Barack Obama is a mild-mannered college professor playing at being a politician pretending to know what the hell he’s talking about when he reads other people’s ideas written up by the Cardboard Titty Groper from a TelePrompTer, or, Heaven forbid, note cards. As such, he has yet to settle on a comfortable persona, or alter-ego, if you will. Is he an affable, perpetual campaigner, selling “hopey change” to the hard of listening? Is he a Dark Darth Vader of Doom with a “sky is falling” Chicken Little complex? Could he be SuperO!, sent to us from a planet far, far, far away, in another galaxy, by a benevolent father determined to save our people as his meet their end? Or, is he a stern, yet compassionate EveryDad, kindly dispensing “tough love” to his cherished, yet clueless adolescent children? Whatever role he’s playing, he seems to have forgotten that in our system of government, he’s technically, no better than any other citizen.
“My fellow Americans.”
Most presidents use this phrase to address their fellow citizens, but, to the best of my knowledge, Barack Obama usually does not. One suspects that the reason for this is that even he knows enough to realize that “My loyal subjects,” what he wants to call us, is inappropriate. Therefore, he tends to call us the political equivalent of “you guys,” which is, “everybody,” as in, “Good evening, everybody,” or “Everybody be seated.”
Whatever. The Obamessiah has donned just about all of his myriad personalities over the past few weeks since the inauguration; first as the Play President, getting his picture taken sitting behind his big, shiny new desk in his shirtsleeves, pretending to talk on the phone so it would look like he was actually doing Important Stuff. When that proved to be insufficient to inspire the proper degree of deference and awe necessary to force Congress to do his bidding, he and his PuppetMasters decided it was time to dust off the Lovable Candidate suit, pack up the Traveling TelePrompTer and and hit the road giving away houses door to door like Oprah doing Ed McMahon. When it looked like even that might not work, he commandeered the airwaves as Doctor Destructo, scaring the shit out of “his fellow Americans,” and other little children with his “catastrophic” proclamations portending imminent doom and devastation if he didn’t get his way with his stimulus plan, only to be met with the fate he said he was trying to avoid when he did.
Earlier today, Obantos channeled his inner Huxtable and scolded his headstrong older mayoral sons and daughters working in the family business, charged with dispensing their allowance to their younger siblings fairly. Like Cliff to lovable screw-up Theo, Papa Prez laid down the law; “do it right, or answer to me.” Like Theo, the kiddie mayors grabbed the cash, said, “uh-huh, luv ya, Pops,” and hit the door quick before he changed his mind and snatched it back in order to issue more conditions they fully plan to ignore. Again, like Cliff, the Acting President smiled indulgently, knowing they’d be back for more as soon as they ran through what he’d given them, just as well as they knew he had held some back for just that purpose.
He has also, on occasion, been thrust into the role of hapless, bumbling Mr. Peepers does Dagwood, such as when his best laid cabinet plans gang aft aglaed. Having three candidates for one position withdraw from consideration, as he has had with Secretary of Commerce (Pritzker, Richardson, and Gregg) could make anybody look stupid, even if his Secretary of Treasury wasn’t a tax cheat the world had no confidence in. And, if he was the only one.
As he theorizes and strategizes hypothetical responses to focus group directives, marking time giving pep talks in front of crowds and television cameras, tap dancing as fast as he can in an attempt to divert attention from his un-preparedness and ineptitude, his Traveling Light and Magic Show still enjoys good ratings. However, in spite of his uncanny quick-change talent and clever scriptwriters eerily in touch with their target audience through age, internet and Starbucks, he would do well to remember that there is not enough Mocha Choca Latte bars and customers to keep a bad show on the air once the novelty wears off for the fickle “fellow Americans” he serves.
Especially if they think it’s his fault they’re broke.
So, keep dancing, Mr. President, so far, your fancy footwork has been enough to dazzle the gullible with your particular brand of Obandini. Tomorrow, a better show might come along.
Or, your fans’ real parents might make ‘em get a job.
Let’s face it, most PUMAs are sick to death of Barack Obama. We recoil from the sight and sound of him stumbling through ghost-written, TelePrompTer read speeches on our television screens, tens, that feel like thousands, of times a day, droning incessantly about something that only he can so successfully make seem like nothing. And vice-versa. However, where we once railed against the excessive exposure, shouting at our computers and TVs every time he, his name or likeness popped up in yet another puff or fluff piece of a sad excuse for a print “news” article or op-ed column, or tedious You Tube lecture, or “get your very own useless Obama trinket” commercial, we now just sigh.
What’s up with the Most Transformational Super Fantastic Bombastic Charismatic Political Figure Who Happened To Be Black And Blessed, that he can’t pick a cabinet for shit? According to
enough, killing two racial birds with one stone by
John Ridley
Hillary Clinton
I’m beginning to think that the art of politics (if there is such a thing) is the ability to get strangers to pretend to understand when you talk nonsense out of both sides of your mouth. Unfortunately, that is also today’s definition of journalism. That makes looking for turds of political wisdom among the media bullshit as much fun as a scavenger hunt in a sewer. And just as obvious.
“The View” and “Playgirl” seem radical by comparison, boasted an improbable cover touting Obama’s non-existent feminist creds, going so far as to depict him as the women’s movement’s very own super hero, a giant leap up, in the wrong direction, from Prince Charming or Barbie’s Ken.
Uh-oh. The Obacrats, with their shaky
As the wheels on the Barack Obama “Obus” seem to be improbably blowing out simultaneously, all over the ever-increasing hordes of former sycophants he’s so fond of tossing under it, there’s evidence that a new driver just might be reporting for duty who can get it rolling again. The
Whoever thought maneuvering Illinois Governor Rod Blagojevich into a position that allowed U.S. Attorney Patrick Fitzgerald to officially criminalize machine politics-as-usual for political advantage has got to be the biggest neophyte yahoo rube to come down the pike since…Barack Obama. Let’s review. Barack Obama, the only African American in the Senate for two years, mysteriously generates enough money and clout to mount a successful run for the presidency out of a political environment so corrupt that “Lincoln would roll over in his grave,” how? By being an all-around, all-American, above-board, swell, good guy, of course. Sure.
First, it was black people ranting and raving to anybody who would listen that now was the time that it was absolutely, positively, super-duper imperative that we elect a black man, any old black man, over
The already scandal-plagued man who will be sworn in as America’s 44th president in a little over two weeks is full of crap and the butt kissing media that enables him is, too. The number of examples of this “don’t worry about a thing, we’ve got your back” medialove are far to numerous to chronicle here, or on any one forum, but let’s start with what’s in the news today, and what it is designed to divert attention from. The latter is easy, the Obamedia is desperate to get us to ignore the
It seems like such a small thing.
Can you say “Kennedy?” Talk about “entitled.” And, oh, 
In the mainstream media’s attempt to boost it’s deservedly 
Just when speculation surrounding Barack Obama’s possibly imminent appointment of Hillary Clinton as Secretary of State was reaching a fever pitch, 

