President Whosis, Pt. 1

[ Note: First, thanks for great encouragement!!! In hard copy or ebook, this text  includes awesome illustrations by renown (?) artist Tommy Mousetrap. I have reformatted my file and published as an ebook on Smashwords.com!!! A  little glitchy, it is out there, but awaits their review process. They have a backlog and need two weeks.  – Kevin ]

President Whosis: Gaga 4 Obama?

                              Political Satire by Kevin Feingold

                                               Part One

                                             Introduction

                                      A Hobbit in Hillaryland

                                                     *

         Some people have all the fun. We’re the other 99%. Our turn!!!

         You’ve been conned. Read how!

         In a nation founded on equality, overachievers get life served on a silver platter.

          President Blackie Rufus Diamond.

         Orator, Denver politician, con artist, voodoo witchdoctor, America’s new Messiah…   

            Welcome to a parallel universe of political irony. The presidential campaigns of 2012 reek of clunky oratory, gaffes, flubbed opportunities, condescension, partisanship and arrogance. The bullshit artist Democrat runs against the idiot savant Republican. You gotta laugh! The true genius of America’s first black president shines through. We get to know “Blackie” best through his speeches. Like a city on a hill, a lighthouse in the fog, a taser up your butt, the stirring words and inexplicable deeds of President Blackie Diamond are breathless to behold.

            Good luck with that!

            In a mash-up of serious discussion and whimsy — Kevin Feingold, guilty scribbler of the humor blog http://www.yustyoking.com — desperately tries to cut through the posturing, rhetoric, b.s. and subterfuge, portraying a presidency and a country seriously out of control.

                                                      —  Dante Phillips

                               *

                 Introduction

             Barack Hussein Obama, the 44^th president of the United States of America, doesn’t know what he’s doing. According to Marc A. Thiessen of the American Enterprise Institute, the current administration makes investments in ecological, “green” technologies, but the companies to whom they loan the money, all too often turn belly-up. Leaving us taxpayers holding the bag. ¹

              Billions of dollars!

             Solyndra, whose out-dated technology cost taxpayers a cool $535 million in loan guarantees.

             ECOtality received $126.2 million in taxpayer money in 2009 to install electric car chargers in five states. The company has since incurred $45 million in losses. They themselves say that they don’t believe the company will ever reach profitability!

             The Obama administration made a $33 million grant to Raser Technologies to build a power plant in Beaver Creek, Utah. The company now owes $1.5 million in back taxes and has filed for bankruptcy protection!

             Nevada Geothermal Power received a $98.5 million loan guarantee in 2010. With their cash reserves depleted, the company is in economic turmoil and may go under.

            First Solar: $3 billion in loan guarantees for power plants in Arizona and California. They just burned through $401 million in restructuring costs and fired 30% of the workforce.

             Abound Solar received a $400 million loan guarantee to build photovoltaic panel factories. The company halted production in February and laid off 180 employees.

              SunPower received a $1.2 billion loan guarantee and, in January, owed more than the company is worth.

              Brightsource: A $1.6 billion loan guarantee has been followed by losses totaling $177 million.

               Too many of the people behind these businesses either contributed bigtime to the current president’s campaign or are major donors to the Democratic Party. We’re seeing crony capitalism lead to dud investments.

              I’m tired of the president playing mutual fund manager. He’s no good at it! When I have shares in a mutual fund saddled with bad management, I liquidate my holdings!

              Other things that get my goat:

              Bailing out the banks, the Wall Street brokerage houses and the auto industry, our leader has let Main Street wither. As home values and share prices tumbled, the average American family lost 35% of their net worth in the last five years! The average wealth of a family of four is currently $66,740, according to the Census Bureau.

             The “McCain-Feingold” legislation, allowing campaign finance reform— cleaning up a veritable cesspool of politicians for sale to special interest groups— received only a tepid response from the current occupant in the White House.

             Why does the president support oil prospecting off the coast of Virginia? Haven’t we learned anything about off-shore drilling from the BP Deepwater Horizon disaster?

             In “fracking” or “fracturing,” the gas companies pump poisonous chemicals into the bedrock to release natural gas. Supposedly, these poisons won’t leak into the groundwater. Wherever fracturing is used, however, all kinds of environmental issues result.

              The ethanol industry lied to us. They claimed they could make ethanol from the sheaths and stalks of corn, while the corn itself would be reserved for human and animal consumption. Once the government funded the tech research, provided the start-up capital and got the ethanol producers underway, these tricky capitalists announced that in order to be profitable, they needed to grind up the corn along with the stalks.

             We bought one of those newfangled H2Low / he washing machines that use very little water and high energy detergent. Like the Obama presidency, there are a lot of bells and whistles, but it doesn’t get the job done! This machine does everything except clean clothes. 

             According to Rajiv Chandrasekaran of The Washington Post, the 54,000 soldier “surge” in Afghanistan in 2009 – 2010 put over a third of the task force—20,500 Marines— in Helmand province, where they had very little work, instead of placing them in Kandahar, where the insurgency is mushrooming. ²

              As Commander In Chief, the prez failed to back the State Department and Richard C. Holbrooke’s peace initiative, which could have made a deal with the Taliban and ended the Afghan conflict with “Dayton”-style accords. Instead, Mr. Passive-Aggressive, the president allowed bureaucratic infighting and one-upmanship to overshadow a possible solution. Our boots on the ground continue to be killed while billions of dollars go into a wasted war effort. ³

              Chandrasekaran calculates that the war in Afghanistan is going to cost the American taxpayer an additional $100 billion in 2012.

              The Taliban are still using Pakistan as a sanctuary. The Pakistani military is losing patience with America’s demands that they clean out the sanctuaries.

              In this election year, the Democratic incumbent in the White House sides with Afghan President Hamid Karzai, who is little more than an American puppet. One of Hamid’s brothers runs “The Helmand,” a restaurant on North Charles Street in Baltimore, Maryland featuring Afghan cuisine. A Pashtun, touchy and corrupt, Hamid himself heads a cantankerous regime in Kabul. It’s nice for Hamid Karzai that he has U.S. backing, since his fellow Afghans in the countryside feel no particular affection for him.

             “Basically, Karzai bitches about night raids whenever we bag one of his relatives,” explains a military source.

              You know those attack ads on TV denigrating Obama, Romney and your local candidates? The Congress could outlaw them overnight! Television content is strictly enforced by the FCC, the Federal Communications Commission. So why this glut of bilge? Because our politicians like slash and burn politics, and the Supreme Court has given corporations the right to form super PACs, who can spend enormous amounts of money and whose members are known only to themselves. When Congress passes a law banning attack ads, a conservative Supreme Court might overturn it, based on First Amendment rights. We can still rid ourselves of this filth, if the American people want to: If two-thirds of the state legislatures vote to abolish them, attack ads are history!

              My mom has three additional issues:

             We’ve got a “liberal” president who is a closet lackey of Big Business. The Republicans have a “Big Business candidate” who is a closet liberal.

             Now that the Muslim Brotherhood won the election in Egypt, no one in the U.S. Congress is petitioning for one penny of the Egyptian aid appropriation to be released. Sharia law is not the American way. With this president, however, you never know: He may decide the Muslim Brotherhood will like us better if we send them the one billion dollars in aid.

             Our dear president favors the Canadian tar sands project. Extracting oil from the sands requires three times as much water as oil produced. Once used to clean tar sands, the contaminated water returns to the earth, poisoning the water table for generations to come. By 2030, drinkable, unpolluted water, H2O, will be the scarce commodity over which countries go to war. As such, the Canadian tar sands project seems both shortsighted and incredibly foolish.

                                                            *

_______________________

¹ “Obama’s equity problem,” Marc A. Thiessen, The Washington Post, May 25, 2012, p. A19.

² “A MISPLACED SURGE,” Rajiv Chandrasekaran, The Washington Post, June 24, 2012, p. A1, A16 & A17.

³ “The war within the war cabinet,” Rajiv Chandrasekaran, The Washington Post, June 25, 2012, p. A1 & A18.

                                                      ***

                                From the desk of Kevin Feingold                               

Journal                         A Hobbit in Hillaryland

                                                                                          Saturday, March 1, 2008 

            There is something of the flimflam artist about Barack Obama. This flashy character arrives in town, wows everybody and gets us to do his bidding. This amazing young man is signing up millions of people to march behind him to a New Jerusalem. Yes, I’ve seen the pictures of his “gorgeous” wife and his pretty daughters. Yes, I’ve heard his life story. It seems a little too good to be true. Only a grouchy cynic like me would stand on the sidelines, muttering, “My experience is, when things seem too good to be true… they usually are. This guy’s a snow job.”

            I felt like I was the only one, but I soon found that there were a lot of us saying the same thing. We got behind our own candidate, Hillary Rodham Clinton. Not a totally unknown commodity. I have become an unpaid volunteer, manning a phone bank at Hillary headquarters in Arlington, Virginia. Retired from the military, twice divorced, I live with my mom, sharing the family house I grew up in.

            I tried being a rent-a-cop, but who wants to get shot defending a shopping mall? So desperate for money, I’m not.

                                                                                           Monday, March 31, 2008

            John F. Kennedy was a combat veteran with 14 years in Congress before running for president. Obama is a freshman senator with three years to his credit. He talks endlessly about the 10 years he spent as a labor organizer in Chicago and the legislation he claims to have authored. This latest issue of Newsweek sports a cover story “When ‘Barry’ Became Barack.” It asks us not to judge too harshly since Barack Obama is still very much a work-in-progress.

            I don’t want a president who is still learning the ropes!

            We already have a George W. Bush-style experience: An affable man learning by doing, sure of his own convictions, unilaterally making up policy as he goes along. Once is enough!

            The presidency is too important to be an on-the-job training program. I want to elect a professional.

            When my sink clogs, I want a plumber, not an enthusiastic amateur who stands in the kitchen waving his arms, making speeches about how I should feel good about myself. Or recites the history of indoor plumbing back to the ancient Greeks. When I go to the dentist, I want a professional who cares for my teeth, not a gabby amateur who stands by the dental chair making glorious pronouncements about dentistry.                                                                               

                                                                                          Wednesday, April 2, 2008

            Apparently, the Obama people have given us a piece of brilliant political theater, proffering the vice presidency to Al Gore. I say apparently because the only media coverage mom and I can find consists of one radio announcement and a reference on TV’s nightly news. I think David Letterman mentions it in his monologue. Willful blindness? Anyway, Gore says “No.”

                                                                                          Thursday, April 17, 2008

            Watching the hallelujah choruses surrounding the Papal Mass on TV, mom asks, “What’s this, an Obama rally?”

            The Washington Post television critic Tom Shales administers a tongue-lashing to ABC News regarding last night’s Philadelphia debate. Co-anchors Charlie Gibson and George Stephanopoulos are accused of “shoddy, despicable performances.” Shales complains that the debate was snippy and clearly weighted against Obama. He describes “network newsniks” panting like dogs in anticipation of candidate missteps and misstatements. Shales feels that Tim Russert and MSNBC do a much better job. From the vitriol in his review, you might think Shales favors Obama.

                                                                                                Saturday, April 26, 2008

              Thousands of good, imaginative suggestions come into campaign headquarters every week from Hillary supporters, by phone, fax, email and letter:

              Places she should visit, people she should meet, local events we can combine with campaign rallies for maximum effect.

            Atlanta, Georgia: “We’re the Peanut State. Hillary and Shirley Franklin, the Mayor of Atlanta, can have a peanut-eating contest. We’ll call it ‘Battle of the Nuts.’ That fits Hillary and our mayor like a glove! We’ll ask each person at the fundraiser to contribute $1 to Hillary’s campaign for every peanut eaten.”

                                                     or

            Indianapolis, Indiana: “Hillary knows how to drive, doesn’t she? We’ll put her in a souped-up roadster— nothing dangerous— and have her drive a ‘Victory Lap’ around the speedway before the big race.”

           We also get the usual kooky ideas (“Have Hillary climb the tallest butte in Montana!… Have Hillary spend a day in a slaughterhouse to show solidarity with the meatpacking industry!… Have Hillary scuba dive for eco-friendly tourism!”) as well as bizarre requests for top-level negotiations with the big names at the top of the food chain: “I need to talk with your campaign manager!”

            Yeah, right! Fat chance, considering I never even see her.

             “Let me talk with the campaign treasurer!”— I transfer the call to her office.

              “Connect me with Hillary! It’s urgent!”

               Ha ha ha ha!

              We enter all suggestions into our data bank, attributed or anonymously… “You choose!” It’s a miracle if the campaign actualizes 1/10^th of the best ideas. Put simply, nothing happens. Even the greatest concepts never see the light of day, smothered by a bureaucracy where no two departments communicate.                                                                  

            “This is New Zealand Television. I’m doing you the courtesy of telling you that Christchurch is going to do such an exposé on Hillary Clinton, she won’t have a peg left to hang her duster!”

            “Whoa! Whoa! I’m just a volunteer. What’s this about?”

            “We’ve been after Hillary for three months to set up an interview and she keeps giving us the walkabout. You don’t brush aside New Zealanders and not pay a price!”

            “I’m sure it’s a screw-up! This campaign has an abiding affection for Kiwis. We love you guys! Who did you talk to?”

            “That’s just it, mate. No one will talk with us.”

            “Wait! You’ve been leaving messages on the Press Office voicemail?”

            “That’s the way of it, laddie.”

            “PLEASE, don’t take it personally. They never call back anybody. Our Press Office is constantly on the road. They’re a total bollocks.”

            “Well, you understand my point then!” ranted the Kiwi a little less violently.

            Trying the extension, all I got was voicemail.

            I took the man’s particulars and passed his request to Cathy, my supervisor. Unflustered, brilliant, she can handle anything. I’m always fascinated by the incredible collection of Hillary campaign tjochkes ¹ on her desk: pens, pads, coffee mugs, umbrellas, watches, baseball caps, T-shirts, books, photos, CDs and DVDs. [ ¹ Yiddish: knickknacks, small possessions ]

            I don’t know if the New Zealanders ever got their interview, but Cathy and I did what we could. She and I are extremely proficient. Farther up the chain of command, however, life becomes murky and chaotic.

                                                                                                 Tuesday, May 6, 2008

             Facing Indiana and North Carolina primaries, Obama’s message of “Hope!” is still there, he’s merely narrowed the focus to “I hope you vote for me!”

            Manchester, New Hampshire: “Why are you working at Hillary headquarters, young man? Bill screwed the chambermaid and Hillary forgave him. That shows the Clintons harbor not a shred of human decency. Get out of there while you still have your integrity intact!”

                                                                                                Thursday, May 8, 2008

            TV nightly news: Barack Obama says if he wins the Democratic primary in Oregon on May 20, he’s going to declare victory. Hey, Barry, it ain’t over ‘till the fat lady sings! What a dude!

                                                                                                Tuesday, May 13, 2008

              Natalia Mendez reports a polling irregularity in Palestine, West Virginia. At her polling place in Burning Springs, Wirt County, she went in to vote this morning and says Hillary’s name was not on the ballot. I call our precinct captain in Wirt County. She investigates. Answer: Natalia got a Republican ballot by mistake!

                                                        *

            “Can’t you do anything about MSNBC?” ask Hillary supporters over the phone. “Can’t you call CNN and get them to treat Hillary fairly?”

            “We call,” I tell them. “We call and complain. But since we seem to lack even the support of Democratic Party Chairman Howard Dean, it’s an uphill battle, countering the flow of negative propaganda.”

            Washington, D.C.— which used to be a nice enough town— has become hellish, what with the self-righteous fury of the pundits, the newspeople and the Obamaniacs. Suddenly, those of us who simply cannot follow the flimflam man are an oppressed minority! It’s bad enough that we don’t  “get” his appeal, we are now held up to public ridicule and told our hopes for Hillary are delusional. (I gotta stop reading the newspapers!)

            Norman, Oklahoma: “Ken Starr spent $44 million and found nothing—absolutely nothing— on the Clintons. The people around here don’t understand that! You tell Hillary, ‘You go, girl!’ Don’t tell my husband, but I’m sending Hillary some money for her campaign!”

            What started out as a contest between several attractive contenders has degenerated into a witch-hunt. Hup-Hup Clinton is behind by 150 pledged delegates in the primaries. We’re on the 15^th tee of a golf tournament. It’s the third quarter of a basketball game (Obama’s sport, basketball). We’re in the 7^th inning of a baseball game, and instead of being allowed to play to the end of the game, the announcer is shouting over the P.A. system, “Hillary is behind, she should leave the field!” The Obama campaign half-heartedly rebukes the announcer while harping on this message, claiming Hillary is destroying the great game of politics. Where is the Obama team’s sense of good sportsmanship? Quitters never win and winners never quit!

             And Obama is a poor winner: Instead of being glad about leading the field, he is vindictive. Wake up, America! Harassing your opponent is not the American way.We’re supposed to be magnanimous in victory and gracious in defeat. Shame on you, Barack Obama! Why do you resent Hillary Clinton and John McCain also trying for the presidency? Why sulk?

             Duluth, Minnesota; Albuquerque, New Mexico; hundreds of other places: “You tell Obama…” Good Lord, the things our supporters wish us to impart to the Obama campaign! Generally, I delete or rephrase the profane parts.

             Look, Barack Obama insists on running in 2008, it is his campaign. He sets the tone, he calls the shots. Hunched over the microphone at press conferences, the insulting barbs roll off his acid tongue.

             Suggestion from Skokie, Illinois: “I want Hillary to kiss a baby pig. I know, I know, but Chicago is the center of the pork industry and we need to do something to counteract that black guy!”

             Barack and Michelle Obama, David Axelrod and David Plouffe have a lot to answer for. They play their mind games, they parse words, they shout that they are victims. They claim they are being swiftboated because of race.

            How dare Obama play the race card! There are blacks throughout the Hillary campaign, top to bottom. Plus Asians, Latinos, Indians and Caucasians. A veritable hodge-podge of humanity works in “Hillaryland.”

             Biloxi, Mississippi: “Bill Clinton was our first black president and don’t you let anybody forget it!”

             Sometimes the regional accents are so thick, I have to cobble together the message as best I can. Our callers are nice. They may lose patience, but they only chuckle over my ineptitude. “Don’t they teach you people Mountain English before turning you loose on the phone system?” twangs a hillbilly from West Virginia. I can all but hear the tobacco juice running down his chin.

             My kind of people! Grounded. Real.

             Team Obama blames the Establishment for beating up on the little guy, the outsider. And every few days, one of them makes a disparaging remark about Hillary: She “doesn’t know what she’s talking about.” She’s “out of control.”

           We pride ourselves on being a democratic country, free of hate, but there is bad blood in this election, fed by misbehavior, “gotcha” journalism and an endless series of attacks on Hillary Clinton, Barack Obama and John McCain.

           We have “Change We Can Believe In,” all right. Politics used to be fun and exciting. These weasels have made it bloody and heartbreaking for the 18 million Hillary supporters. This climate sucks!

           Life is bleak in Obamaland! 

          Madison, Wisconsin: “When she’s out here campaigning, have Hillary milk a cow! It won’t kill her and it will show, symbolically, that she supports the dairy industry. What does a city boy like Obama know about cows? He couldn’t tell the back end from the front.”

            Hillary was there first. Everyone knew in 2000 that eventually she would make a run for the White House. The country was finally going to have a woman president!!! How’s that for a change? Obama appears to be a Johnny-come-lately, a usurper, a wrecker. He has turned the Democratic Party primary process into a SmackDown!                                                                                        

                                                                                           Saturday, May 17, 2008

            Two ladies in Cambria, California own a bed-and-breakfast facing the ocean. Each of them gets on an extension and we brainstorm campaign concepts. I enter the data in the appropriate files for the delectation of my bosses on the floors above. We also exchange malicious gossip. (We’re as bad as everyone else!) “Of course Obama is a Muslim,” they insist. “He’s just this side of a terrorist! In Chicago, he hangs around with Bill Ayers, an anarchist bomb-thrower from the Weather Underground! Obama learned Marxism at the knees of Jesse Jackson and Al Sharpton, who are both slightly to the left of Chairman Mao. Mobster Tony Rezko bought a million-dollar house in an up-scale neighborhood and sold it to Obama for half-price! The only change that interests Team O is the change in your pocket!”

            I share with them an aphorism provided by one of our callers:

                          “On Monday, Wednesday and Friday

                                 Obama is a white boy.

                            On Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday,

                                      He’s black.

                             He takes Sundays off.”

            Mom and I have vacationed in Cambria. We stayed at Cambria Pines Lodge on the edge of town.

            “Next time you come out, stay with us!” my lady friends laugh.

            Sure, they’re gay, but we dig each other. I keep their info for future reference.

            Seattle, Washington: “You tell Hillary to get out of the race! How dare she try to compete with Obama?! Who does she think she is? Obama offers hope! All Hillary and Bill— and you— offer is more of the same. You tell Hillary to get the hell out of the way. She should throw her support behind Obama! Everybody should!”

             Since Hillary isn’t as popular as Obama, all these people in authority continue screaming at us that Hillary Clinton ought to get out of the race. Who? Obama, his supporters, his campaign manager David Axelrod, NBC’s Tim Russert, CNN’s Wolf Blitzer, The Washington Post. Congressional bigwigs.

            Why aren’t the rest of us allowed to disagree with the Obama campaign without getting attacked? Why are all Americans required to think only one way, the Obama way? What happened to freedom of speech, freedom of thought? Barack, what are you doing, bro’?

            Landover, Maryland: “Who are you? Who am I speaking with?”

            “I’m Kevin. I’m a volunteer on the Hillary for President campaign.”

            “How much do they pay you?”

            “I’m an unpaid volunteer.”

            “Are they still accepting unpaid volunteers?”

            “I would think so. Here’s my supervisor’s phone number…”

            “I live in Landover, Maryland. What’s your address? I’m coming over there tomorrow to volunteer! I’m sick of people being mean to Hillary!”

            Wow.

                                                       *

            In America, we like our religion straight, not mixed with politics into a religio-political cocktail. The Obama campaign has bragged in Rolling Stone magazine about the “Camp Obama” program, where young people are taught to go out and spread the word— “missionaries,” to use the dictionary definition. People on a mission, spreading a gospel. When working, they tell how they “came to” Obama, as if they were coming to Jesus.

           Oprah Winfrey toured with the Obama campaign in South Carolina. That’s where they really found their voice, in Columbia, S.C. They got that “Ol’ Time Religion.” The ultimate crowd-pleaser— more popular than Jay Leno— nobody knows how to whip up hysteria like Oprah.

            Obama the lawyer knows all about the separation of church and state, but he’s willing to harness the power of religious euphoria, if that’s what it takes to get elected. Give the man credit, he may be an Elmer Gantry, but he is having a ball! Read Newsweek! His formula for success has made him the hands-down favorite for the Democratic nomination.

            Witnessing the hysteria at Obama rallies— the four-hour waits in line, 10,000 spectators at a local suburban event— I entreat my fellow Democrats, “We have separation of church and state. You are worshipping a false Messiah.”

            To no avail.

            They want to worship at Obama’s feet. They want to touch the hem of his garment. The “whatever” generation has found its redeemer, all gloss, no substance!

            I, on the other hand, worry about a polarized society. Obama is no friend to the black community: They have every right to support their man, but what happens if he is unsuccessful? By raising their hopes to the very pinnacle of expectation, Barack is paving the way for a terrible disappointment if he goes down to defeat at the Democratic Convention in August or in the general election in November.

            For all his talk of being a unifier, Barack Obama is the greatest polarizer since Richard Nixon. This young man’s campaign claims John McCain is losing his bearings. We’re talking about a war hero, the Republican candidate for president! Show some gentlemanly respect, Barry!

            Your fancy lawyer tactics are bad for the U.S.A.

            Newark, New Jersey: “I have a plan for paying off the deficit and balancing the budget!”

            “That’s wonderful! I’m all ears.”

            “Well, now, you got to negotiate a contract first, bubba.”

            “You have a plan for righting the economy, but you want a consultant’s fee?”

            “You got that right! This is the only meal ticket I got. I can’t just give it away!”

            “Well… I can enter your contract proposal into our system. If the higher-ups want to get in touch with you, they will.”

            “Yeah. Okay. You do that!”

            “What’s your name?”…                                           

                                                                                           Saturday, May 24, 2008

              Some days, the pollen absolutely kills me. Since it grabs me in the stomach, I subsist on coffee. Weak as a kitten, I don’t tell Cathy. She’d send me home!

            The campaign is getting to me. What have I heard, fielding calls from our volunteers during the primaries?

             “I’m at our caucus location, but the Obama people have elbowed me out of the building. They’ve shoved me onto the gravel parking lot and they won’t let me back inside. What do I do?” asked a volunteer on his cellphone.

            “The Obama people are keying cars,” reported another, this one on March 4 from the Great State of Texas. “Everybody knows who supports who in this town, so they’re takin’ their car keys and scratching the paint on the automobiles of Hillary’s supporters.”

            “I got a problem,” reported a third. “I’m the precinct captain for Hillary’s campaign. I thought the Obama guy and I had an understanding. We had two voting boxes on the table, y’know? People could put their ballots in either one. Now the Obama guy has picked up one of the two ballot boxes, marched out the back of the gym, hopped in his pickup and driven off. What do I do now?”

               Half the Democratic Party is beating up on the other half because, as their slogan says, Yes, we can! As long as John Edwards was in the race— and it was a three-way— people didn’t hound Hillary to death. Politics was still a contest. The tone remained civil. Today, the Obama people don’t care who they hurt or what damage they do, as long as Barack gets the nomination.

                A divisive character out of a bad novel, a Willie Stark, Obama turns friend against friend and neighbor against neighbor. What a trick this slick pol has pulled on the American people!

                                                                                           Tuesday, May 27, 2008

                  My doctor feels smoking is the most unnatural activity imaginable. After a lifetime of addiction, I stopped on December 18, 2005. I smoked my last cigarette at 10:05 p.m., the nicotine making my heart almost leap out of my chest. “Holy mackerel,” I decided, “I’m not doing this anymore!”  Nowadays, I take regular coffee breaks, instead. Here at headquarters, I brew instant coffee in a porcelain mug at the hot water nozzle on the office water cooler. Instead of getting angry, the bosses find my little enthusiasms endearing. I’m a star! The shifts are four hours long, but I bring a bag lunch and give the campaign a full eight-hour day, three or four times a week, as the election season heats up.

                                                          *

             “Hey, man, you got to move your trucks, man. You blocking our access to  the trash containers! You gonna get rats, man,” says the bantering voice in thick Chicano.

            “Wait! Where are these trucks?”

             “Behind you building, amigo. Two big white wans. ‘Hillary for President’ on the side. Move them so we can collect the garbage!”

             “Listen, I’m up on the third floor. Let me look through the back window.”

              I see the green refuse truck and the driver standing on the pavement with his cellphone pressed to his ear. I can also see the roofs of two large white vans very decorously parked behind our building. Two big green dumpsters sit between the vans and the back wall, hopelessly boxed in.

             “I’ll get the vans moved!” I tell him, furious that no one put them away in the parking garage.

             “You gotta move ‘em, man. We get paid to collect the garbage. You screwin’ up our schedule. It hot out. That garbage gonna smell. That attracts rats.”

             I take the problem to Cathy. Ten minutes later, I’m back manning a station on the computerized phone system when Cathy comes into the Call Center, extends two sets of keys and asks, “Do you know how to drive a van?”

