Hold a photograph of the Twenties strongman Charles Atlas next to a photograph of the Seventies Arnold Schwarzenegger and appreciate the stunning effects of real steroids pushed under the trade-name Dianabol. Hold a graph of the $2.1Billion debt at the time of Atlas’s President–Roosevelt I-next to a graph of the $5.6Trillion debt at the time of Schwarzenegger’s President–Bush II-and appreciate the stunning effects of social steroids pushed under the street-name HGH, the designer drug for SuperPowers.

What are steroids anyway but artificial “enhancers” that allow you to cheat your way to win in the game of life? Steroids are easy, instant-gratification substitutes for hard-work and exercise with the social steroid HGH is as highly addictive as any drug ever sold. The saddest part is that HGH is not only legal but manufactured, refined, distributed and pushed by the government itself. And at huge profit to the sellers because they hold a monopoly.

Lest anyone think this an attack on the present administration, let me say that America was already well into its loathsome habit long before POTUS was a gleam in the eye of, well, Proto-POTUS, whoever that may be. Whatever date you assign as the beginnings of America’s habit, there is no question we are habituated, if not frankly addicted, and what’s worse, there are few signs we’re kicking our habit but instead, getting deeper and deeper into debt, despair and disintegration.

America’s breezy attitude toward its social steroids seems to be the same as Arnold Schwarzenegger’s to his real steroids, as he admitted in 1996: “Oh, sure, I used steroids. It was what I had to do to compete. I only did it before a difficult competition. And then afterward, it was over. I would stop. I have no health problems, no kidney damage or anything like that from using them.”  (Given Schwarzenegger’s performance as governor, the Physician’s Desk Reference might consider listing brain damage as a long-term consequence of steroids.)

But, like Arnold, Americans only take their HGH when they really need it, such as for the “difficult competitions” of pumping up the housing market, rescuing failing auto manufacturers, paying off unions, currying favor with third-world nations, purchasing votes and, well, you know the long and depressing list. Then when the need is over, they stop taking it. Until the next time.  And somehow there is always a next time.

With “enhancing” drugs, from marijuana to heroin to methamphetamine to the ludicrously-named Ecstasy, life feels great- for a while. Then you need greater and greater doses and pretty soon, your entire life is spent not in productive work but in chasing the drug and courting the suppliers, in this case, local, state and federal politicians because they control your supply. And as with real drugs, sober folks don’t care so much if others take them, but when they exploit and steal to support their habits, it’s time to do something.

And that something is what’s called an “intervention”,  the kind you see on the TV show of the same name where sober family members get together and work “tough love” on the family addicts, telling them they are not going to be there for them anymore, that they can’t sleep in the garage anymore and they won’t even take their calls. Sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn’t, but rational members of the family can’t just sit by and do nothing while their relatives are killing themselves.

It’s up to us conservatives to stage an intervention to get our country off HGH by evicting the Head Pusher from the White House and installing a Head Therapist. We need the political equivalent of a Dr. Drew as POTUS to guide our poor addicted nation through celebrity rehab, which promises to be a long and difficult process. Sure, along the way we’ll have to deal with some Heidi Fleiss-type and Janice Dickinson-variety tax-and-spend drama- queens such as Nancy Feinstein and Diane Pelosi, as well as a few Gary Busey-type and Dennis Rodman-variety bad-boy hard-nuts such as Barney Sanders and Bernie Frank but through “tough love” (read: not letting them sleep in accommodations where we pay the rent), we can bring even the worst of them to sobriety.

Who knows, we might even be able to work this up into a reality show called “Political Rehab” and with such a wacky cast of pathological characters, it’s sure to be a big hit. Then we’ll syndicate it and the residuals will reduce our debt for generations to come. (Seriously, I always thought Congressional hearings should be on Pay-Per-View because the antics of just about any Congressmen are a lot funnier than Charlie Sheen’s.)

I hope all you rational, sober and hard-working Americans will join me next year on November 6 when we stage a massive intervention to get our nation into rehab before it’s too late. So then when your grandbabies climb up on your knee and say “What did you do in the Great Intervention of Twenty-Twelve, Grandma?” you won’t have to say “I voted for Barack Obama.”