There are any number of jobs that I couldn’t handle physically, such as being a professional athlete or a bouncer at a nightclub; and some I wouldn’t consider because of moral objections, such as being a criminal defense attorney. But, after reading Ron Kessler’s latest book, “The First Family Detail,” there’s one I couldn’t handle for any number of reasons, and that’s being a Secret Service agent on a presidential detail.

I mean, imagine swearing to take a bullet or several bullets intended for Lyndon Johnson, Jimmy Carter, Bill Clinton or Barack Obama. From having read Kessler’s earlier “In the President’s Secret Service,” I already knew that being assigned to protect Jimmy Carter, John Kerry or Hillary Clinton was tantamount to a prison sentence because of their blatant contempt for those sworn to sacrifice their lives for them. But when it came to guys like Kennedy, Johnson and Clinton, the day-to-day job had less to do with protecting them against assassins than it did with making sure the First Ladies didn’t trip over their various bimbos.

Speaking of which, I had a good laugh recently when a bevy of Hollywood bimbos whined that hackers had managed to upload their nude photos and send them out on the Internet. It seems to me that if you feel the need to take selfies of yourself in the buff, hackers are the least of your problems.

Frankly, I see little difference between all this and the nudity they often display in their professional lives on screen, aside from the fact that they aren’t compelled to defend this form of exhibitionism as essential to the plot of some cinematic stinkeroo.

I’m reminded of a comic strip I saw a while back. Two guys are seated at the counter of a restaurant filled with people engrossed in photographing themselves and one another on their electronic devices. The first guy says, “I read that the government wants to install cameras everywhere to record our every move.” His companion, the only person in the room not focused on one of those ubiquitous gizmos, skeptically replies, “Scary.”

Something I have never understood is why whenever someone on TV, be it Dean Martin in the old days or Bill Maher today, indicates a great fondness for booze or marijuana, the audience feels called upon to laugh knowingly. Is it intended to show that they, too, like nothing better than killing off as many of their brain cells as is humanly possible? Or is it supposed to make them seem sophisticated in spite of the fact it only makes them seem like teenage bumpkins?

Speaking of bumpkins, in 2007, Sen. Barack Obama announced, “The world will have confidence in America when I’m the president.” It’s bad enough that events have proven him to be as wrong as a person could be, but imagine the gall, the hubris, the sheer loopiness, required to make such a grandiose pronouncement.

Clearly, we have a commander-in-chief who is every bit as delusional as John Hinckley, who not only believed that actress Jodie Foster would be smitten with him if he could somehow manage to assassinate Ronald Reagan, but never even considered just sending her flowers and a box of candy.

I suspect that even if you’d pointed out to Hinckley that Ms. Foster was a lesbian, he’d have dismissed that as a mere hiccup. Instead, like Joe E. Brown in “Some Like it Hot,” when his beloved Daphne (Jack Lemmon) finally whips off his wig and confesses, “I’m not even a woman,” Hinckley would have said, “Nobody’s perfect.”

But, clearly, every time Obama gazes into a mirror, he finds reason to disagree with Joe E. Brown, even if nobody else does. I mean, what can he possibly be thinking when an American journalist is beheaded in Iraq and he flies off to yet another fundraiser? And when a second journalist is beheaded a week later, he’s the only person in America who not only isn’t screaming for blood, but doesn’t even take a moment to offer the man’s family the nation’s condolences.

Instead, when he went on TV to admit that even a year after ISIS turned up on our radar and quickly became our worst nightmare he didn’t have a strategy to deal with the savages, the best he could come up with was the banal “We don’t want to put the cart in front of the horse.”

“Mr. President, forget about not having a strategy to annihilate these barbarians,” I would have loved to have said to him, “you don’t have a horse and your cart has a broken axle and four busted wheels.”

In other news, it appears that O.J. Simpson has decided to become a Muslim. Some cynics claim this is the latest bit of evidence showing Simpson to be psychotic. However, I, who always like to think the best of people, have an alternate theory. I’m sure we all recall that, upon being acquitted in 1995 of murdering Nicole Brown and Ron Goldman, Simpson vowed to track down the real killers, and if he hadn’t been distracted by golf, loose women and being arrested for robbery and kidnapping, he just might have done it.

By converting to Islam, I believe Simpson thinks it will make it easier for him, once he’s released from jail in 2017, to resume his relentless pursuit of the villains if, perchance, they managed to elude him 19 years ago by scooting off to Yemen, Syria or Qatar.