              In Vietnam, troops in the field soon learned that military command in Saigon understood next to nothing about their situation. Each unit learned to organize the war in their own little theater of operations. Field commanders ran their own ops. The Clinton campaign is strikingly similar. Our command center, on floors four and five, is manned by amateurs— with a few windy operatives spread throughout the ranks like raisins in a cake. Despite numerous attempts, they fail to come to grips with even the most menial of duties: scheduling events, arranging transportation, paying bills. Only through endless redundancy— and people taking personal initiative— do we paste over the gaping holes in our organization.

                                                                                           Thursday, May 29, 2008

            “Hillarity” is a major part of the problem. Everybody’s screwball sister, some members of the family hate her and some adore her. She is too moral and too nice. Would that she were the barracuda her critics claim! This primary season purgatory would have ended two months ago!

             When the Reverend Wright scandal broke in March, Hills could have gotten on a soapbox and— full of righteous indignation— she could have spoken out for 32 minutes “on behalf of all fair-minded people” and blown the Obama campaign… out… of… the… water! Once and for all!

             What a set-up! The pastor who married Barack and Michelle Obama— whose church in Chicago they attended for 14 years, whose sermons they listened to— now claims the government created AIDS to kill black people: ”The government lied about inventing the HIV virus as a means of genocide against people of color.” He says America brought 9/11 upon itself. He wants his parishioners to sing “God damn America.”

              Instead of going for the jugular, Hillary chooses to play nice and show understanding.

             When Michelle Obama said her husband’s candidacy is the first time, as an adult, she has felt proud of this country, Hillary could have thundered a denunciation from the mountain tops: “I HAVE ALWAYS BEEN PROUD OF AMERICA!” She could have hurled lightning bolts. Not wanting to bolster her political cartoon caricature as an assassin, she didn’t do it.

             Meanwhile, the Obama camp— exhibiting no such reluctance— wounds her with a thousand cuts, slights and barbs. “You’re likeable enough, Hillary,” Obama said sourly at a January 5, 2008 televised debate, looking ready to puke.

             Gee, thanks, Barry!

              Whenever Obama’s campaign has hit a brick wall, when he’s planted a wingtipped shoe squarely in his mouth— yo! his daddy never met John F. Kennedy, and no, his uncle was not in the Red Army when it liberated Auschwitz— instead of going for the kill, Hillary thinks with the right side of her brain, declares us all brothers and sisters in one Democratic Party, and begins singing a refrain of “Kumbaya.”

             With the Democratic National Committee, The Washington Post, Newsweek, NBC, CBS, CNN, The Oregonian and the Los Angeles Times all firmly against her, Hillary the Loser acts as if she is on a level playing field! Politely, she follows political etiquette, avoiding the impulse to resort to killer tactics. Hillary believes in the Tooth Fairy, but the super delegates may never come and put a quarter under our pillows!

                                                                                           Saturday, May 31, 2008

            Every Saturday morning at exactly 11 a.m., Zack calls from Detroit. There are 12 stations in the Call Center, but at that hour, only one or two of us are working. Often enough, I field his call. “Zack my man!” I exclaim, recognizing his voice.

            “What kinda week has Hillary had?” he asks.

            I yank some tidbit from the press releases in my looseleaf notebook.

            Zack is just making conversation. As soon as I finish, he launches into a full-frontal attack: “When is the Democratic Party going to do something about impeaching Governor Jennifer Granholm? She is the Angel of Death here in Detroit! Replace her, recall her, repeal her, march her before a firing squad!”

            “Easy, ace!” I say, and try to talk him down.

            He then asks my (my!) economic solution to the budget deficit. “I’m not an economist!” I counter.

            I get a 10-minute lecture on balancing the budget and finance reform.

            “I’ve got other calls, boss! Anything I should send up the chain of command?” I ask.

            “Tell Hillary to choose someone with balls for a vice president!” Zack suggests, before launching into a fresh tirade over Jennifer Granholm.

            “Until next time, ace!” I say, gently interrupting. “Always a pleasure, Zack, always a pleasure.”

            He is one of about a dozen people who call headquarters for a weekly therapy session. Nice to everybody, we give them their seven-day fix of adrenaline.  

              Sean Lengell writes in The Washington Times that

                               “Clinton sees end of road for campaign.

“Mrs. Clinton yesterday rejected the notion of a summer-long fight to capture the nomination,” Sean writes. He then quotes Hillary on a conference call to Montana reporters: “‘I think after the final primaries, people are going to start making up their minds. I think that is the natural progression that one would expect.’”

              To quote Mark Twain: “Reports of my death are greatly exaggerated.”

[ New York Journal, June 2, 1897 ]

                                                                                         Sunday, June 1, 2008

            The Democratic National Committee and the states of Michigan and Florida failed to agree on primary dates. Both states held their primaries early. This has pissed off the Committee, which is now threatening to disenfranchise the Michigan and Florida delegations: They’ll have no say at the August convention, their votes won’t count.

           The DNC is holding deliberations. Always ready to snatch defeat from the jaws of victory, Hillary compares the elections in Michigan and Florida to Zimbabwe… as if the American people know anything about politics in Zimbabwe! Here we go again! Is Hills-and-Valleys Clinton fishing for the Zimbabwean vote?

           Raymond in Florida has emailed us a copy of the Tampa Tribune’s article of September 30^th, 2007, “Obama Promises To Do Right.” It seems Obama signed an agreement that neither he nor Hills would campaign in Florida. After a fundraiser in Tampa, Obama promptly went across the street and gave an impromptu press conference, violating this written agreement! This is a constant problem with Barack Obama: He thinks the rules don’t apply to him.

          My supervisor Cathy asks me to follow up. When I get Raymond on the phone, he wants me to take a printout of the article to the DNC. “Think of what this will do for your career,” he insists. “A 20-minute taxi ride downtown to the hearings and yours will be the act that changes history!”

           Is the article true? Did the Obama and Hillary people sign the agreement before or after Obama’s Florida press conference? This is the problem with my job. Well-liked, but at the bottom of the pecking order, I remain amazingly uninformed. People call in and tell me things, but I never know what is fact, what is conjecture and what is wild fantasy.

           Thanking Raymond, I take the issue to Garrett on the Policy Desk. He reads the exposé and hears me out. “Even if we caught Obama with his pants down,” he smiles sadly, “the DNC won’t even let you in the door of the committee room! You have no standing. What voting district does Kevin Feingold represent?!”                                                                       

                                                                                          Friday, June 6, 2008

            So here they are on the front page of The Washington Post in a huge color photo: Virginia Governor Tim Kaine, Obama and Virginia Senator Jim Webb, smiling from ear to ear, standing side by side. Gripping each other’s hands, holding aloft their arms in victory, they are awash in a sea of ocean blue placards that state: “Change We Can Believe In.”

                      “From Across Region, 10,000 Rally for Obama”

reads the headline. Hmmm, what’s wrong with this picture? Firstly, who announced the rally? I was pretty busy on Thursday, but I never heard duckshit. Probably “as advertised on the Obama website…” It’s impressive what the Obamaniacs can do with telepathy! Why didn’t The Washington Post advertise it? Not a word did they print. Maybe I would have attended.

           Full disclosure: I DON’T LIKE OBAMA!

                                                                                          Saturday, June 7, 2008

            The Washington Post’s attitude seems to be, “Why did they hold primaries in South Dakota and Montana, why have super delegates committed to a candidate, when it would be so much easier, cheaper and less complicated to have the nominee selected and announced by… The Washington Post!”

            What’s The Post going to announce next, the end of the war in Afghanistan?

            St. Louis, Missouri: “I am trying to buy a Hillary for President yard sign online, on your website. Every time I put in my credit card information, I get an ‘error’ message.”

            “That, my friend, has been happening all morning. There is something wrong with our server. My supervisor tells me that our IT people are handling it and to please be patient. Can you try again tomorrow?”                                                         

          The phones are ringing off the hook. My supervisor Cathy comes in wearing her Hillary designer T-shirt and explains to me that what I’m reading in the newspapers isn’t propaganda, it’s advocacy journalism.

         “We think the press has been calling in to get us to say something outrageous, so please don’t make any out there comments. We’re trying to stay on message.”

         Half my job is data entry. My old buddy Foluka calls from NYC. This is one hot South African lady. She calls at least once a week. The Jo’burg accent is unmistakable. She dishes me some dirt. I enter it on my desktop. I read it back to her: “Michele Obama is on YouTube conducting an anti-white tirade, right?”

           Foluka gives me two more items.

          “You’re my eyes and ears in New York!” I thank her.

           A minute later, while I’m correcting my typos, Cathy comes up and says, “That’s exactly the kind of incendiary comment we don’t want to make. No outrageous remarks!”

             I explain that I was repeating the caller’s comments to confirm that I heard correctly.

            Cathy apologizes. “I’m exhausted,” she sighs. “If I get confused, humor me.”

            Eventually, Cathy’s boss comes into the Call Center and suggests I join the rest of the staff in the main room to watch Hillary’s concession speech on widescreen TV. 

            “What about the phones?”

            “They can ring for awhile,” he smiles resignedly.

            I sit on a swivel chair by one of the desks, eating a sandwich. I view her speech with critical detachment: “Not good enough to win an Oscar, but certainly good enough to get an Oscar nomination.” Whenever Hillary gets to an applause line, the room erupts in wild clapping. I love the dude who is going “Woof woof woof! “ like at a football game. The next time Hillary comes to a pause and we start clapping, I do a “Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman,” making a circular motion with my hand and going “Ruff! Ruff! Ruff!” 

            It’s only when he gets excited and starts running about the room that I discover my partner in crime is a brown and white Jack Russell terrier.

                                                            *

President Whosis, Pt. 2

 

[ Note: Thanks for all the great feedback!!! I reformatted my file and published as an ebook on Smashwords.com!!! A  little glitchy, it is out there, but awaits their review process. They have a backlog and need two weeks.  – Kevin ]

President Whosis: Gaga 4 Obama?

                       Political Satire by Kevin Feingold 

                                          Part Two

                                              A + +

                                        Salami is Dead

                                        Hoopla Hoops

                                  American Default Blues

                                    Building A Nation

                         Michele Bachmann Does Reagan

                                               SOTU

                                                 *** 

                      From the desk of Blackie Diamond 

Memoir                                 A + +

            People be idiots! Americans have a food fight over my birth certificate— I was born in a hot air balloon over New Mexico— but they completely miss the boat regarding Tamara. She my KGB lover. Or the fact that we got a capuchin monkey living in the family quarters of the White House. The American people know I smoke cigarettes, but they remain mercifully oblivious to my other addictions: popcorn, porno films and my foot fetish.

              America, where you at?

             When I met Tamara at Accidental College, she was already KGB. Accidental is the two-year junior college in Queens that grinds along on a yearly endowment from Accidental Life. Y’know, the ones with the blimp. Again, really, hell-o! Accidental Life shows great skill at collecting premiums, but should you— God forbid!— ever suffer a catastrophe, just try to get a penny out of Accidental Life. Never happen.

            It’s called capitalism. You saves up for a rainy day, and when the flood come, the bank done gone out of business! That why we got the FDIC, to ensure that you gets your money. DON’T SAY YOU WANT LESS GOVERNMENT, people! What you wants is justice!

            Needing Tamara around on a daily basis— for both consensual sex and hormone injections— I had her assigned to Dr. Tesler, the White House physician, as his nurse. Calm down! Tamara is a registered nurse. The KGB made sure she had some profession, besides being a spy.

            Why I require hormone treatments? I was too much of a swordsman in my youth. Done too many drugs. By the time I became a senator, I had shot my wad. I got to Wash, DC, I would visit Tamara at the beauty salon downtown where she worked. Olden days, the procedure was exceedingly primitive: She took me into the back room and shot my scrotum full of Spanish fly. Smugglers brought the stuff up from Mexico. Thanks to advances in the pharmaceutical industry— which now owns half of Congress— I currently receive both testosterone and steroids. Yeah, I knows the testosterone can lead to prostate cancer, but which you want, impotency or the Big C? Yes, Viagra will take me there, but what happen when I arrives? Nothin’! No arrows in my quiver, Katniss! I see it as a quality of life thing: I can live longer, but is the life worth livin’?

            The deal I made with the SVR (Sluzhba Vnezhney Razvedki), the Russkie foreign intelligence service— the inheritors of the KGB— is that Tamara won’t scatter eavesdropping bugs around the White House. If she do that, I lose my nurse. Instead, within reason, I provide the Russians with blow by blow updates of what’s happening in the White House. Our White House. They have a “White House” too, their Hall of Deputies, built by an Italian contractor and shelled during the upheaval against Boris Yeltsin in 1993. The current Russian premier isn’t entirely happy over our arrangement, but he’s not unhappy either. He’s like me. In modern life, everything remains ambiguous, a matter of nuance rather than hard and fast principle. Nothing is black and white. Like me, neither one nor the other.

            Computers demand a “yes” or “no” answer. The premier and I prefer to remain flexible. That way I can change the rules at my leisure. I’M THE DUDE WHO CLAIMS HE’S ABOVE PARTISAN POLITICS AND THEN GOES OUT ON THE CAMPAIGN TRAIL AND LAMBASTS HIS OPPONENTS MERCILESSLY.

            As my Scottish forebears used to say: “Nemo me impune lacessit.“ No one attacks me with impunity.

            I be a man of peace who wield a battle ax.

            That’s called flexibility.

            They teach you that in Singapore: The palm tree must bend to the typhoon. Otherwise, it gets uprooted.

            REELECT ME! I don’t want to get uprooted.

                                                       *

            The biggest pain in my backside be my contact at the Russian Embassy. Boris Slivovich, he is totally 1970’s, a drunk. Every G-8 and G-12 Summit, I ask the premier, “Hey, Vlad, when you gonna replace Slivovich?” And every summit, Vlad blows me off.

            Although the American people don’t know that Tamara Bukarova crawl all over me like I be a jungle gym, I am sure people would be grateful if they knew. Thanks to her, I ain’t getting involved with no intern!!! After what happened with Monica Lewinsky, no prez gonna let that happen.

            I got two daughters of my own.

           With a budget deficit of $15 trillion, you would think that wages to hire a few competent interns wouldn’t send Congress into the stratosphere. But it do. So we in the W.H. continue to rely on volunteers.

            An entire crew— all ages— opens letters addressed to the president, the first lady, the presidential daughters, even our bulldog Winston Churchill. 93% of them letters be critical of this administration. I ignores them letters, I cannot govern under a barrage of carping criticism. Silencio!

            Personally, I give this administration an A++ in governance. My opinion.

            Now, the letter staff, they be instructed to pass along only those letters containing positive suggestions, such as “Use an Eastern White Pine from Georgia for the next National Christmas Tree” or “Serve borscht at the White House when entertaining Russian guests.” That last one come from the Russian ambassador. Okay, Ivan, I can take a hint!

            Monica was the worst thing that could happen to the world of interns. Now, 99% of the applicants be pretty, young ladies with secret wet dreams of makin’ it bigtime with the presidential wiener. They rub up against the front of my pants whenever they deliver papers to the Oval Orifice. I give specific instructions, “They not supposed to be in here!” Wily little ladies— ewig weibliche, forever feminine— they either con the Secret Service dudes to let them make their delivery or, worse, they march in through the pantry. You come in through the pantry, only Ramirez, the Filipino steward, there to try to stop you. He can’t even keep Winston Churchill the bulldog from invading my office!

            “Hi-i-i-i, Mr. President,” these young interns, lookin’ about 16, sing. They  take mincing little steps across the carpet, waving their papers at me.

            “I on the phone!” I explain, sitting behind my desk, receiver pressed to my ear.

            “Oh, okay, here!” they say, dropping the paper(s) on my desk and climbing into daddy’s lap to suck my fingers and massage my peter with their tight little behinds. Ouch! ‘Course I get a hard-on! Who wouldn’t?

            “NO MORE INTERNS IN MY OFFICE!” I tell Axl, my Chief of Staff.

            “Right, boss,” he say, the ninny. I know, tomorrow, still another one of these princesses is gonna make a play for my cock. I don’t see, under the list of presidential duties, “Satisfying the sexual proclivities of promiscuous female interns.” Good God, y’all!

            I solve the problem! My Chief of Staff was on my case about Malcolm Tinker, my body double, being under-employed. “He’s bored,” Axl complained, “so he interrupts everyone else’s workday to shoot the breeze.”

            I got a brainstorm: When not representing me at motorcades and televised public events like ballgames, I got Malcolm spending his days frolicking in the Rose Garden with the young, female interns. ¡Avante!Mission accomplished.

            When the wife and I resided in Denver, next door lived Bob and Marcy Sandcastle. Bob was okay, but Marcy was one neurotic woman. They being white, she weren’t too happy having “Soweto people”— as she called us— right next door. Marcy have two daughters, Pam and Diggie. I never did find out Diggie’s real name. The girls grows up an’ goes off to college. Come the summer, one night I rollin’ the garbage receptacle out to the curb for morning pickup. Who standin’ on the sidewalk sneakin’ a cigarette but Pam. She as neurotic as her mama, this the entire neighborhood know. I seen her sittin’ in a car next to her beefy all-American boyfriend. Girl beautiful as a fashion model, thin figure, long red hair, gorgeous face, glamorous complexion. All she do is sulk. She sit in the car sulking. She neurotic, she sulk.

            “Hi-i-i-i, Uncle Blackie,” she say this night, drawing out the words like slow molasses, that flaming red hair flowing about her head. Shee-it. What she comin’ on to me for?

            “Yeah, hello to you!” I woof and hightail back inside my house.

            My point being, I do know what I’m doin’. Experto credite, believe one who has had experience. Trust me on this one!

             They call my administration “the perpetual campaign.” As if I give a hoot what the pundits call it! Listen, my daddy taught me to wave my arms and modulate my voice. I do the old hoodoo on folks. Americans, with their emphasis on youth, are emotional in ways that the jaundiced, cynical Europeans no longer experience. Paul had his epiphany on the road to Damascus, founded a religion, and wrote to the people of Corinth. I spent a lifetime getting ready for this, my moment. I practiced my con in college and later in the ‘hood. Nobody can teach me nothin’. I arrived. I’m teachin’ them a pointer or two. A-holes! Kiss my butt! Y’all watch me now!

                                                      *

              When I ran for senator, one of the first things I learned was that you don’t need to take campaign contributions. Your own money will suffice. For example, Thadeus Williams of the paper industry lobby wanted to be sure of my support regarding paper mills. Open pit coal mining, paper mills, fracturing for natural gas, and running atomic reactors all produce a total pollution of the environment. I call it “the dead fish syndrome.” Anything that kills fish, that is pollution. Instead of a campaign contribution, Thadeus purchased my car for $100,000.

            Unfortunately, Thadeus ended up in jail on a RICO statute. Something is wrong with this nation when a man can’t even enjoy his ill-gotten gains! My opinion.

            That incident in Denver where somebody make off with $10,000 in cash from the campaign office safe and the election authorities come ‘round to ask me what I knows? I don’t knows dick! I gets home after a hard day at the campaign office and my wife, she say, “Mix yourself a drink, honeybear, and come give yo’ wife a hug!” I do that little thing. Surprise! I finds the moneys stuck in my wife’s bra! 

            I run for president. We wins the election and arrives inna White House and it look just like in the movies! I gets led into the Oval Ovary to see the then-sitting prez, Mr. Peter “Pretzel” Brush. While he briefed me on the world situation, I’m diggin’ the gold carpet with the presidential seal! Just getting into the whole nine yards of it. Yowzah!

            Le roi est mort, vive moi. The king is dead, long live me!

            “Daddy! Daddy!” the girls are callin’. My wife and kids are checkin’ out the living quarters: the indoor pool, the sauna, the tanning salon… Yeah, right! Like coffee-colored peoples need a tanning salon! Shee-it.

                                                        *

            Y’all think this a campaign biography, you wrong! I just tryin’ to tell my side of the story. My opponent, Mick Rodney, may be a fool— criticizing the British at the London Olympics, when a bromide or two would have done the job— but I got the entire Republican Party arrayed agin me. I gonna need yo’ help t’make this presidential election a success. And I don’t mean in voter turnout. I mean in votes cast— FOR ME!!! Ask my wife, even she campaigning on my behalf. That’s desperation!

            I a nice person.

            I be smarter than everyone else.

            My life a compelling personal narrative.

            I a great leader.

            My wife be prettier than your’n.

            Bet you can’t name three people who lost their jobs!

            Looking back at the last three and a half years, there be nothing I would do over.

            America IS exceptional, just look at me!

            I a b-boy! I be America’s first breakdancing president! Watch my moves.

            I went to private school an’ learn Latin.

            I am my own ultimate weapon.

            What’s not to reelect?

                                                      *

            Just recently, as I said in a speech— and bragged about on my weekly video address— I played my 100^th round of golf as president! Something of a duffer, I’m out there hacking away, I can assure you. Still, the 7^th is such a short hole, 173 yards, the green bracketed by bunkers, I decide to use a 5-iron off the tee. I still reach the green in one. Man, I love that par-3 seventh! I got a six handicap, but come on, I be president. I can’t play often enough to get good.

            My caddy is a pale little wallflower named Jerry Kowalski. The good news be, he fully— but fully— vetted by the FBI. This dude vanilla, through and through. The three things he does well are (1) carry my bag, (2) suggest which club to use and (3) interpret the green. Some of the greens at Congressional are tricky, tha’s all I’m sayin’.

            Then one afternoon, he follow me behind the clubhouse. I think I’m walkin’ to the armored SUV. “Whassup, Jerry?” I ask. Next thing I know, the man’s kissing me, his tongue in my mouth! Where’d that come from? I tell the two Secret Service guys to station themselves around each corner of the building, facing outward. “I’m in conference with my caddy. You see anybody comin’, you give a holler!”

            “Okay, Chief!” they tell me.

            “Jerry, whassa matter wid you?”

            “I love you, Mr. President,” he stammers. “I’ve always loved you, sir!’

            I knows where he coming from. Hearing the national anthem or “Hail to the Chief” pushes the hot button in all of us, the hot button that tells us, “Respect and love the president.” Half the country loves and adulates the prez in any election cycle. It’s enough he be a Democrat or a Republican, he has the adulation of his party.

            “When I walk behind you,” Jerry explains, “watching your muscular ass through the tight tan fabric of your golf slacks— “

            “I got it! You love me!” I tell him.

            “When I see the bulge of your package as you’re about to putt— “

            “Jerry, I got it! ‘Kiss my balls, make my putz go straight.’ It’s an old joke.”

            “Can’t we grab this moment of pleasure for ourselves?” he asks, exhaling in a rush.

            Now, good caddies are hard to find. Good caddies who, additionally, have been vetted and cleared by the FBI are even rarer. I nod my head.

            As his trembling fingers fumble open my zipper and he eagerly coaxes me into an erection, a single glance at his pale, panting face assures me that Jerry the Caddy is more afraid of me and the Secret Service than he is of CBS News. As he and I watch my seed spurting across the grass, I feel a kinship with this most trusted of servants.

            “I want you to come and dine with my family and me in the East Wing of the White House,” I tell him as he tucks me in and zips me up. “We won’t mention this, uh, episode, of course, but you’ll like my daughters. They’re a lot of fun to talk to.”

            “Oh, yes. Please,” Jerry gushes, blushing scarlet.

            He is mine!

            See, I try to do something nice! And what happens? My press secretary, Artie Lengl, gets tipped off by the FBI that Jerry Kowalski, a k a Jerry the Caddy, is in a reality TV series. “Starring” isn’t the right word, but he’s participating. A TV crew be dogging his every step. I get word that they are filming him getting hisself a manicure at a beauty parlor, prior to joining me and my family at the White House fo’ din-din. “Show us your invite,” the host o’ the show says. Jerry bats his little eyelashes and replies, “I don’t have one. I was invited by the president himself.” Ass-hole!

            Reality TV is no friend of this administration. Barfek and Ukulele Salami crashed a state dinner and we never heard the end of it. It was a dark, blustery evening and we were made to look like fools! Congress, the public and the press howled for blood! I had to dismiss a perfectly good appointments secretary to appease the angry mob. So when I hear about this latest gaffe, I telephone a man regarding a dead skunk. “Nema problema,” he assures me.

            They are still filming when Jerry takes the escalator down into the Dupont Circle Metro. This I do not like. Everyone knows what a Dupont Circle address signify: You gay! And damn if that escalator don’t lose its grip, go wild, and deposit Jerry Kowalski on the flagstone floor of the Metro, at the feet of his camera crew. He buried under a humongous number of ABW ’s, Angry Black Women. “Svelte” is not a word applicable to this lot. The paramedics pry Jerry loose, but in the ambulance on the way to the hospital, that boy die. 

            Further details are protected by executive privilege.

            You mess with The Man…

                                                        *                     

            Now let me just take this opportunity to explain about the contretemps with the British Embassy regarding the bust of Winston Churchill. They claim we got all arrogant and returned the bust. Nothing could be further from the truth. Although we may have— inadvertently, you know— returned a bust.

            As Copernicus can tell you, America is the center of the known universe.

            Arrogant, we ain’t. We love Winston Churchill so much, we named our bulldog after him! The bust— a bust— of Winston Churchill stands majestically outside the Treaty Room in the East Wing of the White House! Whether that’s the bust given, on loan, from the Brit Embassy to my predecessor, Peter “Pretzel” Brush, I cannot say. I never looked that close. Could be… either/or… We got a bust, I’m told, which the White House received during the Kennedy administration. Which be which? How should I know?!

             So how ‘bout you Brits stop ragging our asses ‘bout the “special relationship” between our two countries? We won’t speak of your total loss of empire if you don’t speak of our total sense of entitlement.

              It’s a deal!

                                                        *

             You know this “take me to your leader” b.s.? When they told me I’d be dealing with aliens, I thought they meant illegals from Mexico. Instead, I’m meeting green spacemen. We didn’t rendez-vous in any place called “Area 51.”

              I met them at an ordinary Air Force base, but yeah, it is a space port. These outer space dudes are from Nads, a planet orbiting Gliese 581. What d’ya know, they do all the stuff Hollywood predicted they would: They ain’t little, but they green and slimy. They send small spaceships— probes— flying around on our planet. They make contact with planetary leaders. Hell, they even make contact with me! Using one of the underground tunnels, we spirit some of them into the White House. I gives ‘em a tour! Next thing I know, there be an incident!

             “My God, you fuckers, what have you done to Tamara?!” I croak.

             “We have sucked out her brain matter and replaced it with a trained invertebrate from the planet Isodar.”

             “Why the hell did you do that?!”

             They show me. At a single command, the “new” Tamara peels off her clothes, approaches me, undoes my pants and pulls down my undies. On her knees, she envelopes my erection with such alacrity and in such a business-like fashion, her behavior speaks volumes about the efficacy of robotics.

             “We want someone who will obey our commands,” explain the Nadsies.

            “Why battle free will when replacement surgery is available?”

            They are also considering taking over the real estate. “Shee-it,” I tell them, “long as my fambly and I gets a large plastic dome we can live under, you welcome to annihilate everybody else.” Ha ha ha!

            Reverse psychology, people! My response is so far outside the box, the Nadsies decide not to attack Earth until they figure out what cock and bull story I sellin’. I done that! Me, Blackie Diamond. I single-handedly thwarted an invasion from outer space! Put that in your hash pipe and smoke it!

