If Government Wants to be My Nanny …

New York Mayor Michael Bloomberg wanted to be the Drink Master and regulate the size of everybody’s soda, but he got slapped down by the courts.

Goes to show even the Nanny has to have a nanny. (Super Nanny?)

A lot of people are offended by this concept that the local bully — er, government official, rather — is capable of determining what’s best for us.

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Not liberals, though. And not Piers Morgan, the TV host who was imported from England, the original nanny state. They gave us Mary Poppins, remember?

On a recent show, Morgan said, “I think people need [these types of laws] occasionally, particularly on issues like smoking, drinking, guzzling sodas too big for them, you know, eating 16 Big Macs a day, whatever it may be. The reality is we all need a bit of nannying about that. That’s why so many people are on diets. That’s a form of nanny state.”

Michelle Obama certainly is down with that notion, what with the anti-obesity, piece of celery for lunch tour she’s been on through our nation’s schools.

Personally, I usually stand up to these sorts of busybodies and am happy to give them the trouncing they deserve. Then again, I’ve always admired Taoism, which advocates “going with the flow.”

What can I say? I’m complicated.

But if  we accept the liberal proposition that none of us — who are not in government — is capable of deciding anything for ourselves, that certainly does take a lot of the pressure off.

Still, if the government wants me to shed pounds and shred muscles, I have one very important demand.

I want a government-funded personal trainer.

It’s not like the feds are cutting costs, even with the sequester, so why not?

If we’re going to do this thing, let’s do it right. Give me someone who will drop a rock on the floor at 6 a.m., bust my hump so that I run around the block 10 times before the sun comes up, then force a protein shake and a cantaloupe down my gullet.

I want someone to kick my tuchus if I so much as look at a french fry. Make me stack my weight in cement blocks before I finally get my reward of a whole salad leaf with salt for dinner.

Oh, and one more demand. My trainer has to be Jillian Michaels. I will accept no substitutions. (The “hubba hubba” factor is very important, motivationally speaking, and she has it in spades.)

If Barry can splurge on million-dollar golf weekends with Tiger Woods, I think you feds can bust loose the cash for Jillian’s salary. I eagerly await the White House reply.

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