Monday, June 14, 2010
Truth Be Told
If the teleprompter could force Bammy to speak truth, this is what he'd say tomorrow night in his first dissemination of propaganda from the oval office to all us common serfs and useful idiots.
"My fellow comrades, aahhh, I mean Americans, Aaahh, duhh, I want all of you to stop asking tough questions and thinking that I'm not good at being president. Remember how much you used to like me? Well, ahh, do that again. Aahhh, This oil thing is hard, and it's not my fault! I, I, I, I, aahh was just down there and ahh it's hard to clean that stuff up. So, just lay off! I'm gonna kick some ass, just wait and see. That'll fix it.
Aaahhh, anyway, here's the truth. Look, that fact is, I'm really not the genius that you guys said I was. The truth is, I was a pretty stupid kid, dumped by my dad who was a marxist leaning, pseudo intellectual who ran around the world impregnating anyone who would let him, then running away. My mom was a white trash hippie who dragged me around the Islamic world following more jerks until she dumped me with her parents so she could run away from me too. I was surrounded by communist activists, radicals and Marxist sympathizers who I found cool and people whose ideas seemed comfortable to me. In Hawaii I was one of the nerdy kids who others picked on. Sure, I could try to play basketball but, like my father, I gravitated to and hung out with the pot smoking twits who constantly fantasized about burning down the country. That just always seemed so cool! Aaahh, anyway, somehow I made it through high school and got into college where I was an average student at best. Luckily though, these radical Marxist types took a liking to me because of my hatred for the country and they helped me get into Harvard Law School. I think they saw the potential of me being a good puppet and of course, I am. Aahh, anyway, I was ushered into some prominent positions there without really having to produce anything. These people propped me up so that I looked better than I really was. I never even had to publish anything for the Harvard Law Review! I just had to show up to meetings once in a while and pretend that I knew what the hell was going on. It was sweet!
So I get out of law school, do a few guest lectures for some professor friends of mine and then I could call myself a law professor! I never was but technically, I could claim the title! Score! Aahh, then I go and help some of my pals in ACORN in Chicago where my puppet masters told me to go and they'd have their "people" get me connected to the machine. So after a short stint teaching morons how to staple poster board to wood sticks and march around in a circle chanting lame phrases, I'm told to run for a state office that had been all set up for me by the machine. It was a cinch. I basically ran unopposed for every office I ever tried for. Again, I was able to look the part without really having any substance. So I learned that all you had to do to make it in politics was to have a good ghost writer, read a teleprompter and do what you're told by the machine that put you there.
So, again, the truth is that I really don't know what the hell I'm doing. How could I? I haven't really done anything for myself my whole life. I started my political career in a domestic terrorist's living room and supposedly didn't know who he was? Duhh. Then, I sat for twenty years in a church led by an anti-American Marxist pastor, yet didn't know what he said? Duhh. Then my buddies in the MSM covered for me during the election, I'm elected somehow as president and now, holy crap! What the hell? How am I supposed to handle this job? I've never had a freakin' job! Now, I'm supposed to do this? Right. Anyway, the best thing I can do is blame others, bomb a few towel heads now and then and try to look cool at every photo op I can find. I mean, come on! Have you seen how cool I look skipping down the steps of Airforce One? Geez, I'm freakin' glorious! What don't you rubes get about my overwhelming persona? I don't need to have any knowledge when I look so good, right?
So quit asking hard questions and leave me alone. I've only got two and a half years left, and there are so many golf courses to play. Aahh, duuhh....Oh yeah, you little people get out there and soap a duck. I'm gonna go kick some ass. Then I've got a hole to plug, then 18 holes to play."
Hey mister Soros, was that good? did I do good that time, huh, did I mister Soros? Can I go out and play now?"