            The Nadsies set up a colony in Nevada. I figures the Air Force’s Big Safari office— who devise, develop and field combat equipment— can maybe help me find a way to chase the Nadsies off our planet. Shee-it, the brass be askin’ the NSA: Who are these Nadsies? What’s their capability? How many are they? What do they look like? And so forth. I explain that I don’ need an entire screenplay or even a six-page spread in National Geographic. I lookin’ fo’ the equivalent of bug spray.

            They send over a couple of chemical compounds that maybe do the trick. “For use against nitrogen-based life forms.” “For use against silicon-based life forms.” In one-quart plastic spray bottles. “Do not inhale. Dangerous if swallowed. In case of contact with skin, flush surface thoroughly and notify a physician.”

            By the time we ready to spray it on the Nadsies, they already left for Gliese 581.

                                                        *

            While we’re on the subject of cleaning house, I had to replace the Secretary of the Treasury I inherited from my predecessor. Herman the German. He wore those ties—the color of orange, lemon or lemon-lime sorbet. The sight of which made people physically nauseous. Herman completely misunderstood the diff between eye-catching and irritating. His monetary policy wasn’t much better. Mr. Cheap Money, the printing presses never seemed to stop at the Bureau of Printing and Engraving. The low interest rate enticed people to borrow and use that money to speculate on the housing and stock markets. Even a small profit offset the little that folks were paying in interest on their loans.

            Cheap money and high volume created the semblance of “growth,” but it was a bubble, artificially maintained by the U.S. Government. God almighty, even Louie the Friendly Local Loan Shark knows enough to take out the vigorish before the principal. Seemingly, an unknown concept in parts of the federal government.

            The Justice Department got Herman for insider trading. He’s serving two to six.

                                                         *

            Nothin’ pleases me mo’ than a good-lookin’ woman, an’ some of the women over at Justice be stunnin’. That don’t mean I wanna go to jail!

            One of the things I discovered I could do to spend mo’ time with womens in the federal government was to send my wife and kids on missions abroad. My daughters Masha and Natasha be in school here in Washington— a honking rich private schule. But every summer, I sends the three of them off as goodwill ambassadors. I let Mama Bear and her cubs tour the world, telling “Yo mama” jokes. I stays inna W. House and entertains grown visitors from every corner of the federal bureaucracy, be they blondes, brunettes, raven-haired or redheads. The post-partisan presidency, I likes ‘em all, regardless of political or religious affiliation. Not since the days of Andrew Johnson has a prez thrown open the windows of the White House and invited his fellow Americans t’ join in the celebration. Of freedom.

            That Jacuzzi off the presidential bedroom heat up real fine. Them ladies be sweet, keeping me abreast (I like breasts) of the latest developments in finance, agriculture, law enforcement, rocket propulsion, space travel, environmental protection and foreign policy.

            I no wonk, although I am known to stay up late, burning the midnight oil.

            Some fine wine, a couple o’ good joints and a sweet-skinned female companion set me right up fo’ the night. ‘Nuff said.

                                                      *

                                                                                         May 2, 2011

                           The National Herald

                  NO MORE KISS KISS BANG BANG

                            SALAMI BIN LAHTIS

             Correspondent Mitch Daniels reports

            WASHINGTON, D.C.  “Like flossing your teeth, eventually that nasty food particle will get dislodged,” a military source tonight likened the demise of America’s arch enemy Salami bin Lahtis.

            “We wanted him, we got him,” said another official familiar with the operation.

            Not only was bin Lahtis killed by U.S. Special Forces on the ground in Pakistan, his dead body was recovered, dispelling any question of his having survived this most recent attack. After ten years of persistent pursuit, America’s efforts have borne fruit.

            Sundays are traditionally a slow news day, which made our ears perk up when we heard that the President would be making a statement from the East Room of the White House sometime after 9 p.m. EST. Still, it was almost midnight before the President addressed the nation in a serious, nationally televised nine minute speech. He said U.S. Forces killed bin Lahtis in the Abbottabad Valley of Pakistan and “took custody of his body.” The city of Abbottabad lies about 100 miles north of Islamabad in the province of Khyber Pakhtunkhwa. A city of 100,000, it is the headquarters of a brigade from the Pakistani Army’s 2^nd Division.

            Within an hour of the President’s speech, a spontaneous, enthusiastic demonstration of mostly young people in jeans, sweaters and sweatshirts lined the north fence surrounding the White House, cheering and waving American flags. Among them stood Amal Habeeb, waving a Palestinian flag.

            “This is a great moment for democracy and peace,” Amal proclaimed. “Muslim, Christian, Jew, Buddhist, Sikh, Hindu, Baha’i or Jain, all of us have reason to celebrate the victory of democracy over violent extremism. May today hasten regime change in the Arab world as well!”

            Perky and young, Ms. Habeeb seemed a personification of the sentiment permeating tonight’s triumphant vigil.

            Standing next to her, Orlov Kosygin declared this a great victory for the working class. “Workers of the world, unite!” said Orlov. “All you have to lose are your chains!”

            Stephen Harrington, visiting from Bristol in the U.K., expressed chagrin. “If only Prince Harry had led the charge, you see,” insisted Stephen. “What a gloriously great day for England that would have been. Rather!”

            Dos Lance kept trying to unfurl a Confederate flag, but his friends seemed determined he should keep it furled. “The South has a long and glorious military tradition,” he exclaimed. “That’s my only point in coming here tonight.” The blonde next to him, sporting a button that said “Pretty Girls For Blackie,” assured me that Dos was only carried away by the excitement of the moment. “He’s really not a racist,” she insisted earnestly. Looking at me longingly, she added, “I’m also available in orange flavor.” I think it was my press pass.

            Battling through the tightly packed crowd, I stumbled upon a goateed college person named Monty Pellier, wearing an Uncle Sam costume. “I’m Canadian, I have to emphasize my patriotism,” he said, “otherwise you might revoke my visa.” When I protested, he told me that he was joking. Regarding bin Lahtis, Mr. Pellier said: “I thought, like the Unabomber, Salami would be hiding in the hills, but apparently he preferred the suburbs. I’m from Calgary. You drive two miles, you are outside of town.”

            Monty claimed he was glad Salami was dead. “What did he ever do for Canada? Nothing!”

            At one in the morning on a balmy May 2, a veritable kaleidoscope of opinions greets the defeat of America’s most intractable enemy. May he rot in Hell.

                                                          *

                                         Family Dust-up 

            The Secret Service incarcerated Mrs. Betty Blatty, the president’s first cousin, at Shield of Armor Field, the new baseball diamond, tennis and basketball courts adjacent to National Harbor in Anacostia. Mrs. Blatty and the president had an altercation during a pickup game under the lights on the facility’s b-ball court. Mrs. Blatty is alleged to have elbowed President Diamond in the side and then kneed him in the groin.

            Mrs. Blatty is currently being held at Guantanamo Bay, Cuba, pending a fuller investigation. The president’s press secretary, M. D. Rogers, has announced that the White House does not intend to press charges. (AP)

                                 Maddie’s 4 Thoughts 4 the Day

• April Showers bring May flowers.
• A truly considerate guest doesn’t just drop in, they wait for an invitation.
• When hosting a state dinner for the Bangladeshi Prime Minister, triple security.
• Living in the White House makes me proud to be an American!

                                       Major Media Blitz 

             The Republican National Committee has announced a “major media blitz” during the upcoming presidential election year. “The lamebrain mainstream media is so obviously in the tank for Blackie Diamond, we are determined to use other channels to reach the electorate,” according to Committee Chairman Mason Dixon. “Goebbels got it right! See you in La-La Land.” (AP)

                                                   ***

                            From the desk of Blackie Diamond

                                         Hoopla Hoops

                                                    or

                                   Dreamin’ the Dream

                                    by Blackie Diamond 

            As a black man, I look at myself in the mirror most mornings and ask, “Who dat good-lookin’ son of a bitch?” At 6’ 6” tall, I know that I am truly blessed.

             When I was younger and first introduced to Anthropology (“I’d like to get her phone number!”), I realized that, “Hey, I have what it takes to become a leader of men. A tribal leader. I am very tall.” Moamar Gaddafi, Salami bin Lahtis and Sonny Beech, the previous Democratic president, all have one thing in common with me: We stand head and shoulders above our peers.

             My wife Maddie and I make you people appear vertically challenged! How ya doin’, shorty?

            Naw, I’m just funnin’ ya!

            Ha, ha.

            You have no idea how superior I feel to all you little people. It’s like ruling over a nation of pygmies.

            And I let nothing dissuade me from my appointment with destiny.

            But enough about me.

            Y’all might ask, “How did Rufus Aloyseus Johnson become Blackie Rufus Diamond?” Unsatisfied with the name God gave me— and all too aware of the life of Job— I took the bull by the horns and did a “Hollywood Gary Hart.” I GOT MY NAME LEGALLY CHANGED AND I AIN’T ASHAMED TO SAY SO!

           Y’all!

            You got crooked teeth, you gonna wear braces. You cross-eyed, you gonna get your eyes fixed. Same difference. Maybe “R. A. Johnson” a good name for a preacher— no offense to those of you who be religious— but from the age of six, I was aiming for a life in the spotlight of the political arena. The richest peoples in my ‘hood were city aldermen and the like. “Someday, that gonna be me!” I told my mama.

            “Go wash up fo’ dinner,” she say.

            I gonna conquer the world, I knew I needed the right clothes, the right Afro and, God help me, the right name! I reach legal age, I humbles myself before a judge— he be a friend of Alderman Crips, my mentor. “Why are you not satisfied with things the way they are?” ask Judge Tobias, all judgmental and so.

           “I gots me an i-den-ti-ty crisis,” I stammerin’.

           “You ruin your good name dealing drugs, partying and what-have-you?” ask the judge.

           “Yup! “

            He take pity on me and let me change who I be.

            I consider myself an Olympic gold medalist in the event Being Blackie Diamond. No one in the world do it better than me! I recreate myself from day to day. 

            Once I got the handle taken care of, I could find out who be the owner. My voyage of self-discovery takes place through the lens of racial inequality.

            It is true that as a child of Denver, Colorado, I went to Fernwillow Mountain High School, a private school, on a full minority scholarship. That’s one of those scholarships that not only pays for tuition, books and school uniforms for weekdays and holidays, it also covers sports clothes, pocket money, gas money, the car and driver. Despite my protestations, Fernwillow insisted on providing me with a white chauffeur, just another example of racial injustice, my brothers and sisters!

            I have swallowed the bitter juice of inequality and spit out the seeds! (It might have been watermelon.) Take, for example, basketball. Shooting hoops. As I told my buddy Payback when I bumped into him in New York City in 2001, “Coach Malarkey was a Good Old Southern Boy racist pig. True, if I ever sank a jump shot, the team declared a national holiday, but Malarkey still should have put me in the starting line-up.”

            Payback, who was cadging alms from passers-by (“panhandling” our parents called it) on West 42^nd Street, pointed out that the coach came from Boston, but otherwise he agreed with my assessment. Payback also hit me up for a tenner. “I ain’t had no coffee, I ain’t had nothin’ t’ eat, I ain’t been to mah crib all mornin’,” he explained. “A brother gotta eat, y’know!”

            Good old Payback!

            I know where he coming from! As a member of a disadvantaged minority, I too have suffered! At Harvard, surrounded by preppies like myself— except that they was white— as the first black editor of The Harvard Lampoon, I experienced the sting of racial profiling! Not a full-fledged burn, mind you, more like the acrid caress of jellyfish tentacles. (Summering in Hawaii, my family and I are familiar with such things.) You pour on the ammonia and the bath salts, but it still hurt!

            That’s why I became a revolutionary Marxist and male stripper in Los Angeles, California. With my antecedents, what else could I possibly do?

            Long live Angela Davis!

            Who say I ain’t black enough? I got street cred! I can sing Smokey Robinson. I do a mean rendition of Otis Redding’s “Sittin’ On the Dock of the Bay”!

            Long live the proletariat!

            Within the confines of the Constitution, of course. This is a country of law, after all. As a law student, you learn that the law is infinitely flexible. Like Silly Putty, it is whatever you say it is, as you shape it into a variety of permutations.

            When I tired of stripping, I became a community organizer in New York City for the Amway Corporation.

            In an effort to find my identity as a black man, I follow in the footsteps of Dr. King, frequenting a spa and clothes shopping exclusively at Nordstroms. I find they have high quality merch.

                       Recipe for Disaster

120 tears of a clown                         four fresh eggs                                 

14 oz. flour                                         2 oz. milk

10 oz. pot                                           one large bag potato chips

4 oz. water                                         one uptown friend

     salt                                                 margarine

             Beat eggs and uptown friend until he reminds you that the two of you chased the ladies at Maxwell’s Plum. Add milk, water, clown tears. Sift in flour. Whip to batter. Melt margarine in fry pan. Fry pancakes. Salt to taste.

            Smoke pot. Get “the munchies.” Eat pancakes and potato chips. Get in fight with uptown friend. Wake up that evening with splitting headache. Curse exploitative criminal Jew businessmen polluting environment. Hate NYC. Send friend packing. Call ex-girlfriend. Get chewed out over phone. Go chase the ladies at downtown club. Get STD.

           How To Become A Community Organizer

            Talk your way into a good gig ringing doorbells and glad-handing people for your candidate or organization. Express sympathy for the plight of others. Be very tall and sincere. Focus totally on self, but ask one serious question of each person you address. Stand endlessly, a concerned expression on your face, listening to their horse-twaddle. Write book portraying yourself as the victim of racism. Make friends with Oprah or at least join her book club. Run for Congress. Promise change. Become president.

            Playtime!

            Live the American dream.

            NOTE: When I saw that the founders of Amway was making all the cash moneys, I decided to get a gig like that for “Elvis.” Me! So I ran for Congress.

             The rest be history!

                                                            *

                                                                                           August 13, 2011

                                  American Default Blues

Jules Boolkin, TV Network News: “Good evening! As millions of you saw last night, we sent news teams all across the country interviewing ordinary Americans regarding their views on the solution to the debt crisis in Washington. Ordinary Americans just like you!

            “What you may not know, is the acrid condemnation Corporate has received for what critics and the public agree, for once, was ‘boring’ television.

            “’If I want to hear the opinions of my neighbors,’ wrote a typical viewer, ‘I don’t need to turn on my television.’

            “So, to beef up our story— and hopefully re-attract our demographic— we’ve returned to this issue. Tonight: Previously Unheard Voices On the Debt Crisis.

            “We first take you to Flatland, Indiana, where billionaire maize farmer, entrepreneur and inventor Silas Worthington is seen climbing aboard his corporate jet.”

            Worthington: “I didn’t make the hole in the rowboat, why should I have to help bail?!”

            Boolkin: “We now interrupt a hold-up on Third Avenue in New York City to ask stickup artist and anonymous robber ‘R’ what he thinks.”

            ‘R’: “Karl Marx prophesied the demise and ultimate fall of capitalism as an integral step in the formation of a communist society. We are currently in the second painful phase of that transition, the economic collapse of the West.”

            Boolkin: “In that same city, pole dancer Trixie LaBoom had this to add…”

            LaBoom: “I’m not saying there will be, but if there’s a backlash to the curtailment of entitlements amidst the general public, the Teepee Party may well rue the day they made their demands.”

            Boolkin: “This homeless person standing on a street corner in New York City is Rashid Corning. You don’t have Smellovision in your homes, but take my word for it, Mr. Corning smells pretty ripe.”

            Corning: “The market’s crashing! No, it’s rallied! The Market’s crashing! No, it’s rallied! The market’s crashing! No, it’s rallied! The Market’s—“

            Newsman (off-camera): “Any other thoughts?”

            Corning: “Oh, wait! Stocks have taken a nosedive! No, the Market’s recovered! Stocks have taken a nosedive! No, the Market’s recovered! Stocks have taken a nosedive—“

            Newsman (off-camera): “He sounds like a TV set…”

            Boolkin: “Meanwhile, on Castro Street in San Francisco, gay rights activist Monty Pelham gave us his commentary.”

            Pelham: “Times are hard for the Movement. Castro Street has definitely been left behind. Wall Street flourishes, the rest of us are dumb [bleep].

I, personally, think House Majority Leader Mark Goldstein is a lovely, lovely man. I would be happy to speed date him in a Bachelorette-type setting. I’m in the phonebook. Or google me online at Pelham dot Monty.”

            Boolkin: “Finally, back in Washington, on Euclid Street, in the downtown area— about as far from Capitol Hill as you can get and still remain on the same planet— we asked the Reverend Jasper C. Pettiwhistle for these comments.”

            Pettiwhistle: “A darkness rises upon the waters, Oh brothers and sisters! And the Righteous shall strike down the Iniquitous, like the scorpion riding aback the turtle. As we together sink into the mire of everlasting damnation, Brother Blackie will give us all another speech tellin’ us we got to be prepared to make ever-greater sacrifices.

            “He got his cash moneys! He fat.

            “He know where he can stick that one!”

            Boolkin: “That’s our economic recovery report for tonight, featuring public reaction to Congress and the Administration’s debt ceiling legislation, and the resulting economic downgrading of America by the Standard & Poor’s rating agency.

            “We’ll be back, after this…”

                                                    ***

                        From the desk of Blackie Diamond 

Speech                                Building A Nation       

             “Good morning, ladies and gentleman of the U.S. Naval Academy. Allow me to thank you midshipmen for that hearty greeting! Annapolis has never looked more beautiful. You mustn’t smoke, but feel free to drink coffee.

             “It is popular today to question why American troops are in Bazookastan. I will tell you why. It’s because we sent them there. Yes, that is correct, most American troops are over there on America’s dime. Although I can imagine American contractors going to Bazookastan, using their own money, to hire themselves out as mercenaries, I just don’t see that happening among the troops. Maybe I’m wrong, but I think I speak for the entire Command when I say we’re proud to have each and every one of you inside the tent pissing out, rather than outside the tent pissing in!

             “But enough about me. If we lose the next election, it will be because of hubris, so I try not to speak about myself.

             “I see those troops stationed in Bazookastan acting as antibodies in the body politic’s fight against the insidious infection of Islamo—oops! I almost said Islamofascism. What I meant was… our real enemy… Austrian free-market economic theory, which was later disproved at the University of Chicago! We can’t let that take over. It’s bad enough Bakul is losing real estate in both towns and provinces. Without the hearts and minds of the people, Bazookastan is a done deal. With everybody going off at a tangent, the country becomes totally unmanageable!

              “To use another analogy, those troops are the fuel additive added to the gasoline of American diplomacy to prevent engine knock in the Bazoo vehicle.

             “Let’s cut to the chase, shall we? Is victory attainable in Bazookastan? Let me rephrase that question: Nothing is ever 100%. That toy train you wanted as a child never went fast enough. That ice cream cone was never big enough. This is the human predicament. Nothing is ever going to be quite enough. We wouldn’t be human if it were otherwise!

             “Having said that, a limited war with limited goals will someday be followed by a limited peace with limited results. THIS IS NOT A BAD THING! As in strip poker, as long as a single shred of clothing remains on the body politic, America’s dignity remains intact!

             “Historians will look back on this time and think they have lost their place in the history book. NO, NO, NO, this is NOT Vietnam! We are not caught in a quagmire, fighting a local insurgency among the indigenous people of a region who insist on going their own way and fashioning lives in their own style, as profane and different as they may be from the American ideal. A thousand times NO! This is not happening.

             “What we have here, is a failure to communicate.

             “When we pump money into the local economy in these remote provinces, it totally disrupts the status quo.

             “When we send in aid workers, they are in need of military protection. Without it, they’re sitting ducks. We have learned from bitter experience that the military presence of our troops ALSO draws fire. It’s a no-win situation.

          “I am calling for the following remedies. The fertilizer factory in Pakistan providing most of the calcified ammonium nitrate used in roadside bombs is being bought out by an American conglomerate. They have promised to convert it to quaalude production. A clinical relaxant, quaaludes can be added to the water supply in Bazookastan’s most violent provinces. By local consent, of course. As a public service. If the Bazoos themselves want them.

            “The point is, those people need to decide for themselves regarding their future. We can build, but we can’t destroy. Or we mustn’t destroy, which really comes down to the same thing.

             “The election coming up in 2012, where the very existence of my administration will be called into question, in no way influences my policies,

             I can assure you. Fighting for our lives… well, it would be intolerable of me to lecture you about fighting for your life.

             “By a happy quirk, the Constitution makes the President also the Commander In Chief. You know, George Washington was a fantastic general, so the framers said, ‘He’s so good, why not let him wear two hats?’

            “I respect that.  I am the MFWIC, the ‘Mother-Fucker What’s In Charge.’ It didn’t turn out so well with a paranoid president like Richard Nixon, but generally, the system works. This gives me the prerogative to send in American fighting power whenever and wherever necessary. Nolens volens. Unwilling or willing. Willy-nilly. Any whichway. As a temporary measure, of course. Since Congress has the final authority over declaring— you know— war. It certainly was never a problem under Gerald Ford.

             “I like chili, but that doesn’t mean I would hesitate for a moment to use American power— sparingly, of course— if that country ever were threatened by a hostile, Hayek ¹ capitalist take-over. I came to this epiphany while on the road to surfing. You have to use moderation in these things. Shock and awe, certainly, but then, get your butt outta there. [¹ Freidrich Hayek, The Road to Serfdom ]

             “Which is what we’re doing in Bazookastan. Slowly, methodically, hunkered down in a crouch, but with heads held high, so to speak. You get my drift. The Sturm und Drang of war. I don’t ever want to be accused of putting American soldiers in harm’s way. On the other hand, I can’t control what other people say! Folks say and do all kinds of crazy things! So, as an alternative, I simply won’t let their snide remarks bother me. Water off a duck’s back. Sticks and stones can break my bones. Yada, yada, yada. See ya later, alligator.

           Looking back, I want to be able to say “et in Arcadia ego.” I too lived in Arcadia. Nirvana-ville. Paradise. But we aren’t there yet! First we gotta get our asses out of Holeman province.

            “My opponents in the political field will make hay over the lack of progress in Bazookastan, Iraq, Libya, Syria, Yemen and anywhere else they can find to nitpick. The American people are too smart to fall for their facile arguments and hopeless comparisons!

            “Hannibal crossed the Alps, but that doesn’t prevent us from making ski trips to Switzerland.

            “You don’t throw out the baby with the bath water.

            “Repealing ‘Don’t ask, don’t tell’ doesn’t signify that the cow jumped over the moon!

            “These greasers in Bazookastan are almost as medieval as the Republicans on Capitol Hill.

            “You plebes here at the Naval Academy know what it’s like to climb a greased pole. Bazookastan is one of the greasiest.

            “You remember when The Eagles sang ‘This could be heaven or this could be Hell’? ² No worries! Bazookastan is one landlocked chunk of Hell!

             [ ² The Eagles, Hotel California ]

            “God bless you and long live the United States of America!

           “Oh, and by the way: Go, Navy!

           “I’ll come down front so you can mob me for the photographers.”

                                                    ***

                     From the desk of Kevin Feingold

Essay                  Bachmann Does Reagan

            Paul McCartney must be shaking his head, considering the kind of women empowered by that song of his! God help us, it’s Michele Bachmann!

            My best friend is a staunch Republican, singing the praises of Michele Bachmann. Since Michele is so often portrayed in the press as a nut job, my buddy felt that I ought to hear her for myself. I had no idea when I would have that opportunity.

            Thanks to David Gregory and Meet the Press, I have now heard, first-hand and unadulterated, Michele Bachmann.

            I have not been a party to this woman’s decisions leading up to her candidacy, so I can only try to second-guess the chain of events. I am left to judge the ripeness of the pear as it sits before me on the plate.

            Michele Bachmann appeals to a certain segment of the Republican electorate because she is not merely channeling Ronald Reagan, she is mimicking him. On TV, she trotted out all the same tropes: Government is the problem, not the solution. Don’t have government try to do tasks best left to private industry. The less government, the better. The Market is self-regulating. Everything goes to Hell when government intercedes in the affairs of the private sector. I, too, was once a Democrat, but I saw the light and became an arch conservative. The way you grow the economy is by putting a little extra money in people’s pockets, not by sending that money to Washington in the form of tax revenue. I have many friends among the Democrats and will be able to work with them on bipartisan agreements.

            Michele Bachmann is a rerun! Having seen and experienced the original, I am not impressed. Reaganomics injured America in ways so lasting, this country may never recover.

            Of course, when Ronald Reagan took over, America did not have trillions of dollars in debt. The ruptured economy makes a Michele Bachmann or a Newt Gingrich positively dangerous. This is not the time for rollback, this is the time for TVA-style Works Programs. We have roads, bridges and an electric grid that all need repair. We have out-of-work people who would gladly fill those jobs. Not everyone is prepared to raise a sweat, but there are enough hardworking folks out there to get some life back into the economy. Not at the top, trickling down, but squarely in the middle of the economy, where the largest segment of the population lives.

            “Mimicry is the sincerest form of flattery” and all that b.s., but I expected Michele Bachmann to at least come up with a schtick of her own. Ron Paul and Ross Perot have sculpted their own philosophies. Quoting Ronald Reagan verbatim does not make you a great political leader, Michele. Create something, don’t just parrot the single most popular leader in American history. Ronald Reagan did terrible things to this country, but—“The Great Communicator”— people still swoon at the mention of his name.

            I think Michele read a biography of Reagan and decided, “There’s a lot of mileage left in this old crate! People will vote for this.” It’s a cynical performance, even down to misquoting her opponents and making erroneous statements, just as dear old Ronnie, “The Gipper,” was prone to do.

            She, too, wants her place in history.

            Human kind being a flawed work at best (God goofed, but okay), I usually cut politicians some slack. Watching Michele Bachmann evade, ignore and talk over David Gregory’s more trenchant questions, I think Michele deserves whatever criticism she gets. Watch her performance online and decide for yourself.

            I don’t think the plight of people in the midwest— having to go a month without cable TV!— is such a major crime to lay at President Obama’s door. If he warned the country that Social Security checks might be delayed in August — causing people to cancel their cable service! — that’s what a default is all about. Instead of discussing serious economic policy, Michele Bachmann prefers the old political maneuver of babbling incessantly about the little people in life and what a hard time they are having. It wasn’t cute when Al Gore did it, it wasn’t cute when George W. Bush did it. It’s boring and it’s evasive. I, too, could sing you a Song of Woe! 

            We’ve heard this homespun philosophy before. It ain’t new. It was no fun the first time and it’s no funnier now. It certainly won’t solve the massive debt, unemployment and shaky international relations currently plaguing our country.

                                                    ***

                      From the desk of Blackie Diamond 

Speech                                  SOTU

            Well, it’s that time again. As we say in my family, “Another speech, another dollar.” The Bible warns us against the sin of pride, so I’m just going to say I am willing to be here. Not proud, but… I’m okay with it.

                     If you’re happy and you know it,

                               Clap your hands!

              Guys, we need more cowbell!

              A man of the cloth was to hold the benediction, but I don’t see why a fashion designer would be more religious than, say, you or me. So… pray for me, Argentina!… There! Done!

           We’re here on Capitol Hill. It’s a pretty big building and somebody has to make the speech. I’m your man. Some of you complain that all I do is make speeches! Ha ha ha. To them, I say, look over there to the left, see those pretty young ladies? Those are my daughters Masha and Natasha. See! I made them, too. So once in awhile, yes, I do put my nose to the grindstone. Although the body part in question isn’t actually my nose and it’s not exactly a grindstone.

