skills as a policeman, though, Landsman is a funny motherfucker. The man can deliver a eulogy, and if you're going to have secret police, enough people are going to be killed that that'll come in handy. Landsman's charm only ever cracked when he was being pressured by Rawls and other superiors to deliver stats, and since in this administration he'd be answerable only to president Hurley (who, being a president in exile, won't even be around), and our yet-to-be-named Prime Minister (who we don't need to worry about), that character flaw is null and void.

The Wire had a number of awesome fat guys: Bunk, Prop Joe, Bunny Colvin had a bit of a gut. I'd say we could employ Bunk as a long-suffering secret policeman and hook Prop Joe up with a position in the Finance Ministry and let his good product generate some revenue, but Bunny Colvin presents a problem. Sure, he could be a capable administrator in the secret police for years and years, but all that independent thinking and moral integrity is nothing we want anywhere near a totalitarian government. Bunny Colvin is fucking awesome, though.


Minister of Offense—Walter Sobchek, The Big Lebowski

That's right. Our military isn't about any pussy-ass shit like defending the populace, we're all about going out and fucking shit up. Why Walter? “I'm a fuckin veteran!” That's why. Also, anyone who can get you a toe, with nail polish, by 3 o'clock is a valuable asset.

John Goodman is a very important figure to our people (despite his recent weight loss). He's been one of my favorite actors ever since his line reading of “You just got your asses WHIPPED . . . by a buncha goddamn nerds” in Revenge of the Nerds. But rather than make him Minister of Sport for his role in that movie, or Minister of Psychotic Intimidation (or Minister of The Life of the Mind) for his role in Barton Fink, we should show the proper respect to Mr. Goodman's service to his people and give him the most prestigious cabinet position we can.

As Minister of Offense, Walter's ability to properly demonstrate what happens when you fuck a stranger in the ass would be invaluable. And, as a cog in a totalitarian regime, his musing “Say what you want about the tenets of National Socialism, Dude, at least it's an ethos” is enough of an endorsement to infer loyalty to the regime. He will, though, have to find a deputy to run the office on Shabbos.


Chief Justice of the Star Chamber—Paulie, Goodfellas

Here's the thing. I may have lost faith in democracy (as reflected by the nature of this theoretical government), but I don't want us to be assholes. Paulie was a reasonable guy. You wouldn't want him anywhere near the budget—see the sequence where he buys out Sonny's club and bankrupts it by selling everything that wasn't bolted down, and his impatient “fuck you, pay me” tendencies would make him a volatile Minister of Internal Revenue—but for a clear-headed pragmatic approach to disputes, Paulie'd be a pretty good choice. Also, we're fat guys. We need somebody who can cook, and Paulie could cook his motherfuckin' ass off; that thing with the razor blades and garlic is genius.


Minister of Antiquities—Casper Gutman, The Maltese Falcon

Sure, Sidney Greenstreet's dead, but that should come in handy as Minister of Antiquities, and his accent would lend a bit of class to the cabinet meetings. This appointment carries with it the additional benefit of increasing the chances Peter Lorre might come by to hang out.

The deputy Minister is, of course, Salaa from Raiders of the Lost Ark (not the jokey-jokes incarnation in Last Crusade). This department needs people comfortable with working in semi-legal gray areas (as both Gutman and Salaa are), and someone with a cool accent so the long boring story of a given object's provenance is less of a chore to listen to.


And, last but not least . . .

Prime Minister—Rex Ryan, Hard Knocks

Handegg season is upon us, and our new lord and master is Rex Ryan, head coach of the New York Jets. The comic geniuses at Kissing Suzy Kolber—an essential site for the young, politically incorrect handegg aficionado—started imagining Ryan as a profane, out-of-his-duckfucking-mind motivational genius almost immediately upon his hiring to coach the Jets, only to find, through HBO's Hard Knocks, that their take on Ryan was, amazingly, almost understated. Words cannot properly capture Ryan's secular divinity, but these clips give some idea.


While many proud citizens of Fat Guy Nation are physically large enough to have their own gravitational pull, Ryan has the intellectual and rhetorical gravitas to give his mind equal power over time and space. Since our president is in exile, someone needs to run shit. Rex Ryan can run shit.

Other notable fat guys may have a place in this government—and I am its Minister of Culture—but this foundation will not lead us astray. It will lead us far. Then it will stop to catch its breath.