Watch this video and tell me I’m wrong.

Some presidents have disastrous habits. Jimmy Carter wrote poetry. In the immortal words of the poet Jimmy Carter:

knowing that this galaxy of ours
is one of multitudes
in what we call the heavens,
it troubles me. It troubles me.”

James A. Garfield could write in Latin with one hand and Greek with the other, which was just his way of saying that there was not a lot to do in the 1880s.

Abraham Lincoln reportedly told inappropriate jokes about George Washington in outhouses — “Nothing makes an Englishman s--- faster than the sight of General Washington!” — but he seems to have stopped doing this after taking office.

(I am not making this up.)

Taft got stuck in the White House bathtub, although that was less a hobby than an “unfortunate thing that happened only once” — which, incidentally, is the same thing Bill Clinton said about his hobby.

Lyndon Johnson went around the White House turning off unneeded bulbs, earning him the name Lightbulb Lyndon.

As hobbies go, those went. But Herman Cain outshines them all.

Usually, these sort of shenanigans are reserved for joke candidates. This man is currently the front runner! It just goes to show, for all those little kids today worrying that singing a song about pizza to the tune of Imagine will render them automatically ineligible for the presidency: nonsense! Dream big! Impossible is nothing!

I thought the Gospel album was reason enough to give Cain a second look.

But this ends all doubt that Cain is the man for the job. Ron Paul could whip out a mime suit and we’d shrug. Mitt Romney could take up the banjo and it wouldn’t matter. We might put pepperoni on it, but we’ll never top it.

How can I describe the sublime perfection of this song? It’s kind of cheesy, a little bit saucy, and — suddenly I’m simultaneously hungry and want to go donate to the Cain campaign. It’s impossible to top, like a pizza that is running away from you. The only thing that would make it better would be if it came with breadsticks and allowed you to double-dip — not in the horrifying recession-y way, but, say, with some sort of delicious marinara.

Herman Cain is at his best when he’s talking about pizza. If 9-9-9 were the price of a pizza, as Jon Huntsman joked, we’d like it better. Now that we have ascertained that it isn’t, everyone’s tearing it apart. It’s amateurish, say some. It’s absurd, say others. It’s absurd and amateurish, say still others, trying to build consensus.

But like they say, you can’t make pizza without breaking eggs. At least not if you are making some sort of strange egg-based pizza.

If this doesn’t help Cain raise dough, nothing will.