            Which brings me to every politician’s pride and joy, the wife. Esto perpetua, may she endure forever! That’s also the state motto of Idaho.

            Let me be clear.

            The State Of The Union speech is always challenging! What, then, is the state of our country? An important question, I assure you. One not to be ignored. We ignore it at our peril! A question worthy of the most minute scrutiny, one whose every detail cries out for our attention. Eloquently. Intellectually. Emotionally. With bipartisanship for all!

            Let me welcome to this convocation local politician Ernst Stavro Glickman. I’ve known the Glickman for… oh… twenty… twenty-five minutes. We were introduced in the car on the way over here. I told him to tag along. I thought, “Here’s a way to show my contempt for this body of elected officials. I can invite some goofball of a local politician to join us.” What’s that movie about bringing jerks to dinner…? Same concept.

            When my family and I sit down at the dinner table and say grace, we always add a word of thanks for Leo Padurski, Chief of the NSA, America’s protector. He is the jockstrap of America, protecting our vital parts from enemy attack. Thanks, Leo!

            Which brings me to my wife, who is not joining us here tonight at this special occasion. She’s off gallivanting around [dripping with venomous contempt] Europe. I mean, if she was gonna gallivant, why can’t she do her gallivanting right here in the good old U.S.A.? Well, she was deprived as a child. America was not the multi-racial, multi-culti society of today. Little pickaninnies didn’t get to make that all-important summer college trip to Europe. So my wife is making it now. She’s not in college, it’s not summer, but… whatever. She ain’t here.

            If she starts French-kissing me when she gets back, I gonna relegate her to the Lincoln bedroom, where she can sleep alone!

            Also attending here tonight… I could go on, yada yada yada, read from the Manhattan phone book, but you all know who you are. If not, well, Hell, introduce yourselves! We’re all family.

            As president, I deal with government and stuff. One small step for man, one giant leap for my sweet buns! You better believe it! And me a black man from Denver an’ all.

            We live in perilous times, so I’ve asked General Hartman, sitting in the third row… See that switch he’s holding? If I start to give away the farm regarding Iran or something, I’ve authorized him to cut off the mike.

            If that happens, please, those of you at home, do not try to adjust your set!

            Whoa! Senator Kefauver, I saw that! No throwing paper airplanes!

            Now to the nuts and bolts of my speech here tonight in this glorious, historic hall of government. Does anybody have a bag lunch? No? How ‘bout bottled water? Many of you have hunkered down in your seats, ready for the long haul, the 65-minute speech-a-thon, filled with endless platitudes, vague arguments, warm-hearted assurances, emotionally-charged moments of deep, spiritual confrontation!

            Forget all that.

            My staff has timed this puppy— no offense to my doggie, Winston— and it clocks in at just under 10 big ones. That’s minutes, gentlemen, not hours! I’m not going to get up here and do a Fidel Castro.

            So I’m going to rush the pace a little here. We all know what it’s like to be on the inside, looking out. We’re forced to sit here in the chambers of power, while the Occupy Movement protesters get to have all the fun, flouting the law, smoking dope and engaging in group sex. I’ve read the reports about those encampments!

          Since only 1% of Americans serve in the military, and I never served, I consider myself part of “the other 99%.”

           Hopefully— and I’m audacious enough to say this— by next January, this heavy burden will be lifted from my shoulders. Then, I too can take to the road, engaging in book tours and frank discussions everywhere. Don’t think I haven’t noticed: The big money is in speaking engagements!

           Crank up the RV! I look forward to camping all over this great country of ours. I do not shrink from this challenge, I welcome it!

            Imagine when all those millions of kitchen magnets and mousepads emblazoned with my image become collectibles. You be rich!

                     If you’re happy and you know it,

                                 Stamp your feet!

            Get ready for it… Release the balloons and confetti!!!

            This is where we get to the emotional part of my speech. I can’t help but think of the time Walter Cronkite, reporting live on television, wiped the tears from his eyes and soldiered on. Obviously upset, he didn’t let that stop him. I think that was when he announced the resignation of Richard Nixon. That was a very emotional moment, I am sure. President Nixon was the one who said— he said many things, a great memoirist, he recorded hundreds of his conversations— he said, on national television— and I quote— “Meat prices must not go higher.”

            That’s a sentiment with which we can all concur. Even Mark Goldstein and the Teepee Party should be willing to agree with us on this one little thing, right? That meat prices— metaphorically and otherwise— must not go, you know, higher. We must fight the tendency of our meat to rise… that is, the prices… our meat coming to attention at the sound of the president’s voice. You’ve seen the photos of those troops mobbing me! They love me! But I’m okay with it. The hot button that says, “Revere the presidency,” and all of us getting an erection over that. I know I do! And I’m the president.

            Excuse me! It’s not polite to yawn in your faces. I didn’t get a lot of sleep last night.

            I say to congressmen and senators alike, this be my motto: Humani nil a me alienum puto. “I regard nothing of human concern as foreign to my interests.”

            So watch out! The American public and I got our eyes on you people. Accomplish something! Anything!

            And guess what! Look at the person to the right of you and the person to the left of you in the audience… Everybody gets a car!

                                     Read my lips:

                               I. Stopped. Smoking!

            Ha, ha, ha! What? You believe that? How naïve!

            No, seriously, I stop smoking several times a day, right up until I light my next cig.

            In conclusion, and I said we were going to keep this baby under 10 minutes, Jobs, Jobs, Jobs! There! I said it. Steve is no longer with us, a moment of silence for an industrial titan, ladies and gentlemen, Mr. Steve Jobs.

            …

            Maestro! The music swells. They pump in the laughing gas…

            This is a great country! God bless America!

            I’m President Pajama and I approve this message.

President Whosis, Pt. 3

President Whosis: Gaga 4 Obama?

                          Political Satire by Kevin Feingold

                                             Part Three

                                 Get Real, Mr. President

                                 A Presidential Address

                              Republican Candidate 2012

                                       DIAMONDCARE!

                                                   ***

                            From the desk of Kevin Feingold

Essay                        Get Real, Mr. President           

            I wouldn’t publicly air my opinions about another person’s life, but President Obama has made a fortune writing books— and he won the presidency— based on his “compelling personal narrative,” as his campaign staff calls it. He’s a public figure and he keeps bringing it up! That makes his life fair game for discussion.

            This is what my mom and I said to each other at the dinner table over a three-day period.

                                                          *

            Kevin: “Fifteen years from now, I don’t think people are going to be flocking to America.”

            Mom: “You’re wrong! It will still be the Land of Opportunity. We are a democracy, and that means people can get ahead through intelligence, creative brilliance and hard work. We may no longer be the world leader, but talented people will still be attracted to the U.S.A.”

             Kevin: “Over generations, Scandinavians have developed a collaborative attitude based on their climate: If you are caught outside alone on a winter night, you can literally freeze to death. So people have an innate tendency to help one another, to cooperate.

              “Americans don’t have that. Here, it’s ‘Every man for himself.’ Everyone competes for the brass ring.

              “Nine out of ten new businesses fail within a year. We focus on the handful of success stories— Mark Zuckerberg at Facebook, Bill Gates at Microsoft, Warren Buffett at Berkshire Hathaway— and ignore the 90% failure rate built into our capitalist system.

               “‘Why do they get something for free when I have to work for everything I’ve got?’ complains the middle class, when welfare recipients receive life support. We don’t want to eat their food, live in their slums or suffer their indignities, but we are envious when they receive government charity.

               “The great American failing: Giving a helping hand to those less fortunate.

               “Struggling to make ends meet, we don’t even help our neighbors. What are the chances we’ll help strangers?      

                                                            *

              “There’s a reason why the Occupy Movement is complaining about the 99% opposing the top 1%. Corporate America owns the Congress, the presidential candidates, the government. The doors of Washington are always open to corporate lobbyists!

               “The page A3 headline [ in April 14, 2012’s edition of The Washington Post ] reads ‘Obamas’ 2011 tax returns show earnings of $790,000.’ Guess where Obama fits into the battle between America’s top 1% and all the rest of us!”

              Mom: “America is a capitalist country. The entire system was established to produce and maintain a society conducive to private enterprise.

            “But the system has become badly skewed. Thanks to a conservative Supreme Court, super PACs can buy and run ads attacking candidates and we don’t even know who is behind the ad!

             “How can Obama, as a Democrat, bail out Wall Street and let the rest of the country suffer?”

             Kevin: “If X equals Y divided by 2, what is the value of voting for Obama?”

             Mom: “Now I know what you do all day on your computer!”

             Kevin: “America has its black heroes, people who have accomplished wonders: Tiger Woods, Colin Powell, Harry Belafonte… Martin Luther King.

             “Who is this fresh-faced twit?

             “Barack Hussein Obama is actually a corporate shill. He went to Harvard with corporate America. His law school buddies became lawyers representing corporate America. Obama is corporate America! That’s what the movie Inside Job is all about: The fact that Secretary of the Treasury Greenspan and Paulson and Geithner are all representatives of Wall Street, doing Wall Street’s bidding.

            “Obama bailed out the automobile industry, the banks and the brokerage houses— but not Lehman Brothers, they can go hang! Meanwhile— the un-FDR—  Obama lets Main Street suffer and disintegrate. Gee, I wonder where Obama’s true sympathies lie?

            “Forget party labels, the two presidential candidates are the exact opposites of their public images: Romney is actually a liberal while Obama is a conservative, corporate errand boy.

            “How does he get away with it? How can he promise us things and three years later, still not deliver? How can this president have even a shred of credibility? 99% of the people are disappointed in him!

            “Here’s how! Obama is a totally manipulative charmer. He gets that old, hypnotic voodoo from his daddy.

            “The first time I ever heard of Obama was at a New Year’s Eve party on December 31^st, 2007. Some neighbors had been to a local fundraiser for a presidential candidate named Barack Obama. Jack and Jill were all excited: ‘He talked to us. Each of our children was allowed to ask a question and he answered each in turn! He’s wonderful! You should vote for him!’ They sounded like Moonies.

            “And in an atavistic throwback to tribal culture, people bow to Obama as their leader simply because he is very tall. Are the Obamas Luo? The Luo are tall. Michelle is so tall, she could be Maasai. She has a Maasai face, handsomely bony with high cheekbones.

            “Barack Obama shows people the Obama he thinks they want to see. That’s why he can talk like a white man up north, while in Chicago, he speaks with that classy, high-end Chicago accent that Oprah and the First Lady use. Yet, when Obama arrives in the South, he rails like a good ole colored boy.

            “In order to maintain his mental health, Obama has had to compartmentalize his feelings. Obama would become mentally unhinged if he tried to live out all the sides of his personality simultaneously. We are all selective in what positive aspects of ourselves we emphasize at any particular moment. There’s the Obama who can listen to Reverend Jeremiah Wright, Jr. and fully agree with everything hateful the Reverend says. There’s the Obama who can go before a fundraiser consisting of white, Jewish people and convincingly declare his support for the issues they hold dear. There’s the Obama who calls himself a neutral broker, but feuds with Netanyahu and pushes the Palestinian cause. The Obama who tells Dmitry Medvedev, the Russian president, that he’ll be more ‘flexible’ after the election. There’s the Obama who sits in the White House, representing all Americans.

            “Someone who has no true moral center and exhibits only situational empathy for an audience— instantly becoming whoever he thinks folks want to see at that moment— veers disturbingly close to psychopathic behavior. OBAMA CAN’T BE A PSYCHOPATH SINCE HE’S PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA… Ha ha ha! How’s that for a solipsism?

             “Obama’s personality has never coalesced. Maybe this is what happens when you grow up in three different cultures without a father. Which is why his staff is so adamant about keeping him on a TelePrompTer. Left to speak his mind, they never know what the guy’s gonna say!

              “His is an 8-year-old’s conception of what an adult male is supposed to be. He’s certainly not a grown-up. And he’s scared. That’s why he never stands up to bullies. The perpetual mama’s boy, he motormouths his way out of any confrontation.

            “All things to all people, sometimes the mask slips. ’You didn’t build that’ will live forever in infamy. Or in 2008, after Obama won a few Democratic primaries, when Michelle Obama said ‘this is the first time in my life I’ve been proud to be an American.’

            “Wha-at? Is this an intelligent statement to make in the middle of a hotly contested campaign for the presidential nomination? I. Don’t. Think. So.

                                                      *

            “Barry Obama has every reason to hate America: America treats its blacks badly and Obama considers himself a black man.

            “Barry Obama went to elementary school among Muslims in Indonesia. He wouldn’t be normal if he didn’t harbor an abiding affection for the people he grew up with!

            “One of the disconnects of the Obama presidency is his utter lack of empathy toward his constituents. Black people are having problems? Too bad! The middle class is disappointed in the economy? Tough luck!

            “Barack Obama doesn’t really care about anyone except himself, his wife and his two daughters. It’s them against the world.

                                                        *

            “Think what it was like when Barry Obama left Indonesia and arrived in America to live with his maternal grandparents. Sometimes Obama claims he lived those years in Kansas. Other times, he says it was Hawaii. Is this nitpicking? Hawaii or Kansas? Which is it? Every man’s Everyman, with Barack Obama, you can never pin him down and find out the truth. His life is an ever-evolving story.

            “Once, during the 2008 campaign, Obama let fly with the claim that he, as a young man, visited Pakistan with a student friend. “So I know that part of the world,” he explained. He could handle the war better than Hillary, since he understands the Pakistani mentality, yada, yada, yada. Accused of being a closet Muslim, you no longer hear Obama talking about trips to Pakistan as a 20-year-old.

            “If moon bases had been an issue, the Obama campaign would have somehow announced that Barack had been to the moon!

            “Whether young Barry lived in Hawaii or Kansas, there weren’t a whole lotta black people. So right from the start, he’s a minority of one. ‘Where’s your mama?’ his classmates ask. What’s he going to say? She’s somewhere in the Indian Ocean having sex with black men. What a cruel joke of nature that this hippie proponent of free love should die at an early age of ovarian cancer! ‘Where’s your daddy?’ ask his classmates. What’s Barry to say? His father is back in Kenya, drinking himself to death, living with one or more of his several wives.

            “A child of a mixed, polygamous marriage, a black boy in Hawaii or Kansas, a stranger, Obama probably got picked last for a neighborhood game of basketball. Extremely bright and gifted, he made up his mind to become so good at basketball, the other kids would pick him first when choosing team-mates. Obama decided to become so good in school, he would get top marks and scholarships to college.

            Being exceptional, he still found time for extra-curricular activities: The comments he made in his high school yearbook show he was more thankful for his drug dealer and Choom Gang brothers than he was for his mother and his grandparents. [Choom is Hawaiian slang for smoking pot ]

            “Rather than spend life as an outsider, he became an overachiever and the ultimate insider, attaining any top honor he aimed for. The first black editor of The Harvard Law Review.

            “You read his books, you see he made a fetish out of his voyage of personal discovery. Talk about ego, talk about ‘self-love,’ Obama thinks nobody is as exciting or complicated as he is! He is the ‘me generation’ up in lights.

            His college record as an undergraduate at Columbia in New York City, however, remains sealed tighter than Mitt Romney’s tax returns. Why? Did Obama pose as a foreign student with a Kenyan father to get a better deal on foreign student aid and a scholarship? Just asking. In vain. 

            “That’s the partial history of Barry Obama.

                                                            *

             “But there are other Obamas.

             “There’s Barack Obama, the schooled, erudite union organizer and politician.

              “There’s Barack Hussein Obama, who travels to Cairo and speaks sympathetically to the Arab world. He told the Egyptians that even America has a Muslim heritage in its history. Where did that come from? In my 11^th grade social studies class, I learned a lot about the Protestants, many Irish Catholics, some Jews, the Quakers and the Baptists. The Mormons. But Muslims? Not so much. I don’t know where you went to school, Mr. Barry Hussein Obama, but here on the mainland, we never heard anything about Islam.

             “There’s the Obama who contributed to Reverend Wright’s church year after year, despite the Reverend’s vitriolic feelings about America. What was the attraction of that particular congregation? Could there be some pent-up anger showing or did the good Reverend appeal to Obama’s latent Marxism? As Barack and Michelle discovered in 2008, trying to deny 14 years of Sunday observance is a lose-lose situation. Either they daydreamed through the sermons, not listening, which they claim— making them self-absorbed jerks— or they were on-board for the whole, hate-filled harangue. Reverend Wright married the Obamas, baptized their children and allowed Barack to launch his campaign from the Reverend’s home. Was this the serendipity of convenient scheduling and affordable prices or could there have been some other attributes at work?   

             “Many Obamas. We’re not talking about multiple personalities, because that implies having no control over one’s situation. We’re talking about sublimation, suppressing one side of oneself in favor of another to fit the moment.

             “You have to assume that Obama resents the fact that he has to hide his real self to get ahead. I would. You’d resent it. That’s why you get this frenetic need to love his fellow man. His inclination is the opposite. You get mistreated, you resent it. That’s why Oprah Winfrey has to shout so emphatically, “I LOVE TEACHERS! “ She’s compensating for the fact that she really doesn’t like them.

            “Poor Barry! We don’t love— and didn’t elect— Barry Obama. Him we never saw. We didn’t elect the real Obama, the one visible to Barack Obama in his bathroom mirror in the morning, because we’ve never met him either. I suspect Michelle has. We haven’t.

            “The tragedy is, Obama could get real and still have support, probably more support than he has at the moment. The guy is an American. His true feelings can’t be too different from the rest of us! He pays lip service to our common set of values and ideals— “

           Mom: “Be fair! Even with his own agenda, he’s some sort of American!”

           Kevin: “Okay! As Ronald Reagan and Richard Nixon were California presidents, Obama is our first Hawaiin president. The mores and traditions of your youth do make a difference in how you perceive the world. Electing Obama as our first black president was a social experiment that failed. He is left-handed, reacting in reverse of almost everyone else: When we’re pragmatic, he’s emotional. When we’re emotional, he’s pragmatic!  

           “It bothers me that he ‘admitted’ to having a smoking addiction, but no one ever saw a photo of the president smoking a cigarette. That shows a basic lack of candor, of honesty.

           “The Obama-haters complain about that very fact: They find him dishonest, unreal. A poseur, a snake oil salesman, a circus barker, a  b. s. artist. A drama queen who needs all the air in the room for hisself. A Chicago politician.

             “He’s a speechifier, capable of talking eloquently on any subject. He’s a great performer, but he has his limits. He’s no Shakespearean actor, capable of memorizing entire plays. No, Obama needs a TelePrompTer. Still, he can talk the birds out of the trees. He so impressed the Democratic Party’s ‘super delegates’ with his 2004 keynote address, they dubbed him a superstar and awarded him the 2008 Democratic nomination. So much for learned elder statesmen!

              “Having fought hard in the primaries and caucuses, Hillary Clinton went into the 2008 Democratic Convention with more of the popular vote than Obama. Like love-struck schoolgirls, the Dem leadership ignored all that and went with the basketball hero. We’re witnessing politics when it’s handled like a high school popularity contest. Who’s coolest, who’s in, who’s hot, who’s got it ?” 

                                                       *

             Mom: “Our California cousins feel Obama is good for Israel. If he gets reelected, I say, ‘Watch out!’”

             Kevin: “What they said was, ‘Forget what Obama says, look at what he does.’ They point out that the Obama administration has given one billion dollars a year to Israel in military aid, the last three years.”

            Mom: “I didn’t want to say anything, but they’re out in California. It’s not Obama who gave Israel that money, it’s Congress. Congress appropriates the money, Congress passes the bills. When the bill arrives on Obama’s desk to sign, he dare not refuse because then he won’t get the money to win reelection. Once reelected, there’ll be no way to hold Obama accountable.”

            Kevin: “The Israeli appropriation goes back to the Camp David Accords. Both Egypt and Israel agreed to peace. The U.S. guaranteed military aid to both.”

            Mom: “I can understand a self-hating Jew like David Axelrod— a J Streeter— working for Obama, but I’ve never understood how someone from an Israeli family like Rahm Emanuel could work for him.”

            Kevin: “There’s nothing flighty about the Israelis. Anything Israel does, it does to survive. I don’t say ‘Israel, right or wrong!’ like the conservatives in the Likud Party. But having lived there a year in my youth, I give even the most outrageous behavior the benefit of the doubt.

            “Jeremy Ben-Ami and J Street are like my cousin Jeffy in Brooklyn: ‘Israel is causing problems. That makes Jews unpopular. My life in America would be easier if that wasn’t happening.’ They don’t oppose the existence of Israel, they only personalize the resulting anti-Semitism and wish the troublemaking Israelis would stop annoying people and make peace with the Palestinians. Even if it means marching backwards into the sea.

             “I think, as Obama’s Chief of Staff, Rahm Emanuel saw himself as a gate-keeper and Obama’s guilty conscience, holding the president to his promise to behave right towards Israel. With Rahm gone from the White House, things don’t look promising for Israel if Obama gets a second term.

            “The Israelis have already written off Obama. Since they can’t trust him, Israel is relying on its own capabilities to defend the country. They feel Obama has become superfluous. It’s only the American people who still believe in Obama.

            “There’s a joke inherent in all this, you know. Once reelected, come 2014, Obama will do a Nixon and gather his staff in the West Wing of the White House and say: ‘Congress passed the 22nd Amendment after FDR was elected president for the fourth time. That was then. We don’t really need presidential term limits with a president who is as young and popular and desirable as me. Let’s float the notion in Congress that we ought to abolish presidential term limits! We’ll tell the American people, Look how much we’ve accomplished in these six years! Imagine how much more we can do, given another six! It’s a win-win situation!’”

            Mom: “Ha ha!

            “I don’t understand how Obama could cut appropriations for NASA and abandon the quest for the moon. Doesn’t he realize that America’s hope is intimately tied to space exploration?

            “Look at how many thousands of people flooded the Mall to say goodbye to a piece of metal!”

            Kevin: “The space shuttle Discovery, getting piggybacked atop a 747 jumbo jet…”

            Mom: “If it was a funeral cortège for a person, I could understand the outpouring of love and affection, but for a spacecraft…?

            “It was a dumb move politically to disband America’s quest for space, if people are so enamored of the program. Isn’t the audacity of hope to dream of inhabiting other worlds?”

            Kevin: “’Space: the final frontier. These are the voyages of the starship Enterprise. Its five-year mission: to explore strange new worlds, to seek out new life and new civilizations, to boldly go where no man has gone before.’

            “Obviously, Obama didn’t grow up with Star Trek. He was born in 1961, in Hawaii, andlived in Indonesia. He seems to have missed the whole Star Trek experience. But, yeah, it does seem a dumb move to curtail NASA at this particular moment.

            “Which is cheaper, funding NASA or bailing out General Motors?”

            Mom: “Aha! A rhetorical question, I’m sure. What’s the answer?”

            Kevin: “NASA’s budget was $18.7 billion in 2010. The U.S. Treasury holds 500 million shares of GM stock. Two shares for every living American?! The shares would have to sell at $53 apiece to break even. Right now, we’re facing a loss of $25 billion.

            “NASA is about to take a billion dollar budget cut. For the money we lost on GM, we could have maintained NASA’s budget at the same level for the next 25 years.

            “Owning GM stock hasn’t solved their problem. Dear old GM continues to bleed greenbacks out its ass.

            “What’s the effing attraction of GM? GM has dues-paying union members. That’s the sole interest in saving their baby.”

             Mom: ”While we sit back and watch the Russians populate the moon.”

             Kevin: “Or the Chinese!”

            Mom: “The North Koreans sent up a rocket, but it fell apart…”

             Kevin: “Yeah, they need a couple of more years!

             “Why, when we’re supposed to be moving forward, do we always end up two steps back? Obama is doing the Michael Jackson Moonwalk! He faces forward, but his gliding steps propel us backward into the grip of economic ruin.

                                                     ***

                      From the desk of Blackie Diamond

Speech                     A Presidential Address

            “Good afternoon, my fellow Americans!

            “I take great pleasure in speaking to you today from this section of the White House named after Rose Garten. I never knew Rose, but I’m sure she was a wonderful American, whoever she was.

            “Some people say I shouldn’t have the Premier standing here by my side. My answer to them is: Only by opening a dialog with your opponent, can you hope to influence him in the right direction.

            “To those who say we shouldn’t be negotiating with the Premier, I say that only through open negotiation can both parties lay their cards on the table and make known their needs and desires.

            “Some feel we should not be entertaining a mass murderer in the White House. Again, it is up to us to extend the olive branch if any progress is to be made in securing a lasting peace. We want to make it easy for the Premier to aspire to better behavior internationally.

            “Many have criticized our various concessions, fearing they make us look weak. Yet, by conceding so much right from the outset, I hope to set an example for our opponent, demonstrating that sacrificing some of his cards doesn’t arbitrarily lead to defeat.

            “It’s audacious, but if you never try, you never win!

            “Some nitpickers complain about letting the Premier and his charming wife use the Lincoln Bedroom. My wife and I feel it is important to be gracious, welcoming hosts if these sensitive talks are to truly bear fruit.

            “It is my belief that letting the Premier freely use the facilities of the Oval Office forges a sense of brotherhood and shared responsibility between our two great nations.

            “After all, Isaac Newton was right, the world is flat!

            “As for our abandonment of certain other countries, in an effort to reach agreement with our adversary, as my Granny used to say, ‘You can’t make an omelet without breaking eggs.’

            “I’ve heard criticism because the treaty we are about to sign isn’t written in English. I feel this is merely a symbolic bow to our guest. As long as we Americans know what we mean, it would be foolish to miss such a golden opportunity over something as trivial as language.

            “Is it wrong to cede American protectorates in other parts of the globe? History will show that these gestures of friendship and understanding, in the end, led to an accord that both sides can live with. At least for the time being.

            “Finally— and I’ve purposely left this most momentous decision for last— I believe that future generations will look back and fully comprehend why it is in America’s best interest, at this juncture in our history, to discard that musty relic of the past and rename our country more in keeping with the spirit of the times. In our hearts, we’ll always be America. It’s only the official designation that will change: West China.

            “This is truly— and I say this from the depths of my heart— a monumental occasion.

            “Thank you and good afternoon. I will now let the Premier conclude this press conference with his prepared remarks.”

                                                     ***

                          From the desk of Kevin Feingold

Essay                     Republican Candidate 2012

            My 14-year-old girlfriend Erin thinks both President Blackie Diamond and his Republican rival are sexy. “They’re so good-looking!” she exclaims. My attempts to explain that they are groomed for the camera fall on deaf ears.

            She’s 14, her hormones are infallible. Like Blackie, she’s a b-ball fanatic, sinking layups and free throws with alarming regularity. Extremely flirtatious, she expects me to live like a eunuch and spend like a sailor. How did we meet? Spotting her walking home from school, I picked her up on a whim. Her body is curvaceous in all the wrong places, but she has flaxen hair, piercing sky-blue eyes and a face as innocent as a lamb. She’s the angriest person I’ve ever met! We’re two peas in a pod. Not recommended!

            There’s no accounting for taste.

            This year’s Republican candidate Mick Rodney, another very tall man, is no improvement over President Diamond. A white guy and a one-time ambassador to Cambodia, he’s as bad as Blackie. If Blackie believes in letting the tail of business wag the dog of government, Mick believes you should bob the dog’s tail, throw away the dog and keep the stump.

            It’s interesting to open the newspaper: You never know what stupid gaffe to expect from the presidential contenders. Inside the Beltway— where “the art of managing a campaign” is Topic A— my contemporaries endlessly play “What Mick Meant.” At this rate, it may replace Halo 3. Whenever Mick gets in trouble, his problem includes the capital letter “I”. He said “I like firing people,” when what he meant was, “If a company delivers poor service, you should be able to tell them to take a hike.” He was quoted as saying “I’m not concerned about the very poor,” when what he meant was, “There is a safety net for the very poor which is sadly lacking for the middle class.”

            Mick is egocentric. His staff should jam the letter “I” on his portable device.

           “Now it’s true that I was never elected to public office,” Mick says at the start of every campaign speech, right after praising the wife, saluting the flag and greeting the crowd in Khmer. “But just look at George Bush! He was never elected to public office either. Not until the day he was elected governor of Texas.

            “Now let me explain my years at DooD Capital. We called it DooD because it’s a palindrome: The word works just as well going forward as in reverse.

            “Golly gee willikers, it’s true that not every business DooD ever touched, prospered. Some companies were groomed for success, while others were better suited as organ donors.

           “What was our methodology? We hung out at the motorcycle track serving needy crash victims… with some regularity… We were good at it!

           “No one can read a spreadsheet like I can. If there’s wealth on your books, I’ll find it and suck it right out of there! Vacuum it up.

            “The result was, some of the patients died on the table.

            “It became almost an incantation, ‘Hey, DooD, where’s my business?’

            “And because our backroom was entirely staffed by white-breads— and all our executives were awkward white honkies whose genealogy had been vetted six to nine generations back to ensure they were sufficiently boring and white— some people were under the mistaken impression that DooD Capital was a Wall Street company! Nothing could be further from the truth, I assure you. We did not require Wall Street’s expertise to render lifeless half the companies we ever bought.

            “America’s Got Talent! We did that all on our own.

            “Of course I want to rule America, everybody! A quick look at my tax returns and you’d see that I already own half the country. FYI, Warren Buffett owns the other half.  

            “Is this a great country or what?!… Darn tootin’ it is! I’ll tell you how great as soon as I check the Nasdaq.

            “Hooray for America!… I’m right about that, aren’t I?

            “If you’re invited to the High Roller Campaign Fundraiser later today— and I know some few of you are— bring a hearty appetite! We’re serving plates of remorse, chagrin and disappointment. Eat up! There’s a lot more where this came from.

            “People criticize my family because we’re members of the super-rich top 1%. They say our children are so perfect, they are cloned from Dolly the Sheep. No way! Our children are way better than Dolly. We’re so white, we bleach our Wonder Bread. 

            “America in 2012! Westward ho! Rock me when you sock me!

             “Aw, shucks! I’m your man.

            “Vote for me on November 6^th !”

                                                       *

            I’ve warned my mom that even if Mick is the Irish anti-Diamond— “He’s a mick, but in a good way”— once elected, he’ll start doing a lot of Republican things that we core Democrats dislike. “He’ll disband the Environmental Protection Agency, push deregulation and tinker with parts of the government we Dems fought long and hard to establish. The Spirit of Ronnie Reagan continues to stalk the land like a malevolent ghost, chanting ‘The less government, the better! Government is the problem, not the solution!’ As long as Reaganism remains the national religion, we’re screwed!”

            President Reagan was the one who joked, “The nine most terrifying words in the English language are: ‘I’m from the government and I’m here to help.’”

            I side with libertarian Paul Rand when he says, “What my opponents need in these debates is a throat lozenge that raises I.Q. levels!”

            Mick Rodney’s tepid message fails to match his stirring oratory. Mick Rodney, turnaround expert. You turn around and, poof!, the man has shrunk to the size of an ant!

            When Mick chose Alvin the Chipmunk as his running mate— someone whose formative years were spent driving the Oscar Mayer wienermobile, a disciple of Ayn Rand, a man who considers the 1890’s the height of American civilization and wants America to return to the Gold Standard— the battle for the White House was over.

            Author Teddy White chronicles in The Making of the President 1960 a disenchanted voter who says, “Mister, they could put a dog at the top of that ticket and I’d vote for him.”

            The public’s disillusionment with Blackie is catastrophic, but Mick doesn’t need to push the envelope! Alvin is a dumb choice.

           Against stupidity, the gods themselves fight in vain.

                                                 ***

                       From the desk of Blackie Diamond

An Appeal                    DIAMONDCARE!

            The hot issue this season is, of course, health care. It’s sexy, it’s controversial, it’s IN and it is bankrupting the country!  Metaphorically speaking, all the most popular politicians have it stenciled on their backpacks. Forget Aruba, this year’s hot destination is in the Congress or on the campaign trail debating health care.

            It makes me sick just thinking about it!

            Naw, I’m just funnin’ ya! Giving you a taste of my “devastating bedside manner.” They teach you that in med school, in General Practice 101.

            But enough about me! Together, here tonight, we shall tackle head-on this thorny issue. My solution is simple, short and easily understood.

                               “65 is the new 90!”

            Global warming, a dying planet, pandemics, drought, wildfires, extreme weather such as tornadoes, hurricanes and derechos, flooding… hello-o! What are we talking here?

            The ten plagues! Our iniquity has finally caught up with us. The Lord’s punishment for our guilty pleasures— LIKE REALITY TV— is visited upon us.

           I never did like reality TV! What’s the message on The Bachelorette? That beautiful, blond, empty-headed 22-year-old drama queens are immensely DESIRABLE. That they are our ideal. Beautiful people.

            Instead of coming to grips with our insane dependence on a carbon footprint that is literally obliterating our planet, we’re watching juggling impresarios on America’s Got Cajones!

            Our dependence on oil, our endlessly wasteful misuse of drinking water and forestry products, our unbridled pollution of the oceans and the land, a system of automotive transportation that poisons the very air we breathe, our total addiction to electrical appliances, our utter dependence on over-medication, all contribute to a lifestyle that is simply no longer sustainable.

             Denial isn’t only a river in Egypt, people.

              Peter “Pretzel” Brush was Pharaoh and I am Moses leading you to the Promise Land. I envision a United States that resembles the Jeffersonian agrarian society. You Teepee Party people! This is what the Founding Fathers were all about! This is where it’s at, a pursuit worthy of uniting with the Green Party. Bipartisan, we can beat this sucker!

             Guess what? I got a fever, and the only prescription is more cowbell! ¹

                                                            *

              I’m tired of this administration being unjustly accused of “turning back the clock to the 1800’s.” From now on, let’s at least make this accusation both justifiable and accurate.

             We gots our kitchen garden at the White House, but it won’t feed y’all. Get yo’selves a-plantin’ an’ a-pickin’ if yo’ wants to eat.

              Peter “Pretzel” Brush really left us with a mess and it’s all his fault!

               So— how do you maintain a medical system without bankrupting the budget? By letting Mother Nature run its course.

               With a few simple changes in our current health care system, you’ll never even reach the pesky age of 66!

               We can do this, y’all. Yes, we can!

               It’s adaptive, it’s innovative and, thanks to our biochemists, IT’S FUN!

               That’s right! Our new little yellow pill is positively euphoria-inducing. I haven’t tried it myself, but you would be hard-pressed to find a happier laboratory full of rhesus monkeys! Even the lab rats have gotten entirely new, benign personalities. No more gnawing through the walls of their enclosures. They just sit back and salivate… Just like the rest of us!

     “Life is Good in the New World of Chronologically-defined Health Care!”

• No more DEATH PANELS. Everyone is terminated on a first-come-to-65 basis.
• Blue collar, white collar, gold collar— the 1% or the 99% — your place on the totem pole no longer affects your ability to get affordable, sustainable medical treatment… RIGHT UP UNTIL YOUR TERMINATION DATE.
• Imitating Mother Nature, a healthier, happier— albeit obese— population maintains itself through chronologically-based culling.
• In cases of date rape, legitimate rape, illegitimate rape, hate rape, casual rape and grape rape, illegitimi non carborundum, “Don’t let the bastards grind you down.” See, unlike the Republicans, my plan even covers tonsillectomies!

           What is the big ball-buster in maintaining universal coverage? Care of the elderly. Eliminate that, and 75% of the problem is taken care of!

            And now we really have a reason to focus and USE OUR DAYS!

            I have put Secretary of the Treasury Penny R. Cade in charge of this austerity project.

            If you are having trouble with the concept, go to our DIAMONDCARE! website and click on the In Time icon. A streaming video of the movie of the same name will instantly be made available. We can’t promise the eternal life part yet, but we’ve got the terminal date part worked out beautifully.

            I’m Blackie Diamond and I give that movie an A++ rating.

                        DIAMONDCARE!

            A system for maintaining health care despite economic collapse!

            A packet of materials is in the mail.

            Sign up today!                                                                    

_______________________

¹ Christopher Walken in the Saturday Night Live cult classic “More cowbell” from April 8, 2000.

President Whosis, Pt. 4

  

President Whosis: Gaga 4 Obama?

                           Political Satire by Kevin Feingold 

                                             Part Four

                                      President Whosis?

                                 Campaigning in America

                                    Wake up time, Mr. P!

                                            Oh, Mama!

                                                   ***

                          From the desk of Kevin Feingold

                                   President Whosis? 

            Our phone rings and a young black man named Jim asks to speak to Rose Feingold. Naturally, I ask him what it’s about. He explains it is the President Diamond Reelection Campaign calling about a donation and this call is being recorded for quality assurance. “Mr. Feingold?” he asks.

            It takes me a moment to gather my thoughts. I’m still focused on the recorded nature of our conversation. “So this talk gonna be on the record,” I suggest heartily.

            “Yes, that’s right,” says Jim, not aware what is about to happen.

            “Well, I gonna tell you, son,” I let loose, transitioning instantly into my Angry Black Man mode. “Da black community is mightily disappointed in our situation! We think wid a black man inna White House, maybe things gonna improve maybe jus’ a li’l fo’ da BLACK COMMUNITY. But da ain’t no jobs! Dat man inna White House, he ain’t black enough fo’ us! He don’ act black, he didn’ grow up black. We sufferin’ an’ he don’t seem to be payin’ us no mind!

            “I’m glad dis bein’ recorded” I insist. “You play dis fo’ yo’ supervisor an’ maybe even the president! I want him to know dat what we got here is an i-den-ti-ty crisis! We Democrats, we always been Democrats! That man don’t act like no Democrat! When the country get in trouble, we expecting an FDR-type program that would create jobs! We got bridges and roads that are falling apart. We got an electrical system dat black out inna hurricane! There be plenty work for people not afraid to raise a sweat! Plenty of people available to work, too! But instead of a Works Program, the president bail out the banks! Dat da Republican philosophy, dat not a Democratic philosophy! What he think gonna happen, da money gonna trickle down to us little folk?”

            “I hear you,” Jim assures me. “I hear a lot of this complaint from liberals and progressives. They’re disappointed that the president hasn’t been able to do more. At the same time, conservatives are ragging on him for spending too much money and expanding the government. They won’t let him do anything at all! The Republicans have created total paralysis in Washington! So whatever he does, President Diamond gets it both ways. Somebody always complains!

            “Our purpose today is to help establish a reelection process that lets President Diamond carry out his presidential duties without having to worry about financing a campaign. That’s why we need your help! We have to make sure that the lies and distortions being put out there don’t go uncontested!

            “I understand you’re disappointed, but I’m sure President Diamond—despite whatever shortcomings he might have— is preferable to Mick Rodney or Marietta Liszt! And the president really has accomplished a lot! He doesn’t get credit for over 200 pieces of legislation passed during Alison ‘Al’ Capone’s time as Majority Leader of the House.”

             “Lawdy!” I wail. “Jim, my man, we talkin’ a mountain an’ a molehill. Sure Blackie done well and completed a fine little mothball or two, but meanwhile, the country going broke, credit rating downgraded, Teepee Party screwing up da works. A mountain of problems facing us. Yes, I know, he improved his golf game — “

              Jim has the decency to laugh.

              “— and he cut back on the number of cigarettes he smoke a day, but there be so much mo’ to do!”

             “That’s why we need your help!”

             “Jim, we ain’t there yet. We don’t hate you, Jim, you a good man doing what you believe in, but we got to see some action before we ready to line up behind President Diamond. You tell that man when he get back from Martha’s Vineyard, he got to propose some legislation that create some jobs. And, lawd help us, not another speech!”

               Jim laughs.

               “I sat through speeches an’ I sat through college lectures an’ the last thing we need right now is mo’ talk! You tell him to propose some legislation — ‘I have authorized Congress to pass bill so-and-so and bill so-and-so’— and maybe we begin to believe he ready to do something fo’ working folks. 

               “’Cause I’m sorry, but at the moment, we just don’t feel he representin’ our interests!”

              “Well, I’m sorry to hear that, too. You know a lot more about politics than I do, I’m just a young man starting out. I’ve taken some notes of what you’ve said and they’ll help me in my solicitation endeavors. All I can send you in the mail at the moment is a pledge card, and obviously you aren’t comfortable or ready for that. But thanks for talking with me!”

               “Y’all take care now!” I drawl in my sweetest southern cadence.

               I’m sure poor Jim took a coffee break after that one! I don’t want to be mean and I don’t want the Secret Service thinking I’m threatening the president. But, I mean, Jim called me. Based on our listing in the Democratic Party voter database.

             Jim, my man, you don’t ask and I won’t tell!

                                                    ***

                      From the desk of Blackie Diamond

Speech                 Campaigning in America    

               Hello, my fellow countrymen. This is the 138^th time I am speaking to you from the Oval Office. Those weekly video addresses mount up! My wife picked out the new drapes. You’ll notice I didn’t say “Good morning” or “Good evening,” because I wish to address all Americans everywhere and that includes those in other time zones, like Alaska, Hawaii, Guam and American Samoa! Just because it’s midday here at the White House, I am not so arrogant as to believe that this is the case in all parts of this great nation of ours.

               I asked my assistant, Dan Sverdlovski, “When is a good time to address the American people?” Dan said… well, I’ll let Dan tell you! Swivel or turn or swing or pan the camera or whatever you… Yes, that’s it. Over there on my left.

              Dan Sverdlovski: Thank you, Mr. President. What I said was, “Mr. President, anytime you speak to the American people, that’s an occasion for joy!”

              The President: Thank you, Dan! Uh… bring the… swing back over… yes, I’M OVER HERE!… Yes, not down there, UP HERE! Bring up… Okay.

              Many of you may be wondering why I am now sitting on my desk instead of, you know, behind my desk. Well, I’m trying to be a little informal here. A man behind a desk seems kind of cold. I want to come across as warm and chatty, like, what’s his face… Franklin Delano Roosevelt. His fireside chats assured a troubled nation that all would be well.

             How dare those Republicans ask, “Are you better off than you were four years ago?” What kind of a defeatist question is that?! Franklin Delano Roosevelt’s fireside chats addressed that very same question. My answer is: Of course things are better than they were in 1931! How dare the Republicans claim otherwise?!

             Are you better off than you were in 2009? You may not realize it, but things are improving. It’s been painful, but we’re on the rebound. Standing as I do at center court, the best I can hope for is a rimshot, but two points is better than no points, even in a pickup game! I call that “The audacity of hoops.”

           Gotcha!

            My wife and I are also aware of the housing crisis! My current domicile is at best a “loaner,” part of my salary package. Sooner or later, my family and I will be asked to vacate the premises. I mean, look at the brouhaha over the newly built president’s house at the University of Maryland! We at the White House have got it easy! But we know our time will come.

             So we were looking at a house in Nova Scotia. Kind of a wild beach. It’s windy, it’s got heather, that Heathcliff feel. And I said, “It’s a great price! Let’s grab it!” We put down a deposit, but when we got back here to— you know, Washington— my assistant Dan Sverdlovski pointed out that it might not be, like, such a great idea for the president to be buying a property in… you know… Canada. So— like we did in Denver— we got some friends to buy it, and maybe later…

            The point is, we know that housing prices are depressed!

            Has anyone seen Raphael, the pizza delivery dude?

            By the way, I’m not only speaking to Americans! Even resident aliens with green cards are more than welcome to listen in! The 11 million illegal aliens living in the Continental United States are equally welcome. To them, I say, “Buenos dios!” Not that they’re all Latin Americans, but… whatever!

              I can see that Dan is going crazy because I’m ad-libbing. These comments are nowhere in my prepared speech. An excellent speech, if I may say so, prepared with care by Dan and my speechwriters Ted and Sylvia, over in the West Wing of the White House. And I promise you, Dan, and you, America, that I will soon get back on message and give that pithy, informative statement. But I want to get some things said here!

              Let me be clear. I come from Denver, and l don’t appreciate all this carping criticism!

              First off, that I never actually SAY anything in my speeches. Well-l-l, today I am going to speak plainly on a number of issues!

              Let’s start with the TelePrompTer! Today, here in the Oval Office, I am using the Series 2100 TelePrompTer, a unit specifically designed for small rooms and television cameras. Positioned ingeniously over the lens, this gadget allows me to stare INTO the camera while surreptitiously reading my prepared text. Is that great or what?

              Am I being plain enough for you???

               I hope I am.

              My wife and I are black and I am not ashamed to say so! To those who complain that I’m not black enough, I say: I am as black as barros negros, black as night, black as the hearts of my Republican rivals! I… am… very… black! Listen! “Yo mama so fat, da po-lice gotta stop traffic when she come down da sidewalk… in bofe directions!” That’s how black I am! I even learn “yo mama” jokes from my daughters Masha and Natasha.

               I’m black!

               My mama was a white woman who liked to have sex with black men. She died of ovarian cancer. That doesn’t make her a bad person! Sleeping with black men was the ethos of her time and place. For white people, Hawaii in the 1960’s was a surfer paradise and beach bum hangout. Of course she got into trouble!

              My daddy could charm the coconuts right out of the trees.

              And since that coconut don’t fall too far from that tree, I be tryin’ to cut back myself on the chocolate and vanilla. Some of my lady friends seem to like it when I whack the monkey, though, so I be thinkin’… hmmm, next generation be a coffee-colored world! Nothin’ to eat or drink, but they be coffee-colored.

              We Johnsons have the gift. My mama got grants to gallivant all over the world. Doing anthropology with her body. She must have had something on the ball, since she did get the money!

             We don’t work in my family. We play. We play hard. That’s who we are!

             I’m like Oprah. I’m special. I’m Blackie Diamond! My life story is, was and always has been compelling enough to sell a lot of books— albeit many were in paperback— and get me elected president! People give me a pass. Like my mama, I get everything served on a silver platter. ‘Cause I’m a charmer. Doesn’t affect my bowel movements. I still sit on the toilet, defecating, like everyone else. But looking at me, you wouldn’t think so. That’s me, that’s my method. As that tax dodger Wesley Snipes once said, “It’s called acting.”

            I sure as Hell ain’t Latino! Although, of course, I support the Latino community in their efforts to fully participate in the American dream.

            To those who complain that I have been less than enthusiastic over the Dream Act, pul-lease! That’s politics! In my heart, I want all residents of this great country of ours to progress and enrich themselves as part of the American experience. We’re living in a new millenium, however. You don’t get anything for free. Not even health care!

            Hoc opus, hic labor est. Here is the hard truth:You gotta work!

             I may be playing at being president, but even that requires strenuous activity and endless battles with my adversaries in Congress. They be low-jacking my ride!  I’m not afraid to get my hands dirty. The process ages you, but it’s also a lot of fun!

             It’s not like I’m sitting here scratching my privates. If I was going to do that, I’d sit behind my desk, I assure you!

              There is a gentleman running for office in Maryland who has come out with a high-end TV ad saying, “I have already signed a pledge, that if I don’t accomplish my stated goals in my first term, I will not run for reelection.” That punch is below the belt! THAT MAN IS UNAMERICAN!!!

              I’m top dog and don’t let anybody forget it!

             Once reelected, I intend to hold Congress’s feet to the fire. The blood will be knee-deep in the aisles! Then you’ll really get to see whose lapdog I am. Woof! Woof! So watch out. No more Mr. Nice Guy. I’m a Transformer. Mean Mister Machine is coming to town.

              I might even throw some money toward highway maintenance.                                                 

               Speaking of cash moneys, I think every American should have $4,000 salted away in his bank account. I know I do. I demand the same of my daughters. My wife. Even our dog Winston has a paltry $4,000 saved up. For when he goes to college. What’s the matter? Get with it, America!

                So, from today— a momentous announcement— not a Peace Corps, not a Job Corps or an Americorps— I am instituting the Get With It, America! savings program. By skipping candy bars, lunches and clothes shopping on the weekends— by walking instead of burning up gas mileage— we can get this country solvent! After all, our current debt level is $15 trillion. Do the math! Two hundred and fifty million Americans times $4,000 equals one trillion dollars. Paying that in additional taxes over a fifteen-year period, America will be out of hock! No more kowtowing to the Chinese.

                Think of it as an installment plan on a walnut-paneled bar with leather-clad accoutrements, track lighting and wall-to-wall stereo television in a stretch limo. Or new wheels and spinners on your ride! 

                I’m just suggesting… Listen, if I don’t hear otherwise, I consider it a done deal. Straight up!

                In the meantime, we won’t spend more money in the federal government since… duh!… we in the public service.

               Yeah, right!  

                                                        *

               Now, this whole question of what I did and did not promise the Russkies. All I said was, we are— politically— in a state of flux here and I will be more focused and, you know, flexible, once this mad dash to the finish line is over. These are treaties full of technical detail and I don’t feel adequately in position to sink a swish when the opposing team keeps blocking my shots.

               That’s what I’m talkin’ about!

               Israel’s… whatever… is paramount… Enough of this! Why do I have to keep promising my soul to, like, four percent of the population? I know, yada, yada, yada, they’re everywhere! They control the media. I just mean that here is an opportunity for America to embrace a new reality. Instead of having the same old power brokers calling the tune!

               Next, my seeming fondness for Third World, Muslim nations.  Remember, I lived in Singapore as a child. So stop grousing! I think it was Hamilton Jordan, Jimmy Carter’s Chief of Staff, who looked down the cocktail dress of the statuesque wife of the Egyptian ambassador and said, “I have always wanted to see the pyramids!” I, too, support the current efforts, in Egypt, to form a flourishing democracy. Warily, I even applaud the democratic participation of the Muslim Brotherhood. So long as they act democratically, they too are a boon to the peaceful process of transition.

                In case nobody told you, our Arab brothers are just looking for a bone to pick with The Imperialist Aggressor, The Great Satan, the U.S.A. Invariably, they find one! Now it’s some lamebrain video on the Internet! We spent billions in blood and treasure, ushering in the Arab Spring. Then some nutjob puts an anti-Muslim film on the Net, and small groups of Fundamentalist extremists are blowing up our embassies and murdering our people.

                Let me be clear: Militants burned the Libyan embassy on 9/11, but the attack wasn’t pre-planned…??? Pul-lease!

               Angry crowds in Arabia do photo ops, overturning automobiles, burning the American flag and storming our consulates.

              Ahabs: They believe in beheading, the subjugation of women, homosexuality and buggery, but heaven help us if you insult the Prophet Mohammed. Then they’re ready to kill you!

               This is a typical case where we adults need to show mature understanding for the historical grievances motivating our more misguided cousins. We must do nothing to exacerbate the situation!  [ A favorite phrase among diplomats. ] 

                                                       *

               The telephone industry gutted the television industry, swallowing up their broadband. Congress and I went along with auctioning off the frequencies because I want every American to carry a smartphone. Using GPS, we’ll be able to track and pinpoint anyone across the country. Think of it as your 24-hour-a-day babysitter, but also “the eye in the sky” for law enforcement. What a tool that’ll be! Anyone without a smartphone will automatically be suspect.

              Now the wireless industry wants more access, while not even using 100% of the spectrum they already own. They want a major chunk of the frequencies currently used by NASA and our Armed Forces. There are 34,750 registered lobbyists in the Nation’s Capital. The capitalists just keep chipping away until they get what they want. Tough luck for NASA and our Armed Forces! What good does it do to fly the Reaper, Predator and Global Hawk Unmanned Aerial Vehicles, when you lack the bandwidth to communicate with your aircraft? Not too swift, guys!

               So stop criticizing me, America, and write your Congressman about the bandits buying up this country’s legislators. As the lobbyists say, “It’s amazing what a $10,000 campaign contribution can get you!”

               Meanwhile, we have all these weirdos with tape over their mouths marching around in front of the Supreme Court, protesting health care reform. Don’t you get it? DIAMONDCARE! I don’t care if you don’t like it! I’m Blackie Diamond! I’m the president! Take your best shot! Everybody cross-checks the Prez, baby. Go ahead, catch a bullet! Nudge me over the foul line. Make my day!

                If you believe the comics pages of your local newspaper and late-nite television, I’m already dead meat.

                I go on the late-nite squawk shows. Tell a few jokes. Get a bump in the polls.

               “What’s the diff between Mick Rodney and a dog? A dog drinks water, breathes air and farts.”

                “How many Republicans does it take to change a lightbulb? None! The Republicans are still living in the 18^th Century!”

                “Mick Rodney, Paul Rand, Richard Provolone and Marietta Liszt get marooned on a desert island. By the end of the first day, Mick has bought up half the island, Richard has founded a military dictatorship, Paul Rand refuses to come ashore until the others adopt his ideology, and Marietta has mated with a gorilla, since she feels none of her shipmates comes anywhere near fulfilling the role of ‘a real man.’”

               Ever notice how the actresses flogging their movies on the late-nite talk shows keep getting younger, taller, blonder and dumber?!

              America, greet your daughters!!!

                                                            *

             Hey, Mr. Teepee Party conservative! I, too, represent a constituency. I rep the people I went to Harvard with. Classy people. Achievers. New York investment bankers! The top 1%! So you go ahead and make your bus trip to Washington. Enjoy the cherry blossoms. We control the economy and what we say, goes!

             As you know, “inexplicably,” I have granted permission for off-shore oil prospecting along the eastern seaboard. I will shortly sign legislation allowing the construction of the Keystone XL tar sands pipeline across the very heartland of America. Why??? Hello-o! Because my backers— on Wall Street— the investment bankers I met at Harvard— want these projects. I graduated from Harvard Law magna cum laude. They own me. They made me. I’m theirs. Who did you think I represented? 

               The poor are very nice people. They are warm-hearted and sometimes they vote, but I can’t finance a campaign using good intentions alone. The big money is on Wall Street. I’m their man. So forget the Republicans.

              For all my pretty speeches about idealism and hope, at rock bottom, I’m a hard-hearted politician. It’s who I am! Outside of my wife and children, I am perfectly willing to throw anyone under the bus.

              The Republicans portray me as being a wimp.

              Make no mistake about it, when the hard choices need to be made, I’m as much of an unsentimental bastard as anyone in Congress. I only talk prettier.

              Look how I treated my opponent Myrtle Beech in the Democratic primaries during the last election! And she’s a member of my own party!

              Mr. Slash and Burn, Blackie Diamond, is girding for battle. I’ll malign anybody!

              Ense petit placidam sub libertate quietem. “By the sword, we seek peace, but peace only under liberty!” State motto of Massachusetts.

              Maybe I cave for foreign leaders, but domestically, I’m a regular Macbeth.

            Time to take off the kid gloves and get real. Who are these Republican candidates? Mick Rodney is a wuss. Richard “Big Cheese” Provolone can go back to his guns and Bibles. Paul Rand needs a psychiatric evaluation. They want unbridled capitalism, but the retina display on the new iPad uses up a month’s worth of capacity in an hour or two. We are engineering ourselves into a corner! The Republicans don’t seem to get it. As John F. Kennedy asked in 1960, “Where do they get these candidates?” Like the French say, “The more things change, the more they remain the same.”

            My wife and I have been to Paris, France. In the Springtime. Population, two million two hundred thousand. Too many North Africans. Not to be confused with Paris, Texas. There were pretty girls everywhere. I think it’s the inability to choose that makes Frenchmen so testy to deal with.

            I tried to get the French to take back the Louisiana Purchase. Basically, like at Pottery Village, they told me, “You broke it, you own it.”

             Get over it! The Chinese own America. It’s the year of the dragon. Guess what? Nee-how! We rode the back of the dragon and ended up inside. China is America’s preferred moneylender. Their economy dominates our economy. What happens when we can’t pay the vigorish, let alone the principal? What d’ya think happens? America becomes Suzanne Collins’s Panem and my hometown of Denver takes its place among the world’s megalopolises. Sometimes I think you people ain’t payin’ attention. The breadbasket of America, sixty percent of this fine country, is living in a drought. Hunger games, baby! Bread an’ circuses.

               Read your history books. Vedi Napoli e poi mori, “See Naples and then die.” They don’t print that in the tourist brochures, I can assure you. To quote the immortal Yogi Berra, “It ain’t over ‘till it’s over.”

            Like this speech, it gonna be over soon enough!

            I’m sorry to say our time is up for today. I promised the networks… yada, yada, yada! If you critics start bitching about me makin’ a campaign speech from the Oval Office, I say, “Tough titty!” Every president since Richard Nixon been doin’ it! President “meat prices must not go higher” Nixon!

            I have a beef with the beef industry. To hold down prices, manufacturers have been diluting their product with an ammonia-treated meat filler called “lean, finely textured beef.” Also know as “pink slime.” I understand that the factory in Amarillo, Texas has been producing 200,000 pounds a day of this stuff. The Garden City, Kansas plant has been cranking out 350,000 pounds a day. A factory in Waterloo, Iowa has also produced 350,000 pounds a day. Amarillo? Garden City? Waterloo? Factories producing pink slime? You gotta love these names!

            I travel the country touting job creation, but in this case, I think we’ve got to shut her down, boys! No one should be eating that stuff.

            Finally, in conclusion, I know y’all expect me to come up with this year’s slogan. Last election, we had a three-word Kumbaya: “Yes, we can!” This time we got it down to two words:

            Shove it!

            Let the Republicans suck on that one awhile.

            Y’all vote for me, maybe we won’t level your neighborhood, after all!

            Live from the White House, this has been Blackie Diamond!

            Naw, I’m just funnin’ ya!

            Y’all take care!

            Thank you.

                                                  ***

                         From the desk of Kevin Feingold

Essay                       Wake up time, Mr. P!

                       “Enjoy your last ride on Air Force One.”                                      

              – President Obama to Congressman Anthony Weiner, when Weiner criticized Obama’s health care program while airborne.

                                                        *

            My mom is 91 years old and sharp as a tack. I spent 12 years as an unpaid political consultant, in local politics, during my military career. She and I solve the world’s problems every night over dinner.

                                                          *

             Mom: “With the GSA convention scandal in Las Vegas and now the SecretServicebacchanal in Cartagena, Colombia, the commentators on talk radio are saying Obama is an absentee manager.”

              Kevin: “I know he’s an absentee president. I live in the Greater Washington area, and he never returns my calls!”

              Mom: “Ha ha!”

              Kevin: “As usual, the commentary is a little dumb. Obama will simply say, ‘I’m not in charge of the Secret Service. I don’t run the GSA. To err is human, to forgive, divine.’

               “But, yes, the CEO is expected to set the tone, and with Obama as president, there’s a leadership vacuum as large as the Potomac River. I don’t think he’s an absentee manager, so much as passive-aggressive. I’ve never understood his style of non-leadership.”

               Mom: “Obama and Bush wanted to be president, with all the pomp and ceremony, but not the job of running the country. You could never get Bush off his bicycle. I don’t think Obama’s even seen the inside of the Oval Office. Neither of them ever ran a company in their lives. Their résumés are paper thin.

            “Romney may be a wooden, boring son of a bitch, but he is a proven, competent administrator.”

            Kevin: “Stop complaining about Obama playing so much golf! He does less damage to the country.

             “Bush dabbled in the oil industry. He was co-owner of a baseball team. He served an entire term as governor of Texas without once voting ‘present.’ He had convictions, benighted or otherwise…

              “If the government is going to be handmaiden to industry, at least let’s get a competent industrialist at the helm, one who knows how to get things done. Right now, we’re standing still.”

              Mom: “We’re not standing still! We’re going backwards in a downward economic spiral! I don’t see how anybody can support Obama.”

               Kevin: “Well, don’t forget, he’s got that charisma thing. He gets up before a crowd, waves his arms and speaks, and the masses are hypnotized. Hitler had it, Mussolini, Genghis Khan, Julius Caesar. Orators, they know how to raise the passion of their listeners and make their blood boil. Obama has the gift. People come away from his rallies thinking they’ve seen Jesus and touched the hem of His garment.

               “Barack Hussein Obama tells each group, ‘I am with you!’ He’s a con artist: He’s not lying, because he’s already looked in the mirror and convinced himself that he really means what he says. Charismatically persuasive, he gets people to believe in him. He tells the Jews, ‘Israel’s security is paramount.’ What does that mean? ‘Diplomacy is a chess match and I’ll offer Israel to gain a tactical advantage’? As Bill Clinton once famously said, ‘It all depends on what your definition of “is” is.’

              “The Occupy Movement is a sterling example. In the economic meltdown, Obama sided with the 1%— the banks, the brokerage houses— who caused the crash with their falsely bundled securities ! ¹ — and the automobile industry. Obama left Main Street— middle class America— sorely pressed economically. Without money to spend, we stand by and watch retail outlets go under. The face of America is changing. Economic Darwinism, only the strong survive. We watch our roads fill with pot-holes. A huge chasm has opened between the ‘haves’ and the ‘have-nots.’ Yet Obama can signal the Occupy Movement, ‘Don’t worry! I hear your message. In my heart, I am with you.’ [ ¹ See Charles Ferguson’s 2010 movie Inside Job. ]

            “That’s a great message! Only in his icy cold heart, ‘Mr. Cool’ only cares about himself and his immediate family.” 

             Mom: “I don’t see how a recent college graduate, weighed down with student loans, unemployed, forced to live with his parents, can tout Obama as the answer.”

              Kevin: “Generation Y, the Internet / Facebook social networking young people, the ones who poured money bigtime into the 2008 Obama campaign, the people who worked day and night leafleting, telephoning and canvassing for Obama, have all been let down. Along with everyone else outside the banking, Wall Street brokerage and industrial communities.  But college students aren’t known for being worldly, experienced or acting rationally.

               “Even if they support Obama, I find it hard to believe they will come out for him in the droves we saw in 2008. Maybe a nursery rhyme can reach them:

                               Fooled me once, shame on you!

                               Fooled me twice, shame on me!

            “The Washington Post still shows daily photographs of Obama campaigning in Ohio, Kentucky, Pennsylvania, Illinois or Iowa, making speeches and pointing his finger, but I don’t see any references to tens of thousands of spectators waiting hours in line to get to see him.

            “It’s 2012, not 2008. When Obama and his campaign staff are marching to victory, David Axelrod is going to look over his shoulder and say, ‘Hey, uh, Barack! Good grief! Where are the throngs? There’s nobody behind us! It’s only the six of us!’

            “You can just hear Obama answer, ‘It’s okay, these are more intimate events!’

             “People are not buying what he’s selling.

            “What does Obama say in his speeches? He sets up straw men. It’s always someone else’s fault. He exhibits the mentality of an 8-year-old, ‘I didn’t do anything! It was all Billy’s fault.’ So it’s really a question of who he is going to blame the failing economy on.”

             Mom: “He’s the president! I haven’t seen such a clueless Chief Executive since Jimmy Carter.”

              Kevin: “What was that movie with Robert Redford? The Candidate. On election night, with his supporters wildly cheering his victory, the candidate turns to his campaign manager and asks, ‘What do we do now?’ That’s Obama in a nutshell. Glamorous, brilliant, clueless.”

               Mom: “President Obama didn’t cause the economic crisis, he inherited it. But when he had his FDR moment to pump jobs and money into the middle class and revitalize this country, he chose to use the trillions of dollars to shore up his buddies on Wall Street. I blame our current mess on Obama!”

                Kevin: “Ah, yes, but you’re logical. You can’t expect other people to react logically. On the plus side, the American people don’t need a rocket scientist to know their asses are cold.

                “Have you seen the statue of Justice, the lady holding aloft the scales? While the gap in economic inequality widens, a conservative Supreme Court sides with the strong, against the weak. The scales of Justice aren’t becoming any lighter, as the blindfolded damsel grows progressively deafer to the cries and pleas of the middle class. The rich get richer while the rest of us get screwed.

                “America deserves better.

               “Political consultant Dick Morris predicts that undecided voters will break for the challenger by a two to one margin because of their discontent with the current economic situation. That spells real trouble for Obama.”

               Mom: “This election is the Republicans to lose. Since they’ve chosen such way-out candidates, the undecideds won’t be able to vote Republican.

              “Even a halfway centrist candidate like Romney seems attractive when the alternative is a big, fat nothing.

              “But I can’t vote for Romney, now that he’s chosen the grandson of J.P. Chase-Guggenheim-Morgan-Rockefeller for his running mate. Even if we are a center-right country, why do the Republicans insist on pushing our buttons?

              “And the Republicans were idiots to attack each other that way in the primaries. That just provides ammunition for the Democrats to use against the Republican nominee.”

              Kevin: “This is America and everyone watches TV. Who can remember what the big issues were three months ago? Today, it’s the space shuttle Discovery. Two weeks ago, it was the cherry blossoms. What was the topic of conversation three weeks ago? No one remembers! We Americans have incredibly short attention spans. Come the Fall, no one will remember the mean, ugly things other contenders said about Mitt Romney during the Republican primaries.

              “People don’t like mudslinging, attack ads and negative campaigning. When the Democrats start bringing up the attacks made during the Republican primary campaign— and leveling those charges in the national election— the public is going to say that such unsportsman-like behavior demeans Democrats.

             “Some of the negative campaigning will brainwash people through sheer repetition, but a lot will turn off the electorate.  

             “I don’t think disappointed Democrats are going to vote Republican. They just won’t vote. We’ll see a very depressed voter turn-out in November.”

                                                    ***

                   From the desk of Blackie Diamond

Speech                               Oh, Mama!

            Now what brings me here— to Golden, Colorado of all places— for a campaign speech? Shazam! Air Force One brings me here! That mother costs $179,750 an hour to operate, but… guess what? When you’re president and you have a deficit of 15 trillion dollars, who cares?!

            I am NOT a profligate spender, but the American people want to meet their leader! I am obligated to crisscross the country holding campaign rallies. I do not shrink from this responsibility, I welcome it!

            We’re here at the Coors Brewery. My forebears weren’t German, but I heard that if we tour the plant, afterwards they’ll serve us free brewski in the lounge. If you ask for “clear beer,” they’ll serve you pure mountain spring water. I also want to buy T-shirts for Masha and Natasha. School kids love T-shirts, the more outrageous, the better!

            I’ve asked the brewery industry for a report on what ales the nation. Get it? Ales… ails? No? Fuggedaboutit!

            My staff and I are also here to highlight the wildfires currently taking place in Colorado. Eighty-six square miles of mountain forest, 181 homes gone up in smoke. We know how it feels, folks! This campaign is wild. I’m on fire!

            If you can’t stand the heat, go fan yourself under the A/C vent!

            Finally, why Colorado? Obviously, because it is next to New Mexico!

            If you’ve read my deeply stirring personal narrative, Who Yo’ Daddy?, you know that I was born in the vestibule of a hot air balloon over the Sacramento Mountains of New Mexico. It clearly states on my birth certificate, “Elephant Butte Reservoir,” since it was over that particular section of the mountain range the balloonists think I might possibly first have come into this world. My mama knew her water could break at any time, but her college prankster roomies insisted on blindfolding and spiriting her away on a hot-air balloon ride. As a birthday present.

              These things happen.

              Let me just clear up this whole question about El Paso, Texas and Juarez, Mexico!

             The balloon expedition started off in El Paso, intending to head north. As any balloonist can tell you, basically you are at the mercy of the winds. Did they drift over Juarez, where the hot Mexican breezes lifted their aircraft to new heights, the trade winds grabbed them and scooted them back up north? Yes, and a thousand times yes! I wasn’t born in Mexico! ¡Yo quiero los Estados Unidos de América!

              See, I speak Spanish. And I’m not even Mormon!

                                                          *

              I grew up in Denver, the Mile High City. The air is thin. You learn to navigate despite the constant dizziness. What a ditsy place to hold a presidential debate!

              This training has stood me in good stead for my time in the White House, where the atmosphere can seem pretty thin at times. Not a whole lot of air, if you catch my drift. Too many Republicans using up all the oxygen in the room!

               I don’t want to be accused of épater le bourgeois, shocking the middle class, but thank God for the lobbyists and super PACs! As I always say, the next best thing to a blood transfusion is a cash transfusion! We make a fuss over the little guys contributing bupkis on the Internet, but that’s just for show. The real money comes from where it always has: Industry!

              Oil drilling off the coast of Virginia. The Keystone XL pipeline bifurcating Nebraska. America runs on oil, people!

              Lockheed Martin. Boeing. Sikorsky. Those military aircraft don’t build themselves, y’know!

              Let’s give a shout-out for Tom Cruise, Penélope Cruz, shipboard cruising and cruise missiles. Long live the Predator, and not just in the movies!

             Hey, Axl! My Chief of Staff. Who writes this stuff?

             We don’t have that kind of industry here in Colorado, but our intellectual property is right up there alongside Silicon Valley. Why, we got the Sundance Film Festival ! Of course, it’s in Park City, Utah, but… same difference! Those kiss-off’kas in Venice don’t have a Sundance film festival, I can assure you!

            Venice, California, my ass!

              But don’t let me seem divisive. Let us focus on the issues that unite us! Like sticking someone else with the bill! ¹

              We have to kick-start some life into the economy. Prime the carburetor, pop the choke, pull the ripcord and make that mower go! That’s me, “Start ‘em up Blackie Diamond” ! My opponent— Mr. white guy Mick Rodney— can’t say that! His only experience is buying and selling companies for 20 years, turning around businesses, creating and promoting wealth.

             Ha! How namby-pamby!

             Has he ever given a speech that stirred millions?

             No!

            Has he ever stood on the steps of the Capitol and taken the presidential Oath of Office?

            No!

             Has he ever stood before both houses of Congress and given a State Of The Union address?

             Never!

              So you see, the man is totally unqualified to be president! He hasn’t honed any of the essential fundamentals: Talking with your head thrown back. Climbing the embarkation ramp of Air Force One. Looking into the eyes of Dmitry Medvedev and seeing his soul!

              Been there, done that.

               ‘Nuff said.

______________________

¹ “The problem with socialism is that eventually you run out of other people’s money.” – Margaret Thatcher, British Prime Minister 1979 – 1990.                                                          

                                                            *

               It’s an election year. Your campaign contributions are important to us. If you notice product placement in this speech, we haven’t been subtle enough.

               Allow me to thank the TelePrompTer Corporation for servicing us on such short notice, when we suffered equipment failure. Traipsing around the country puts a lot of wear and tear on all of us.

              I can’t find the men’s room without a TelePrompTer.

              Also, thank you, Old Navy, for coming to my wife’s aid when she experienced a wardrobe malfunction. I’ve seen her breasts. No biggies.

              Thank God there are all these retro cable TV shows glamorizing smoking! I need all the help I can get.

              Congratulate me! The other day, I played my 100^th round of golf as president! I’m no Titleist, but I feel it was a Top-Flite achievement, TaylorMade for my wife’s crusade against child obesity.

              I also sip Knob Creek Kentucky Straight Bourbon Whiskey to protest the war in Sudan and the shelling in Syria.

              I think it was Calvin Coolidge who once said, “The chief business of the American people is business.” Personally, I like him better as “Silent Cal.”

              But that ain’t me! I ain’t silent ‘bout nothin’!

                                                           *

              This is a campaign event, so I’ve asked the rock band Hippodrome Blacksmith to play something patriotic. They looked over their set list and suggested the death metal version of Bah, Bah, Black Sheep. Let’s give it up for… Hippodrome Blacksmith!

                                                           *

               Okay, let’s get down to brass tacks!

               The whole recall thing between Republican governor Sidney McCormick and Democratic challenger Wesley Magnet. I could say, “Gee, I was too busy to visit Wisconsin.” Well, dissembling ain’t my way! I didn’t go, because it was a lose-lose situation: If I went and supported Magnet, and Magnet lost, everyone would say, “See, Blackie Diamond is the Kiss of Death, a Natural Born Loser!” If, on the other hand, Wesley won, the pundits and commentators would have said, “There’s Blackie Diamond throwing his weight around, meddling in state affairs that are none of his business!”

             So, I did what I felt was best and played some ball instead… a little b-ball, some golf, different courts, different courses. Sho’ made me hungry fo’ some barbecued ribs!

             As for that newspaper headline, “Diamond embraces gay supporters,” I wish to clarify that our fellowship was in spirit, not in the men’s room.

             Negative TV ads are costing millions of dollars! War chests brimming with cash, we still can’t enjoy a surreptitious weekend in Macao. Instead, the television networks are getting rich. Their presidents are enjoying The Blue Dragon Casino on Sun Yat-sen Way.

              It’s like how contractors describe corruption in a war zone, “If somebody’s paying the money, somebody’s getting it!”

             Long live network television, the true beneficiaries of negative campaigning!

             How ‘bout them Republicans? Ornery. Itching for a fight. “If you run for reelection, our super PACs will say bad things and demolish you on TV.”

            Ho ho ho! “Oh, I’m so-o-o scared!”

[ Quoting Wesley Snipes as Simon Phoenix in the 1993 movie Demolition Man. ]

            Lawdy! Get real.

             You know, my team raised the bar. We’re the Olympic contenders of attack ads! In 2008, we were the only proud practitioners of the slasher attack ad. Four years later, every super PAC has learned how to harness the graphics, write the oppositional research and hire a killer announcer. Quality! If I do nothing else in my presidency— and that may yet be the case!— I’ll still be remembered as the dude who raised the level of attack ads to high art.

                                                          *

              Now for the big stink! My statement, “It’s very clear that private-sector jobs are doing just fine.”

              Nobody is happy with the economy, least of all me! My point is, in times of austerity, since we must choose where to put our limited resources, mercifully the private sector is holding its own!

               I’ll never be able to satisfy 90-year-old FDR Democrats who wanted the federal government in 2009 to create alphabet soup agencies and make-work programs like in the 1930’s. That’s not my way! I bailed out the economic institutions which I feel are the bedrock of American industry, both on Wall Street and in the auto industry. The turnarounds were successful. The companies survived. They also paid back their TARP loans. Unfortunately, the employment rate and the national economy still lag behind the growth levels reflected on the stock market. It may take ten years for a full recovery. ALL I CAN SAY IS, the seeds are firmly planted.

            Marginal progress is being made in the black community and on Main Street.

            This country can do anything we set our minds to. We put a man on the moon. Jane Fonda is still making movies!

            Our rocket is poised on the pad. We may not have lift-off tomorrow, but I believe it’s gonna happen.

            I dare to hope!

            I know the middle class is suffering. Here’s a tip from the extensive fundraisers I have attended in the run-up to this election: Try the quiche.

              Ever since I made that gaffe about the private sector, every news service photo of me frowning has been unearthed from the archives and flashed on a screen somewhere! Maybe it’s a victory for Marshall McLuhan’s global village, but I feel bruised.

             Since I am over six feet tall, I get to lord it over people.

             I am Commander In Chief. I LOVE being Commander In Chief!

              I’m not Richard Nixon, I don’t walk around the White House talking to the portraits on the walls. I do, however, give a little wink to any pictures of George Washington. Commander of the Continental Army, our first president, it is thanks to him that a civilian like myself gets to play top dog. You’ve seen the photos! I travel the world and American soldiers at bases everywhere adore me. So I must be doing something right!

              Foreign policy: America has lost patience with the Pakistanis for never clearing out the Taliban sanctuaries. The Pakistanis have lost patience with America for losing patience. All the Pakistanis ever do about clearing out the Taliban sanctuaries is to lose patience.

              Dudes, lose the sanctuaries!

              Must I drone on about this? Hint, hint!

              Next problem. The Occupy Wall Street Movement is unhappy because they aren’t the smartest, they aren’t very good-looking, they aren’t particularly talented and they haven’t been successful. Obviously, all those complaints can be laid at the feet of Wall Street! That’s clear as day! Let’s all be green with envy of anyone who is more successful than we are.

             Which leads me to the people of Brazil. They experience a joie de vivre sadly lacking at my campaign headquarters in Denver, Colorado. Guys in Denver! Hello-o! Brazilians enjoy life! They have an innate sense of rhythm. Brazilians dance the bossa nova. Their alcoholic beverages put the fizz back in your step! Watching their super models on the runway, I don’t think there’s any denying how successful Brazil is. Therefore, sob a pressao das circunstâncias, under the stress of circumstances,I am calling for immediate and unconditional sanctions against all things Brazilian. Sem cessar! Without end. This economic démarche is but the first step in the Occupy Brazil Movement.

               Keeping with the Democratic Party ideology of victimhood, anyone who is more successful than me should be punished! The first and most important place to enforce this will be during the next election cycle. To move America forward! To see that everyone sacrifices equally!… Among us vlasti, some be more equal than others. [The power elite in the former Soviet Union. ]

             Domestic politics: Did I pander when— overnight— I suddenly reversed government policy and decided NOT to deport all illegal Hispanic college graduates in the Class of 2012? No and Hell no!

             It’s the right thing to do!

             Let ‘em have a few months off! They deserve a vacation, just like everyone else! There’ll be plenty of time in December and January to deport them!

            Now, if I said I liked the brown man— that would be a clear case of pandering. This little transaction is wholly other than that! Here we are horse-trading “time off for good behavior” against votes in November. A fair trade, an honest trade. Nothing more, nothing less.

            “You vote for me, amigos, I don’t kick your kids out of the country!” At least not until after the election.

             It ain’t perfect, but it is what it is!

            The audacity of the pundits to claim I don’t have a plan for the economy. Where you at ?! Didn’t you hear my hour-long speech in Ohio? Audacity is my department! The audacity of hope. The audacity to believe. “Yes, we can!”

            Leave the audacity to me, brothers!

            Don’t listen to the naysayers, who claim this is a leaderless, rudderless presidency. During the first three years of my administration, the number of instances of child pornography on the Internet has sunk dramatically!

            Vandalization of public telephones has been all but eliminated… together with public telephones.

             The children of this great nation of ours have received the maximum allotment of snow days!

             The sale of medical marijuana has quadrupled.

             The Arab Spring has made way for the R.C. Kessler Summer Sale!

            Weejuns are out, sandals are in.

             Sarcasm is out, irony is in.

             From my digs in the Big W.H., I can see that real estate prices in the nation’s capital be boomin’.

              The internment of Japanese-Americans is but a memory.

              I don’t know what yardstick others are using, but I see real progress being made in at least a seventh of this great country of ours!

             Meanwhile, people can’t get enough of E.L. James’ “Fifty Shades of Grey.” In a time of sinking aspirations, any stimulus to the erogenous zone appears beneficial.

             Euclidean geometry provides proof I should be reelected!

              Under my administration, a $100 million Land, Sea, Air Rescue Memorial honoring and celebrating our First Responders now proudly graces a corner of the National Mall in Wash, DC. Gratefully, we recognize the dedicated men and women who rescued our bulldog Winston Churchill when he fell into the Reflecting Pool in front of the Lincoln Memorial on a very hot day last June!

                                                         *

              A tribute to the wife is always in order! Let me congratulate mine on the new book she’s written, Growing Organically. That’s a great book! We believe in growing green. Composting. Using night soil— which we city boys used to call “turds.” Same thing!

              Planting a kitchen garden is easier than you think!

             You separate out the seeds and stems and plant them, aerating the soil extensively as you go. Water thoroughly. How green is our kitchen garden? Very! Green, weed, Mary Jane, cannabis, pot. By any other name, that organic product remains equally sweet! Plant mint among your marijuana seedlings for that glorious menthol taste.

           You’ve heard of hash browns. Our recipe calls for using real hash.

           Grow them gardens! May your green thumb thrive! We may not be able to right the economy, but given enough organics, we can render ourselves unwilling to sweat the small stuff. And I mean that in a good way!

           As for the snakeheads, well, if we learned to eat catfish, we can learn to eat anything!

                                                          *

           Did I send Harvey Kaufman to Vietnam to sign a “peace treaty in perpetuity” with the Vietnamese? Let’s do that Q & A in December, just in case it becomes a hot campaign issue. Thanks!

           The euro is down the toilet. So is Bashar al-Assad. What to do? Live organically!

           Country singer Ted Pruitt says that if I am reelected, he’ll either be in jail or dead. Ted, I know how you feel! Every time you come out with a new album, I’m ready to puke!

            The good news is, neither of us has yet left the country!

            Is this nation big enough for two performers with outsized egos?

            Maybe.

            I gotta remind everybody that Ted needs a guitar, lots of practice, and the magic of music to get women to swoon and men to feel a thrill up their leg like Chris Matthews. I can do that with the silence of a TelePrompTer. Who’s got his mojo workin’ now, Teddy?! 

              Join me in singing our campaign theme song, “Every Little Bit Counts Between Now and the End of the World.”

            … No?

             Cat got your tongue? Okay… 

             The pundits say I can’t win reelection as long as our economy remains on the skids. They say the economy can’t rebound, unless the Europeans pull out of their economic nosedive.

             Nothing could be farther from the truth! Listen to me, my fellow Americans!

             Elections aren’t won and lost over an adding machine! They’re decided by the decent people of this country, voting for a do-gooder president who only feels compassion for you and wishes you the very best!!!

              America’s got talent!

              America is exceptional!

              What did Churchill say? “Democracy is the worst form of government, excepting all others.” Since nobody speaks Churchillian English anymore, let me translate that: Democracy has its flaws, but other ideologies suck even more!

              Hi, kids! Mr. Winston Churchill was a stuck-up white guy who defended England but denied freedom to the colonies. He smoked a cigar and led Great Britain through a four-year military struggle called The Second World War. Sometimes, when we politicians are trying to establish our place in history, we quote Mr. Churchill.

                                                            *

               If you want a president who stirs the hearts and minds of the electorate, vote for me!

               If you want a businessman for president, that’s the other guy.

                I don’t know if this is true or not, but I’ve been told Mick Rodney is a product of the Fisher-Price division of the Mattel Corporation. Love your hair, Mick! Say “hi” to Barbie for me! 

                For those of you who missed any part of this speech, I’m sure it’ll be on YouTube. Or visit our website, http://www.MyWhiteHouseMeMeMine.gov

                In addition, I have another 125 speeches scheduled between now and Election Day.

               My rod and my staff, they comfort me.

               Thank you for your attention! We just killed another hour and a half on the campaign trail. Credit goes to Mr. Farnham, my seventh grade Public Speaking teacher at Woodbridge Junior High School in Denver.

              Hi, Mr. Farnham!

             …

             God bless!

                                                        *

President Whosis, Pt. 5

    

President Whosis: Gaga 4 Obama?

                          Political Satire by Kevin Feingold 

                                               Part Five

                                  Presidential Speechwriter

                                    Live from Bazookastan

                                          Barf for Blackie

                                     A First lady Appeal

                                 Night At the Round Table

                                             Incomplete

                                                   ***

                      From the desk of Kevin Feingold

                            Presidential Speechwriter?

            There’s an old adage about cursing the darkness or lighting a candle. Since I’m so disappointed in the current administration, last week, I volunteered for the Blackie Diamond reelection campaign. As a speechwriter. The frustrated author seeks his niche.

            The daughter of my local ward boss works in the West Wing of the White House. Saddled with a scumbag position, she does oppositional research. Acting as go-between, she arranged for me to take a shot. I talked with one of the presidential speechwriters. He stated clearly that— with the president making daily campaign appearances— their crew is short-handed!

            Va va voom! Wow! Yes!

             “Send me your stuff,” he suggested, reviewing my résumé. Hey, I listed every political campaign I ever participated in, starting with Lyndon Johnson’s at the Democratic Convention in Atlantic City, New Jersey in 1964. Listen, if you don’t try, you never gonna win! “Maybe we can work together,” opined the speechwriter.   

            And who knows, my Freedom Marching ideas from the glorious 1960’s may influence policy in the right direction!

            “My parents dreamed the impossible dream,” I have the candidate declare, arms spread wide, addressing the Class of 2012 on some pristine college campus. “It didn’t turn out so good. They found their goal was, in fact, IMPOSSIBLE. They did, however, do some other stuff— “ Yada, yada, yada, Diamond can tell what he and his parents had or have for their vision of America.

            “New technology, new energy sources, will transform our way of life!” I wrote. “Instead of fracturing the bedrock of the planet to release natural gas, we should utilize the natural gases on hand! Let us find a way to harness the enormous quantities of methane gas produced hourly by this country’s dairy cattle! By 2020, our slogan will be, ‘America runs on bovine gases!’ Cow farts and cow pies are natural sources of energy already readily available! New technology will allow us to tap into this previously untapped energy resource. It’s out there for the taking! Go to my website and click on the Jezebel the Cow icon to learn more.

            “There’s an obesity epidemic among our young people, while Latino day laborers mow our lawns, wash our cars, sweep our porches, wash our windows and paint our houses. What’s wrong with this picture? Re-institute child labor! Let our children have the same childhood we had! All that smelly, gunky, gooey, buggy, itchy, sweaty physical exertion has made us who we are today! Plunging toilets has made us strong! If I see a child watching TV, I send him into the backyard to sweep the redwood deck and pluck up fallen twigs. There’s always something more to do around the house! That’s the nature of living. ‘Vacuum the carpets, kid! ’

            “Seriously, folks, we have to separate medicine and business. Health care shouldn’t be an economic issue. Like national defense or universal primary school education, it should be a basic requirement of this nation. The richest, most powerful nation in the world, and we can’t provide basic health care for our citizenry? Shame on us! Shame on our politicians for making health care a political football!

            “Other nations are like New Yorkers: Their only concern is ‘What have you done for me today?’ We should enter every foreign entanglement with our baseball caps securely fastened on our heads, ready to get up and walk out at a moment’s notice. The Afghans don’t like us? Bye-bye! ‘Solve your own damn problems with the Taliban, you ass-holes! Don’t forget to turn off the lights on your way out.’

            “The bullshit has gone on for too long. Cut to the chase! Economically, politically, militarily, and in every other way! It is time to stop squabbling and making speeches— while nothing gets accomplished! I know! Speeches are all I do.

            “It is time for this country to GET REAL!”

                                                       *

            Speechwriter for the president! The FBI vetted me, testing the paper, the ink and my PC to be sure I wasn’t cutting and pasting someone else’s brainchilds. As it turns out, I was dreaming the impossible dream. I didn’t get the job.

            “With your background,” suggested my White House contact helpfully, “you should consider becoming an AID worker in Bazookastan.”

            “People are getting… killed doing that,” I remarked over the phone, barely restraining myself from dropping the F-bomb.

            “You should consider becoming an AID worker in Bazookastan,” he repeated.

                                                     *** 

                           From the desk of Blackie Diamond

Speech                        Live from Bazookastan

            “Hello and good evening, my fellow Americans. This is my 189^th television address. I know it’s becoming a daily occurrence, but I am the president of the most powerful nation in the world and that should give me some prerogatives. I’ve seen how the Russkies look at us with a combo of envy and enmity. It gives me great pleasure to be able to look ‘em in the eye and say, ‘Go fluff yourself, Ivan!’

            “But I’m not in Russia tonight. Nor is Russia the topic of my speech. No, I’m in the small, war-torn nation of Bazookastan, here ostensibly to sign a treaty with President Baniak Plotzi. President Plotzi is a wonderful man! I knew him when he still lived in Bethesda, Maryland and ran a car dealership. ‘Don’t buy from Plotzi if you’re worried about the legitimacy of your paperwork,’ people said. Ha! Ha! Funny! ‘Never buy a used car from Plotzi, he’ll trick you every time,’ my neighbors pointed out. Good old Baniak! What a wily character! Naturally, I was delighted when an earlier administration installed him as president of this little, war-torn country. I figured a wheeler-dealer like Plotzi would make quick work of the Muslim insurrectionists. Little did I know what a whiner and complainer he’d become.

            “So, here we are, ten years later, still bogged down in the shitty little country of Bazookastan. This place brings out the Irish in me: We’re here go brách. Till doomsday.

            “These green on blue, ‘insider attacks’ are getting’ my dandruff up. These people been at war two generations. Violence is an accepted way of life. ‘Would you like some rice with yo’ mutton?’ they ask. ‘Oh, and by the way, we’re goin’ to shoot some people this afternoon. We’ll set off a few car bombs, blow up some civilians.’ When the targets become our troops and the Bazoo National Guard… Well, all I can say is, Baniak’s assurances ain’t worth a bucket of warm piss. ¹  Nice words and condolences ain’t bringin’ back our boys! Considering the level of violence, this place is worse than Jersey Shore.

[  ¹ “The vice presidency isn’t worth a bucket of warm piss.” – John Nance Garner, FDR’s vice president, 1933 – 1941. ]                                                     

            “Otto von Bismarck said, ‘Politics is the art of the possible.’ Your typical German! It sounds great, but so what? If Bazookastan is impossible, where are we? At Cirque de Soleil? The Flying Wallendas? ‘The art of the impossible’? 

             “I prefer Henri Queuille, who says, ‘Politics is the art of postponing decisions until they’re no longer relevant.’ Also known as ‘leading from behind.’

             “Woo-hoo! Tell me about it! That’s me!!!

              “I’d rather drag my feet than get my ass in a sling.                                                           

                                                         *

              “On Sunday— that is, two days ago— I was in the Situation Room using, you know, Skype, to teleconference with President Plotzi. Our server went down for a few minutes— nothing major— and, sitting there, I thought, ‘I’m president of the United States! Why should I, Blackie Diamond, need to sit here, stewing in my juices, waiting on faulty equipment?’ That’s when I told my staff to get out the old chariot and wind up the rubber band. We’d fly, instead of cogitating, to Bazookastan and rally the troops! Best decision I’ve made in awhile!

            “Firstly, it gets me out of Washington, D.C. Don’t take it personally, but that burg is one hot kettle of fish.

            “Secondly, and more importantly, I get to emphasize my role as Commander In Chief. I mean, thank God George Washington wore two hats! Commander of the Continental Army and, you know, president. Now, anyone who gets elected Prez automatically becomes— you don’t even have to go to Staff College!— not a captain, not a rear admiral, not a vice admiral or an admiral full-fledged. Not even a fleet admiral in time of war… Oh, no! ‘Mastah Flash! ’ Top dog! Commander In Chief!

            “Suck on them apples, Ivan!

            “Actually, my staff was, like, ‘Whoa! Is that a good idea? Traipsing halfway around the world?’

            “Every decision between now and November is viewed, naturally, in the context of reelection. Man gotta get reelected.

            “So when I points out the po-tential for a flashy, campaign-style visit with the troops, and then this here bully pulpit Sermon on the Mount from the Plotzi Palace, my rod and my staff, they comfort me!

            “I love meeting the troops! I have never served a day in my life, and these young people will courageously ride into the Valley of the Shadow of Death for me. Now that’s power! Mind over matter. Patriotism. Aromatic charisma. Aromatic miasma. Catnip for the soul.

            “If there’s one thing I’ve learned from this war, it is this: If you want to freak out a German, urinate while standing up! We stand, they sit.

            “No, seriously, the Bazoos are totally self-absorbed. That’s what I wanted to say! We give ‘em all this money and equipment, and they don’t even show us a particularly good time. Charlie Wilson knew how to throw a party! This palace is… I don’t want to say ‘dreary,’ but… it ain’t The Playboy Club. ‘Key holders only!’ Bunnies! Tha’s what I’m talkin’ about! Women with bunny tails.

            “Listen. Here’s the nuts and bolts of my speech: I’ve signed a treaty with President Plotzi that SPECIFICALLY STATES that we are pulling American Armed Forces out of this pretty little country. And I mean, sooner rather than later!

            “Real soon.

            “Soon.

            “Soon enough.

            “A written treaty. I know, because my rod, my staff and I wrote it. I mean, I didn’t use my rod to write it, but… Whatever!

            “This is a really important treaty that fully justifies flying over here.

            “The G.A.O.— that’s the General Accounting Office— has very kindly pointed out to my staff that Air Force One costs $179,750 an hour to operate. Now, Bazookastan is kinda a longish type flight, 14 hours and 30 minutes. Since I intend to come back home, this little… trip… cost a cool $5,212,750.

            “See! I have nothing to hide, you Republicans! I be rollin’, they be hatin’. I’m not ashamed to let it all hang out when I am acting in service to the American people. Just fixing the cracks in the Washington Monument after the Mineral, Virginia earthquake is gonna cost $24 million. So my five mil is, like, chicken feed. Lots o’ school lunches you could buy fo’ five mil, but that’s not the point! We’re trying to shore up a sniveling, whiny ally whose got problems! Serious problems !

            “Peace, brothers!

            “As I was saying, I had already talked with Baniak on Skype. The doctor in me decided it was time for a house call. Think of this as an episode on ‘E.R.’ We want the patient to survive, don’t we?

            “So here I be! We killed our arch-enemy Salami bin Lahtis, and that’s a good thing. Never liked that guy! He gave the airline industry a bad rep. Flying airplanes into buildings will do that.

            “Now, that whole thing about the photograph from the Situation Room at the White House on the night we whacked bin Lahtis. You got Secretary of State Myrtle Beech and all the others in there, and it looks like I just wandered in off the street in my windbreaker after visiting KFC or somethin’. Ben’s Chili Bowl. That was not the case, I assure you! Let me be clear. I was on the South Portico smoking, that’s the only reason you see me sitting on a folding chair, looking both perplexed and uninformed. Out of the loop.

            “I’m the one who gave the order! Kill bin Lahtis! Me! No one else.

             “He gone! I here! Who’s laughing now, Salami?!

             “I understand that one of the Navy Seals from Seal Team 6 has written a book saying that I kind of dropped the ball on this entire bin Lahtis thing. Shee-it! I wanted to burn that Saudi bitch so bad, I stuck pins in a voodoo doll! I foreswore hummus until the night we bagged his sorry ass! Which in no way reflects negatively on America’s relationship with the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia or their neighbors on the Arabian Peninsula.

                                                            *

             “I do resent those who claim I am turning a treaty-signing ceremony here in Bazookastan into a campaign rally. Nothing could be further from the truth. That said, I want to give a shout-out to Stan Gillepsie and all you voters in Ohio and Pennsylvania. Go, blue state, go!  To you Virginians, I say, ‘Hooray for Sir Walter Raleigh!’ Special thanks, also, to Jack and Jill Hill of Oxburg, Maryland, who have carried many pails of water down the embankment for this campaign.

             “Salutations to animal lovers everywhere! I need your vote. Woof!

              “Really, the kind of dog you own often defines who you are. Here at Plotsi Palace, the dogs are all Pekinese. In Bazookastan, the tail all too often wags the dog.

              “My family in the White House has, of course, a bulldog. That’s me! Part bull, part dog.‘Is there a Fido in the house?’

              “As it says in the Bible, each of us gets the dog he or she deserves— or words to that effect!

              “To my critics, carping on the stagnant economy, I say, there IS an easy answer: ‘The dog ate my homework!’

              “Naw, now I’m just funnin’ ya! But to quote stand-up comedian Ortego Williams, ‘There’s a lot of truth in humor, Señor. Your wallet, please!’

             “Every dog has its day. Vota por mí. Yo quiero Taco Bell!

            “That ought to get me the Hispanic vote!

            “In English: Vote for me and I’ll throw you a bone!

            “Sometimes I think we’ve gone from the White House to the doghouse. Help! Help! My administration is going to the dogs!

             “All you need to do to make me happy is rub my tummy and reelect me president. In that order.

            “Standing here in the Heartbreak Hotel, ² the only possible conclusion is: ‘Well, I’ll be doggone!’

[ ² A classic Elvis Presley song from January, 1956. ]

            “Look, you can’t insult the Bazoos, they don’t get any of this lingo!

            “To my brothers in Singapore, I say, ‘A Salaam Aleikum.’ I grew up in Denver, Colorado. I know what it feels like to be a minority of one. At least in D.C., I can hang wid de homeboys. Y’hear? I is real! Not like some latte-complexioned niggahs who forgets who they is!

            “See, here, y’all! Not bein’ in Wash, DC, I can finally lay my beef on ya!

            “Gotcha!

            “No worries. I’ll blame the crazy stuff on jet-lag.

            “We may not have won here in Bazookaville, but we don’t intend to lose. ‘Graveyard of empires,’ my ass!

            “See y’all back in Washington! Be well! G’night!”                                                                     

                                                    ***

                            From the desk of Kevin Feingold

Essay                               Barf for Blackie

            To quote Gore Vidal, “A narcissist is someone better looking than you are.” Seeing daily news photos of Blackie, I don’t think anyone has been so intensely photographed since Adolf Hitler. The man loves to have his picture taken. Congress should pass a law prohibiting the visual pollution of the environment with millions of photographs. When you ask the Blackaholics to cease and desist from worshipping their god, they don’t even refer to the First Amendment. They simply say “Yes, we can!”

                A wonderful feature of Blackie Diamond being the incarnation of Jesus Christ is that each of us can now have his very own “Personal Diamond.” ¹ Just as each of us sees God in his own way, Blackie has also attained this universal, exalted state. [¹  Depeche Mode, “Personal Jesus.” ]

            I mention this because of the Pet Lovers for Diamond page on Facebook. The campaign is micro-targeting dog lovers online. They are invited to contribute money to the reelection effort and “Bark for Blackie.”

            The Diamond folks already offer a “Cats for Blackie” collar. What’s next?

            Bulimics encouraged to “Barf for Blackie”?

            Paraplegics offered the chance to “Crawl for Blackie”?

            Computer nerds can “Hack for Black”?

            They’re all voters.

            Micro-targeting. Will the campaign encourage hardened criminals to “Rob for Blackie”? Politicians in Washington— and Wall Street brokers— may have some experience to contribute in how best to rob America blind. We’ve been at war for over a decade, have a national debt in the trillions of dollars, and no one in Washington makes the connection???

            I don’t even want to think about the slogans the Diamond campaign might offer soldiers: “Kill for Blackie”? “Die for Diamond”? “Get your ass shot off for Di”? When dysentery decimates the ranks, we can all trot to the latrine and “Dump for Diamond! “

            Aerobics people can “Stretch for Blackie.”

            Artists can “Draw for Diamond.”

            Babies (NOTE: This demographic is not yet of voting age) can “Poop for Blackie.”

            In fact, when we’re talking about dogs barking, what other canine activity readily comes to mind?

            Woof, woof!

                                                    ***

                                      A First Lady Appeal

            Dear Ms. Feingold,

            I know a soul sistah like y’all gonna enjoy the full-color, signed photo o me an my fambly enjoyin pork ribs. Mmmm, love them ribs! I wouldn send this here photo t’ whitey, they’s gettin a different photo altogether!

             But the miracle o micro-targeting keepin it jus between us sistahs, I thinkin y’all like this downhome’un. We black folk gotta hang together, cause nobody gonna take care o us but us!

            Now Rose, reason I writin is cause o my man, course, he need our help. Unlike that white boy Mickey Rodney who only care bout hisself, my fambly and I care bout the entire country! No matter our ages, backgrounds or stations in life, we want the country t’ do well an reelect mah husband! We CARE about this great nation! Sho nuff! Ever since mah husband be elected president, I PROUD to be an American! Did I mention the challenges we facin’? So how bout that vote, honeychile?????

            Mah husband know wha it be fo a fambly t’ struggle. He got a compelling fambly history. What with his mama bein a hippie an all. Y’all read bout it in his books. (Y’all pays retail, we preciate that! We be rich.) Like I says at the convention, I wants mah daughtahs t’ have a bettah life! Enough cash moneys make that happen. As a father, mah husband don’ want no limitations on his daughtahs: They grows up to be presidents. Tha’s the goal. Yeah, mah husband, he want it all!

            Rose, I enclose a plastic card what says how my Blackie done in the last three years. Rose, people always askin: What y’all been doin? Well, here tis! From the first moment he enter the White House on Day 1, mah husband…

           He save Goldman Sachs, JPMorgan Chase an a passel o other brokerage firms on Wall Street. He save Bank o America, Citigroup, AIG an some other too-big-to-fail institutions.

           He end America’s military involvement an brought the troops home from Mali!

           He kill Salami bin Lahtis.

           He expand health care, implement economic recovery, create 3 million jobs at a time when this great country of ours only lost 6 million.

           Yes, Rose, he a man— an all men is swine— but thanks to Girrl Power, the question be: Does we go forward an do a whole lot mo promises or do we go back t’ them Republicans an they’s do-nothin ways? Dey be waitin wid de chains!

           Y’all choose.

           Husband can’t do it alone, Rose, ah askin fo a donation! Y’all give us $25, $50 or $100, we can make a whole lot mo promises! Tha’s what we do as Americans!  We promise:

• Equal Pay for Equal Work
• Improving Women’s Health
• Protecting Women’s Right to Choose
• Ending Insurance Company Abuses
• Keeping Premiums Low
• Expanding Access to Care
• Closing the Medicare Prescription Drug “Donut Hole”
• Job Creation (again)
• Save the auto industry from collapse (again!)
• Create nearly 3 million more jobs in the private sector (AGAIN!)
• Out-Educate the Rest of the World
• Out-Innovate the Rest of the World
• Level the Playing Field
• Make Everyone Do Their Fair Share
• Remain Focused on Iraq
• Remain Focused on Iran
• Remain Focused on al-Qaeda
• Remain Focused on the economy
• Remain Focused on Israel
• Remain Focused on the Taliban
• Remain Focused on Veterans an Their Famblies
• Remain Focused on getting reelected!

             So y’all see, Rose, there still be a whole lot t’ do! I ain sayin we gits it all done on Day 1. I ain sayin we gits it all done in the first week— or the first month— or even the first year of a Second Term. I simply sayin, Y’ALL DON’T REELECT US, WE CAN’T DO NONE O THIS STUFF!

            Tha’s all!

             So what you say, Rose? Y’all send us some money, we gonna use it t’ win!

                        From mah fambly t’ your’n! Peace out, bitch!

                                  First Lady Madeleine Diamond

                                                            *

UNDER CURRENT LAW, PERSONAL CAMPAIGN CONTRIBUTIONS ARE NOT TAX DEDUCTIBLE.

                                                THANK YOU.

                                                      ***

                            From the desk of Kevin Feingold

Essay                      Night At the Round Table

                  “Folks, let me make something clear — say it to the press. America is better off today than they left us when they left…”

   – Vice president Joe Biden campaigning in Detroit, Michigan, September 3, 2012

                                                          *

            This is what my mom and I said to each other during dinner.

             Kevin: “The first rule of the presidency should be ‘Do no harm.’ But politics being in the eye of the beholder, one person’s grand achievement is another person’s run-over puppy dog.”

            Mom: “Being bitter doesn’t help, you just make yourself miserable. Take more cauliflower. You are what you eat!”

            Kevin: “We sure eat well. I guess that’s the advantage of living with a shopaholic.”

            Mom: “Be nice.”

            Kevin: (viewing enormous amount of food on the table) “As I keep saying, ‘We’re in a recession.’”

            Mom: “Consider yourself lucky, mister! We both have nice pensions. A lot of people are suffering. There are food banks in the Washington area. All across the country, people lose their jobs and find their homes in foreclosure. A lot of families with mortgages end up underwater, owing more than the house is worth. You may joke, but times are hard.”

             Kevin: “In spite of everything, President Obama could get reelected if instead of blaming everyone else— including the man in the moon— he forthrightly announced, ‘I goofed! I got a D-minus on my report card. Given the chance, there are a dozen things I would do differently. In a heartbeat!’

            “But to do that, Barack Hussein Obama would have to admit to himself that he isn’t infallible. Obama doesn’t appear able to do that.

            “Having accomplished virtually nothing in the first four years of his presidency, all Obama can do at this point is attack his opponent. I worked on the Hillary campaign. Obama or his staff let drop an acid comment, once a week. The vast majority of their time and effort, however, went into their own program, which was ‘Come to Jesus!’ Say what you like about that, at least they had an uplifting message.

             “Running an endless barrage of attack ads poisons the political atmosphere. Hearing both candidates— or their surrogates, the super PACs— dish the dirt on their opponent makes the public lose respect for all politicians. This is a major crime of the Obama presidency, that he has sullied politics in America for everyone.

             “Coupled with the economic crunch and a catastrophic drought— due to global warming— the country’s impatience and disrespect for sitting pols will lead us to elect more and more extreme ideologues, each one claiming they can cure what ails us.

             “Help! We’re back in the dustbowl 1930’s!

             “Another analogy: When soap won’t clean the sink, you reach for scouring powder. When your local rep in Congress can’t right the economy, end the war or get people’s houses out of hock, the tendency is to call in the heavy hitters, the arch conservatives and wild liberals, people who want to transform society. Ralph Nader, Ross Perot, the Tea Party.

             “Straying too far from mainstream politics is always dangerous…

             “Gulp! Something is wrong in America when I am a voice of reason!”

              Mom: “My bridge ladies and I have contributed to past campaigns, but the appeals have never been like this! No sooner do you send in your money, they’re on the phone or in the mail with another solicitation. I’m not giving any more money and neither are my friends! I read in the paper how each campaign is competing with the other to raise the most money. Who do they think is paying?”

              Kevin: “It’s a dick-measuring contest. ‘My campaign chest is bigger than your campaign chest! My cajones are bigger than yours!’

              “Traveling from state to state, before or after every campaign appearance, the Obama people hold a fundraiser. Money, money, money!

              “I love the way Obama talks a good game, but whenever it’s time to accept congressional matching funds and put a cap on campaign spending, the poor boy develops a stammer. He castigated John McCain over the issue in 2008 and then refused it for his own campaign. He’s a Janus. He’s two-faced.

               “It’s still early days and the Obama campaign is burning through money like nobody’s business. Campaign ads cost a fortune. And there are over 400 people working in Obama Headquarters in Chicago. That’s eight people per state, almost one person per congressional district. A prodigious amount of money goes to paying them all. It’s not like they have a lot of work at this point.

              “Judging by this campaign season, I can’t imagine two more lackluster candidates. With the exception of super PACs, they have created absolutely nothing new! They travel the country, holding the same old rallies, waving their arms, making the same old speeches. They play rock music to which they don’t own the rights, and then the recording artists threaten to sue. They waffle on the sensitive issues— the economy, health care, the war— and make brave pronouncements about meaningless issues… See, I cannot recall a single one!

                                                      *

              “These opinion polls are killing me! Our phone keeps ringing. ‘We’re a public survey company. We are not trying to sell you anything… If Obama raises his arms and parts the waters of the Red Sea while Romney is power lunching— and assuming the election were held tomorrow— who would you vote for?’

             “Then they announce in the newspaper that Obama got 62% and Romney 48%.

              “Why do they always report 110% of those sampled? Are they trying to compensate for a 5% margin of error?”

              Mom: “Ha ha!

              “Before picking Ryan, Romney was trailing by 9 points. Now the news reports show him behind in Ohio, Pennsylvania and Virginia. Major swing states! Despite all his millions, Romney has demonstrated that he is unqualified for the presidency by picking an impossible running mate. A foolish decision.

              “Under Paul Ryan’s budget plan, you and I won’t be able to breathe! He wants to charge for air. The Tea Party does not represent America. At most, they’re a third of the electorate. A contest over the competency of the candidates has now become a choice between ideologies. Paul Ryan wants to ‘Bring back America.’ Which America is that?”

             Kevin: “America under the Robber Barons. Those dreamers have a romanticized conception of what life was like in the Good Old Days. They never had to wade through the horse manure on the streets, burn their own garbage or use an outdoor privy. They never had to work long hours for low wages in stinking, dusty, noisy conditions. Those red brick factories lining the highways were an Industrial Age Hell. Ryan’s vision of saving money and balancing the budget just assumes that roads, sewers and electric lines will magically appear— free of charge— out of nowhere.”

             Mom: “Even other Republicans in Congress consider Ryan too extreme. His argument is: No taxes! Are people that stupid? Sure, no taxes! Also, no Medicare, no police or ambulance service, no teacher salaries, no college loans, and no military… but the debt will be paid off!”

             Kevin: “Riding his campaign bus with his wife Ann, Romney proudly tells David Gregory of Meet the Press, ‘I’m not in this race to slow the rise of the ocean or to heal the planet. I’m in this race to help the American people.’ Right there, he loses half the electorate! I should be overjoyed with an honest politician, but how can he ignore the oil and gas companies’ rape of our dying planet?! Or our fossil fuel dependency? This is the only planet we have!

              “America has never gotten over its fascination with money. The public forgets that coins and paper money originally represented either goods or labor. Now, accruing money is viewed as an end of itself. Greed triumphant! People talk about money. They think about money. They judge their fellow man based on how much money they’ve gathered. People want to live like the rich. Once they feel they’ve reached that level, they want to live like the super-rich!

               “Now, money actually talks. What it says is both selfish and ugly. The attack ads in the current presidential campaign are a perfect example of greenbacks talking! If the candidates didn’t have the cash, they couldn’t spend it maliciously.

              “Once a candidate has his war chest, you might expect him to use it for exemplary causes: T-shirts for his campaign workers, coffee mugs for his supporters, but also clothes for the poor, hot meals for inner-city schoolchildren, helping individual families pay off their debts— all while touring the country, campaigning. The Johnny Appleseed approach, spreading goodness everywhere you go.

            “Wouldn’t that be an eye-opener!!!

             “The only things these dudes spread are hot air, empty promises, boilerplate rhetoric and anger toward their opponents. Ugh!  

              “The nation is going broke and people are fixating on Dancing with the Stars and reruns of Keeping Up with the Kardashians on Hulu.

              “This country needs an overhaul, but I’m not sure that the Romney-Ryan brand of tough love and bitter medicine will do the trick.”

              Mom: “All Obama needs to do is keep his mouth shut. He is, by default, the Good Guy in this election.

              “We’ve been living with the national debt so long, a little longer won’t hurt. Our credit is still good. When America has to declare bankruptcy, our debt is too large.”

                                                      *                                                     

               Kevin: “The president of the fast-food chain Chick-fil-A publicly declares his belief that the sanctity of marriage requires that it be between a man and a woman. The gay community threatens a ‘kiss-in,’ but almost no one shows up. This disappoints many a blue-collar male customer who hoped to see lesbians do their thing. The gays know that patrons would just respond by saying, ‘Why kiss each other, when you can kiss a perfectly scrumptious chicken sandwich?!’

               “The NASCAR mentality triumphs again!”

               Mom: “There’s an article in the Outlook Section of The Washington Post about Obama’s three mistakes.” ¹

              Kevin: “I read it. It’s by Drew Westen. He’s a professor at Emory University.  I liked his first point: With our short attention span, most of us have forgotten that admitting you were a Republican in December, 2008 put you squarely behind the woodshed. Dick Cheney and the Republicans were blamed for getting us into two wars and bankrupting the economy. With a Democratic majority in Congress and an incontestable mandate to cure the nation’s ills, all Obama needed to do was govern. Instead, ‘Mr. Bipartisanship,’ ‘the unifier,’ he pussyfooted around, trying to build a consensus across party lines. The Republicans took his measure and decided, ‘This guy is a wimp!’ They’ve been bullying him ever since. All Obama does is cave. The way I see it, we have a pretty boy president who can’t lead the country. As an administrator, the guy ain’t worth a dime!

[ ¹ “If he loses, here’s why,” Dr. Drew Westen, The Washington Post, July 29, 2012, p. B1 & B5. ]

             “Americans never separate the campaigner from the office-holder. Obama is a genius as a campaign orator, daily touring the country shooting off his mouth. Romney needs days alone with his staff to practice his speeches, tailor his performance, prep for debate. Yes, Romney is a plodder. He plods. The difference is that when Romney reaches the podium, he actually has something to say!

             “Instead of praising Romney for diligent homework, the press and television coverage claims he’s aloof, withdrawn, distant, slow and unpopular.

                                AMERICA: Elect a glamorous dud

                                          or a nerdy manager.

               “In election after election, we get seduced by the charmer, placing popularity over competency.”

             Mom: “Obama won because he exudes charisma. The country doesn’t want an administrator, they want a glamour-puss. In 1952, voters preferred Mr. ‘I Like Ike” Dwight Eisenhower over an ‘egg-head’ like Adlai Stevenson. Under Eisenhower, the country stood still for eight long years! Ronald Reagan, ‘The Gipper,’ walked all over boring, stuffy old Walter Mondale. ‘Walter Mondale‘!

            I feel for the man. Why didn’t his parents christen him ‘John Doe’ or ‘Dish Water’ and get it over with?”

            Kevin: “Intellect frightens Americans. A good old boy like George W. Bush feels warmer and cuddlier than an icy brainiac like Al Gore. The Democratic leadership chose Obama Superstar instead of our policy wonk Hillary. Amidst a disastrous presidency, the one clear beacon of light is the State Department under Hillary Clinton. You may not like America’s foreign policy, but at least the State Department’s trains run on time. If it’s Tuesday, she must be in Bahrain.”

[ If It’s Tuesday, This Must Be Belgium, a 1969 movie with Suzanne Pleschette. ]

            Mom: “Things would be a damn sight different in this country if Al Gore or Hillary Clinton had been elected president!”

             Kevin: “A columnist wrote that Al Gore would have used the budget surplus in 2000 to rebuild America’s crumbling infrastructure— roads, bridges, the electrical grid. ‘W’ decided to return that money to the American people in the form of tax cuts.

              “Democrats, Republicans, I’ve never met anyone who said ‘no’ to the money. Even though we knew full-well that it was depleting the U.S. Treasury in a foolish way. What happened to ‘Save for a rainy day’? Somehow over the years, the Bush dynasty lost sight of that age-old adage.

              “Don’t get me started on Hillary. I worked in ‘Hillaryland.’

               “When you study history, you see that mankind invariably chooses the wrong leaders. It’s been going on since Antiquity. Right side of the brain, left side of the brain, mankind is an imperfect creation. Our emotions rule our intellect.”

               Mom: “Lyndon Johnson sounded like a fog horn and looked like a crushed muffin, but he got the job done. We keep electing these glamour boys who don’t govern. What are we left with when the swooning stops? Nothing!”

              Kevin: “What we find attractive isn’t always the appropriate choice. In high school, my friends and I wanted the pretty, pretty girls. Eventually, through endless badgering and cajoling, I got a date with my dreamboat. She was as cute as a buttercup. Naturally, I talked to her about the things that interested my crowd: science projects, automobiles, politics, art. She looked at me wide-eyed and said, ‘Why are you hanging around with me? I don’t know any of that stuff!’

            “So much for taste!

            “Maybe we should stop selecting personable leaders and instead elect nerdy technocrats who can actually solve our problems.

            “Unfortunately, the Republicans ain’t it. Turning back the clock is not going to move us forward. The Republicans haven’t learned anything! They are still operating in the 1980’s. Ronnie is dead, y’all ! You can’t tell people anymore to ‘pull themselves up by their bootstraps.’ Hello-o! There aren’t any jobs!

           “Romney-Ryan rhetoric doesn’t cut it in this modern age. What they ignore is the violence, criminality and drug addiction that result from unemployed adults who cannot find work.

           “Obviously, Romney was elected governor of Massachusetts in a more innocent time, when you could make 30 gaffes during your campaign and somehow no one cared. Like John McCain and John Kerry before him, Team Romney clearly does not know how to get its act together. One good debate is preceded by and followed by endless weeks of stumbling.      

            “A month before the election, the pendulum is swinging. The Republicans have squandered their momentum. The Democrats will retake lost ground in Congress in 2012. Not every seat they gave up in 2010, but they will recoup. People are fed up with Republican gridlock and will vote Democratic.

[ Reading The Washington Post, we do not get a totally unbiased view. You have to read The Washington Times and The Examiner  to experience a fuller spectrum of political opinion. ]

            “Take Virginia, for example, the race for the U.S. Senate between George Allen (R) and former governor Tim Kaine (D). The affable orator against the motormouth genius. On sheer warm-and-cuddliness, Allen wins hands down. Kaine keeps getting elected to high office, however, because Virginians want intelligent leadership. For that reason, Viginia will go for both Kaine and Obama. George Allen may be a charmer, but Mitt Romney acts like a dope!”   

            Mom: “Your pop singer Madonna supports Obama, but this is a crop of cold-hearted egoists: Obama… Biden… Romney… Ryan. We’re in a ‘None of the Above’ election. Obama is brainy, but he’s terribly immature.”

             Kevin: “Obama spends millions on TV advertising. All he needs to say is, ‘My bad: It’s four years later and I’ve accomplished almost nothing. I trusted the Republicans and they turned out to be untrustworthy. That was foolish of me.

             “ ‘My program moves us forward. The Romney-Ryan plan perpetuates a country of haves and have-nots.’

             “Why doesn’t Barry Obama admit his failings and get on with the election? This is a big mystery. We’ve elected a President Whosis.”

                                                     ***

                         From the desk of Blackie Diamond

                                                                                             November 15, 2012

Interview                           Incomplete

            Now that the election be over, I can relinquish Ebonics and utilize Harvard-speak. Don’ gotta impress no mo’ homeboys.

            I always put up with whiners and bellyachers, but that ain’t me. Think positive, people! The fall of the Iron Curtain heralded the unification of Europe. The fact that they are going broke doesn’t detract from their other fine achievements, except monetarily. Every rosy cloud has a lining: If the euro shrinks to the size of a pea, we get more value for our dollar when we visit Europe!

            The flooding of New Orleans led to an uptick in the mobile home industry.

            Since the Facebook IPO was a bust, other social networks havin’ a go!

            I don’t want to sound like my opponent, Mick Rodney, but there are opportunities out there. They are simply CRYING OUT for adventurous investors!

            Life be pretty grim, so let’s put a positive spin on things, folks!

            Living conditions are getting progressively better for the 99%, I can assure you!

            Even the TV networks have come out with a big Fall line-up! How ‘bout them apples? I likes the show “Revolution.”

            Life ain’t over, y’know. Young girls still throw beach balls at the beach, pork ribs still tastin’ good in barbecue sauce, East Coast ain’t got it as bad as the Dead Zone, middle of the country.

            Maintain a positive attitude, tha’s what I sayin’!

            Why did I call out the National Guard, disrupting the Republican Convention? Hurricane Isaac. We learned a whole lot since Katrina flooded The Big Easy. This time we cordoned off the main arteries in and out of town and called for an evacuation. Thing is, I didn’t expect such an almighty panic! Looked like a scene in one of them disaster movies.

           Turned out the only problem was hot air escaping from the Tampa Bay Times Forum convention center! That did cause a heat inversion, producing very clear contacts on our radar screens. That’s when we scrambled the fighter planes. For no other reason. End of August in Tampa, Florida, you in the middle of the hurricane season. We was on high alert. My heart goes out to the people of Tampa, whose windows were shattered by the sonic booms.

            I’m sure the insurance companies may want to cover at least some small part of the cost. That’s what they are there for.

            I been criticized for calling out the tanks.

                               Cantankerous.

                               Can tank R us!

           Those vehicles were equipped with a plumb device that measures possible flooding due to global warming. Completely understandable! No other reason.

            Talk about global warming, steamy conditions, hot tempers. I tried a trick we learned in Iraq, authorizing use of tear gas on pedestrians to quell a potentially rising tide of global resentment over the state of the planet. Tha’s all! Green Party get pretty aggressive. Vegans.

            The NSA was absolutely certain that there might be a remote possibility of the Russkies attacking while we was distracted. We brought the missile-bearing destroyers up from Fort Myers, docked them in Tampa Bay and had them blow their ship’s whistles every hour on the hour 24-7. Make it clear who’s in charge.

            I also asked the Outlaws Motorcycle Club to patrol the streets— for a sizeable remuneration. I don’t know if the Republicans appreciate motorcyclists in black leather and bandanas. It be what it be.

            We worried about how Castro’s armed forces gonna react if an anti-Communist like Marco Rubio or Chris Christie give the keynote address. What? You never seen the movie Red Dawn with Charlie Sheen?

             After what happened at the Olympics in Atlanta in 1996, we be on the lookout for saboteurs and pipe bombs. We got the German shepherds out sniffin’ the crowds. Got attack helicopters flyin’ overhead. Drones keepin’ an eye on things. We even planted a few pipe bombs of our own, just to test the preparedness of our troops!

             Sprayed pedestrian walkways with Instant Banana Peel. How’s that for slip slidin’ away?

[  Instant Banana Peel was the popular name in the 1960’s for Riotril, an inexpensive white powder that becomes slick as ice when wet. Slip Slidin’ Away is a song by Paul Simon from 1977. ]

            It’s true we fired off heavy artillery in the midst of the Republican Convention invocation, but these things happen in a military operation. Military science requires adapting to the moment. Stay real!

            Elections be complicated.

            The Democratic Party Convention in Charlotte, North Carolina.

            My original game plan was to schedule it in the last 10 days of July. During Ramadan, I would not have needed to attend! That one was a no-flyer.

            My second attempt: Go on a world peace tour! The disadvantage? I look like a loser when there be no peace.

           Three: Boycott the convention, since the American people are giving me such a hard time. “You can’t do that!” screamed Maddie. “I spent $4,000 on a new dress for this convention!”

            A man gotta do what a man gotta do! Like they say on the Democratic Party Platform Committee, “In the eyes of the chair, the resolution passed by a voice count.”

            Ha, ha, ha! Some votes count more than others!

           You don’t argue with Maddie.

            I went to the convention.

            I’m glad we convened at Time Warner Cable Arena. When the delegates weren’t partying or listening to speeches, they watched continuous broadcasts of The Simpsons. Reminded me of the Romans’ bread and circuses.

            I got Sonny Beech to enthrall the crowd. I love that You-Are-Better-Off speech of his!

            “You are better off than if an asteroid crashed and killed off all life on the planet!

            “You are better off than if Putin invaded!

            “America is better off than if a Mad Cow Disease pandemic decimated our land!

            “You are better off!

            “You are so much better off!!!”

            Pure magic! They call him Sonny Beech for a reason.

            I spent my time working the deep pocket donors. Maddie and I were determined to ensure a great future. We succeeded! There be moneys both here in the Continental United States and well abroad, available at a moment’s notice, only a phone call away.

            We secure!

            The rest be history.

                                                      *

            As you no doubt have heard, there was a lot of grumbling in Congress over my Executive Order empowering food trucks to act as polling places on November 6^th. We wanted to make voting accessible to the maximum number of inhabitants— assuming they were eligible to vote, of course. After Republican attempts to require photo I.D.’s, I felt we ought to right the balance, tit for tat.

            Interestingly, there’s been no blowback over my authorization of titty bars and massage parlors as polling stations. I can vouch for the high volume of Congressional traffic in such establishments. Visiting a titty bar is certainly a religious experience, but when those ladies go down on their knees, they aren’t there to pray! Multi-tasking, you can now shoot your wad and cast your ballot at the same time. A truly secular American invention. Prayer has nothing to do with it!

            Take note, Joseph Smith & Company. The Angel Moroni, my ass!

            Obviously, these establishments’ clientele didn’t use their real names. As they say in West Virginia, montani semper liberi. Mountaineers know freedom. For both the sheathed and unsheathed, DNA swabs and license plate numbers were admissible as proof of identity.

            Let me be clear: I did not authorize the use of 12-year-old girls in sailor suits— and their mothers— as campaign guides. Many weird things happen during a campaign and the candidate cannot stay abreast of everything. That’s why we have a campaign staff! Like a boxer in the ring, the candidate must stay focused on the opponent. That is what I did!

            Who could possibly want to cheat when it comes to voting??? Cheating undermines the entire concept of a free society freely exercising its right to choose me as its leader. It’s one of those Katniss Everdeen situations, which we Denver people know so well! Given a choice, everyone is going to vote for me! Aprobar un voto de confianza. Mucho. That Rotarian the Republicans ran, and his libertarian sidekick, had no standing whatsoever. The only Q & A was how resoundingly I would beat them!

            You win a campaign by outperforming your opponent. It’s called the Art of Politics. My teammates aren’t simply practitioners, they be connoisseurs.

            The press never picked up on it, but three months before the election, I used the power of the presidential pardon to free young men in several key states. For drug-related crimes and what-have-you. The law must show mercy, especially when society turns its back on the transgressor! And when it benefits me personally. Officially, I announced that I “didn’t want jail time to ruin the life of a young man.” Shee-it! ‘Round the ‘hood, we spread the word: “Lookee Dwayne here, he shoot a bro’ in a drug bust an’ because he distribute door-hangers in the 2008 campaign, that boy still walkin’ free on the street.”

            Guess if we got a lot of volunteers in 2012 askin’ if they could hang door-hangers?

            You need to be adept at packaging your bullet points. No one is better at that than us. Tha’s why we train our campaign workers to say they “came to Blackie,” as if helpin’ the campaign by lickin’ envelopes be the same as findin’ religion.

           When you train yourself to be a genius at subliminal messaging, you can harness human nature and use that to manipulate the voting public. Why do you think we “just happened” to dole out free hamburgers and creamy strawberry milkshakes to each person leaving a polling station in key precincts in all the swing states? Word get around, people pry themselves off the couch and go vote!

           Slippin’ “Vote for Blackie” fliers— with a photo of me wid my arms spread like Jesus on the cross— into hymnals in black churches on the Sunday before Election Day. Slippin’ “Vota por Blackie” fliers into the hymnals of the Hispanic churches.

           Eliciting the votes of people in the churchyard, both above and below ground.

           Creating a super PAC, “Israelis for Blackie,” just two months before the election. The name says it all. Who cares if it only has eight members and all their “campaign contributors” are officials of the Statewide Teachers’ Union? Every time the name flashes on the bottom of a TV advertisement, Israelis for Blackie, people think Israel’s security be paramount in my mind.

                                ISRAELIS FOR BLACKIE.

                                ISRAELIS FOR BLACKIE.

            I ain’t sayin’ Israel’s security isn’t important, I’m just sayin’ I needed to get the message out in Florida, Ohio, Virginia and California. Or I might have lost the support of the Jewish communities. Y’all know, some of their Mr. Bigs— who shall remain nameless, the fuckers!— came out in August, complaining ‘bout how Mickboy visit the Holy Land an’ declares hisself able to spell Jerusalem. Says it should be the capital an’ all!

            Shee-it!

           What about Tel Aviv and Maccabi Electra? Best damn b-ball team in the Euroleague! Five European titles, fourteen championship games. Tal Burstein posterized half his opponents!

            J-U-R-E-S-A-L-E-M… There!

            That don’t make it the capital of Israel or nothin’. I SAVIN’ THAT ONE FO’ THE PALESTINIANS!

            See! We be better at communicating our purpose than the other guys.

                                                       *

            The Democratic Convention did not lack for drama. Please rest assured that at no time did I entertain any notions of dumping the vice president in favor of Secretary of State Myrtle Beech. She and her husband Sonny have been bulwarks of my campaign— and pillars of our party— but I would never abandon an ace-in-the-hole like the Veep. Think of him as an insurance policy: His presence on the ticket guarantees that absolutely nothing will interrupt my serving four full years more in office! The alternative would be unthinkable.

            He has his office and I have mine. He has his mandate, I have mine. He has his duties and, God knows, I have mine!

            Am I as fed up with the political process as I claimed on the stump? Absolutely! I do not enjoy gridlock. Ex nihilo nihil fit. From nothing, nothing is produced. What a perfect description of the 112th Congress! But that’s the political price you pay for a free society. Ask the Rolling Stones! “You can’t always get what you wanna.”

            Everyone is in someone else’s pocket. Until the players figure out who, what, where, when, how and why, Congress don’t get a move on. Nothing gets done! What is truly unforgivable is how members of Congress continue to preen for the cameras and harangue the voters.

            When I was a senator, that was my turf!!!

            This new bunch, their list of achievements totals zero.

            My case exactly!   

            As we saw, most of those Teepee people got thrown out of office. Paint yourselves up like Indians and start pouring cocoa in Boston Harbor, obviously—in a time of austerity— people gonna feel you at least ought to drink the cocoa.

           True believers, they drank the Kool-Aid of Ivar Nordstrom. Signed his contract not to raise taxes. Although I still shop at Nordstroms. I feel they carry high quality merch.

           I am happy to report that “Butch,” one of the Senate’s two guard dogs, remembers me and continues to shove his schnoz up my crotch. Such levity. “Don’t egg him on,” his handler, Frank, admonishes me. Ah, those were the days! Good salary, lots of perks, very little work. A junior senator, I had three staffers and an office in the Senate Office Building the size of a broom closet. We had a fax machine that never worked. Ogling the secretaries in the Senate cafeteria. Working out in the gym. I spent most of my time campaigning for higher office. Parking privileges all over the District of Columbia. Nowadays, they don’t even let me drive!

          But enough about me!

          You don’t change horses in midstream, even if the horse is galloping in the wrong direction. As anyone with a GPS can tell you, regardless of the route, ALL ROADS LEAD TO ROME. I refuse to give up hope! Sooner or later, we’re gonna get there! I’m not going to award us a grade here. As far as I’m concerned, our administration scored an Incomplete.

                                                        *

          Super PACs are a great device to ensure deniability. Did I call my opponent “a Chinese Communist stooge totally under the control of Beijing” in TV ads? OF COURSE NOT! I would never say something like that! It could turn around and bite me in the anus. Do I agree with the appraisal? Damn straight!

           What about these accusations that all too many backrooms in my local campaign headquarters functioned at night as brothels? Those buildings and storefronts were short-term leases. I have no idea to what purposes they may  otherwise be put. You’d have to talk to the landlords or the mall managers! I attended some dynamite “smokers,” “jive-ups” and “raves” in conjunction with stopovers on the campaign trail, but I always assumed that was staffers letting off steam.

           I know I did! Let off steam.

           Politics makes strange bedfellows. No, really! Politics makes strange bedfellows. Those businessmen in their three-piece suits and green rubber waders, wearing Charlie Chaplin eyeglasses, fake moustaches and orange wigs… They only seemed odd at first glance. After two or three dozen times, you hardly notice. And, of course, eventually we found out that they were Secret Service personnel, operating undercover, shadowing the presidential campaign. We stopped asking why they spent all their time schmoozing with the college coeds on my staff. I’m sure Madden NFL was their shared interest. I know they tried The Salt and Ice Challenge: I saw the bags of ice and the video camera. I heard the screams. Nothing like self-inflicted freezer burn to spice up your life! Once again, IF MONEY CHANGED HANDS, I certainly never was aware of that!

         “Vice” all depends on what your definition of “is” is.

          Mercifully, that whole brouhaha over Masha and Natasha’s nude photos showing up on Facebook, Twitter, YouTube (good slide show, people!), MySpace, LinkedIn, Bebo, Hi5, Orkut and Classmates Online— as well as USAToday.com and RT— has blown over. Once our campaign explained that “Childish high jinks must not derail American domestic and foreign policy,” people realized what was at stake. ‘Nuff said.

          Am I recapping the campaign? Damn straight!

          Monday morning quarterbacking? Damn straight!

          Do I sound exhausted? Ditto.

                                                       *

          Y’all come back here next time we has a children’s party. As long as you aren’t in current production on a reality TV show, of course! What IS the world coming to when I got to add that stipulation to every invite? Lawdy!

         You’ll enjoy a party. We make it an all-day do. We got donkey rides and Spin-the-Bottle for the kids. We bring in the Vietnamese and the womens gets manicure, pedicure, facials and spa. We slaughter a sacrificial lamb and roast it on a spit over an open pit. Always a crowd-pleaser, I can assure you!

          We men follow a trail of worthless Russian currency down the South Lawn to the black tent of Hiro the Magician. His magic is, you go inside the tent, take a seat on a folding chair, and three extremely nubile young ladies wearing nothing but bikini bottoms proceed to lap dance you into e-jac-u-la-tion. Half the members of the Senate swear by old Hiro, he a Washington institution.

          It’s a cultural thing, too, since the music them darlin’s dance to is from the patriotic songbook: Battle Hymn of the Republic, Johnny Come Marchin’ Home, Dixie, Old Brown Jug, America The Beautiful. Definitely an uplifting spiritual experience! Why you think we Americans got the Washington Monument as the centerpiece on the Mall? Symbolism! Allegory! Zeitgeist!

                                                         *

          I still drinkin’ straight bourbon whiskey from Kentucky to protest the war In Syria. I don’t know. My mojo dead… that war still goin’ on!

          Now, what about the extensive commerce in canabis and accusations of drug use that dogged our reelection effort?

           What about it?

           As Teddy White once wrote, every political campaign is an exercise in creative bookkeeping. You’d be amazed at some of the strange patooey that gets doled out to supporters as campaign goodies: Bobble-head dolls of the candidate. Bobble-head dolls of the first lady. Bobble-head dolls of Winston Churchill, the first dog.

          My clear and fast rule was: “If it’s a product made in China, the transaction takes place sub rosa and off the books.”

          There went half the campaign, folks!

          That simplified financial campaign reporting tremendously.

           Baskets of fruit? The drought made popcorn prohibitively expensive, so we went with fructose. Read my wife Maddie’s book, Growing Organically. Fructose is good for ya! You can’t get stiff without it.

          My stupid campaign manager Axl put on 30 pounds! That dude had “the munchies” 24-7.

           Accusations of vandalism will not be entertained. Hearsay! Circumstantial evidence! Lack of proof. How could I disable vehicles by melting their tires and yet inflict NO COLLATERAL DAMAGE? You would have to ask a Nadsie – from the planet Nads, orbiting Gliese 581, slimy, green, six feet tall, resemble alligators— and I assure you that none are available for comment at this time! Same with the bidness of shorting out our opponents’ cellphones using an electromagnetic pulse. Even if we possess such technology in America’s arsenal, I AIN’T GONNA TELL YOU ABOUT IT! Give me some credit!

          It’s like the whole zombie thing about people getting their gray matter sucked out of their skulls and replaced by pink slime from the planet Isodar. Ridiculous! To win a presidential election based on that kind of surgical procedure would require tens of thousands of operating rooms in small, silver spaceships disguised as SUV’s. I’m told they do the operation so fast and painlessly, you hardly know from one minute to the next. But, once again, that’s just hearsay. Watching television can render you equally mindless.

         Anything is feasible, but the likelihood of alien intervention from another planet influencing the 2012 presidential election is kinda slim. Sounds like an Ed Wood movie! Besides, you can always tell who’s been operated on. The left eye glows green and the right hand can no longer bend backwards as far as the left. They kind of slur their S’s. But otherwise, igbas n’gamo zuceba fistnay. In other words, “There ain’t no such animal.”

          I’m the dude who always said, “You could take away half the folks in America and no one would miss them.” Orbaso minzex.

           Interesting fact: There’s no free-standing water on Isodar. They can’t swim! Now that the polar ice caps are melting, we’re relocating the vast majority of these “people” to Florida, California and the southern tip of Manhattan. Considering the mentality of the current residents, the chance of anybody noticing is close to nil.

            We have used the conversos to great effect in the White House, finally sending those lackluster Filipino stewards back to Manila. Called zabokos— plural, zabokina— they make ideal servants. As with automobiles, sometimes a hybrid opens new doors to advanced technology. Fellatio has become an art form.

            Only in America, right?

            Think outside the box.

            Paint outside the lines.

            Re-invent the wheel.

            Once they hijacked the Internet and the Intranet, the Nadsies owned us. Sometimes I tell my personal Nad, “I hate being locked into this relationship. It feels like a soulless marriage.” But it’s like talking to the wall. We’re too alike: I only want to do things my way, he only does things his way. It’s like my mama used to say, “Don’t expect too much of your father, he’s a silicon-based life form!”

            Be careful what you wish for! Ever since Bertrand Russell in the 1930’s, peaceniks and pacifists wants to put an end to war. Shee-it. The Nadsies sprinkle a little pixie dust into the world’s supply of potable water and we all feelin’ so groovy, affable, amenable and tumescent, ain’t nothin’ get us mad anymore.

            Nothin’.

             Everybody walkin’ ‘round wid great big s-ssmiles on their faces-s. It’s-s a Brave New World ² out there, folks-s!

             Damn this-s-s was-s-s one fine election!

            God bless-s-s America!                                                          

_________________________

²  A sci-fi novel by Aldous Huxley, 1932.

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          “Nothing deflates the Obama presidency like humor.”

                                                  —  Dante Phillips            

           Kevin Feingold pens the humor blog www.yustyoking.com.

             Dante Phillips, who edited this manuscript, is a member of the U.S. military and Kevin’s best friend.

                                                       *

[ Note: In hard copy or ebook, this text includes awesome illustrations by renown (?) artist Tommy Mousetrap.  I have reformatted my file and published as an ebook on Smashwords.com!!! A  little glitchy, it is out there, but awaits their review process. They have a backlog and need two weeks.  – Kevin ]