The man up and vanished like a fart in the wind!- Warden Norton
Kind of like his wedding ring. It’s missing from Obama’s finger? Where could it have gone? My guess is that some Saudi prince stepped on Barry’s hand during one of his deep bows and bent it out of round. Eventually it will be found – by Gollum. The question of the day is…does Obama have a “Ring Repair Czar” in his regime? So what exactly is getting repaired? – The ring or the marriage? Surely it’s not the economy! Hopefully he’s not using the same people to fix that ring that were supposed to repair the economy. That piece of jewelry must be in terrible shape. You know, playing golf is tough on a wedding ring. We’re right back where we started from – where is “Obama’s Circle of Love?” My guess is that Barry is bent over, trying to get his head out of it! He lost the ring. Do we not hear the colossal sucking noise every time he opens his mouth? He’s sure to find it in about another 24 hrs or so.
All joking aside, it isn’t that Obama’s ring has vanished – it’s his electoral coalition that has simply dropped off the face of the earth. That coalition, which Obama rode into power just a scant 20 months ago, has gone the way of the BP oil leak. Everybody knows the oil/voters are still there…somewhere. But they just can’t find it/them. I just have to digress. Having brought up the BP oil leak, this paragraph is literally begging for a Slick Willie joke. Here are a couple of gems from Frank B. Wylde…”The polls show that, if he wasn’t term-limited, in 2012 Slick Willy could be president again. I don’t want to say it could be a rough economy but I just saw a squirrel bury four acorns and a can of sterno.” Finally, in his high school year book, Slick Willy was chosen as the “Boy Most Likely To.” Now, it wouldn’t be fair to tell a couple of Slick Willie jokes without presenting a reciprocal joke about the spouse. So, “Hillary has always been spouting off at the mouth. Until she was 6 months old, her parents were diapering the wrong end!”
It really is difficult to write a column about Obama when my editorial discipline goes out the window – like right about now. I remember Mrs. McCoy, teaching me English in high school back during the Ming dynasty – “Now remember, Polar, each paragraph needs a topic sentence, and every other sentence in the paragraph needs to relate back to the topic sentence.” The above paragraph doesn’t even come close to meeting that standard. I can’t help it, Mrs. McCoy. I started out trying to give a professional analysis of Obama’s magically disappearing voter base, and I wound up revealing that Hillary’s parents were slapping Pampers® on her flapping gums. Then there was the time Hillary comes home one day to find Slick Willy in bed with a midget. Her face becomes contorted (more than it usually is) when she screams “You promised you’d never cheat on me again.” Slick Willy innocently looks up at her and replies “Can’t you see I’m trying to taper off?” I’m sure glad I escaped from that high school English class. Mrs. McCoy would have grabbed my ears and screwed me into the blackboard for the disjointed way I’m writing this column. What’s the matter, Mrs. McCoy, you think I’m like Slick Willie? No class and no principles?
In all honesty, I truly feel sorry for Mrs. McCoy. Unlike Obama, she truly is a victim in every sense of the word. One day she was my teacher, and the next, she up and disappeared like a fart in the wind. And I don’t blame her. It all started with United Airlines Flight 855, which on the night of April 7, 1972, was a Boeing 727 enroute from Newark, New Jersey to Los Angeles, Crackifornia. The plane had been airborne for about 20 minutes when a stewardess (it was still politically correct to call them stewardesses back in those days) noticed one of the passengers, the heretofore law-abiding spouse of one Mrs. McCoy – holding a hand grenade. It wasn’t long before he was also observed holding a pistol, too. Hijackings being somewhat interesting in terms of itinerary, crew and passengers soon learned that they would be making an unscheduled stop in the City by the Bay. Conveniently located on the tarmac was $500,000 in cash and four parachutes. It’s amazing what you can order via room service these days. Once on the ground in Crackifornia, Mr. Richard McCoy obliged the ground crew by giving them his baggage check and had them deliver his luggage to the cabin compartment. I tell you, room service was really great back then! The aircraft took off again, heading east. I’m a little hazy on this point, but I believe McCoy proceeded to toss the parachutes out into the night sky somewhere over the great state of Nevada – which has the immense distinction of being one of only two states upon which the U.S. Government has seen fit to detonate nuclear weapons. It must feel great to be special! Anyway, back to the story. The aircraft then proceeded into Utah. West of Provo, Utah, Mr. McCoy opened up his luggage, produced his own parachute, and proceeded to disembark the aircraft through the rear door. The theory is that McCoy suspected the FBI had planted homing devices in the government-supplied parachutes. I suppose there were scads of federal agents engaged in a wild goose chase somewhere around Winnemucca, Nevada that night.
Now the story became personally interesting. McCoy jumped from the plane about 10:30 p.m. An hour later, a hamburger stand clerk sold him a milkshake. Seven hours after that a super secret FBI agent guy dialed the telephone number for MY house! Dad answered the phone. “Uh huh, okay. How high? – Direction? – Speed? – Wind direction and speed?” Dad (a mathematical genius whose physique is similar to a brain with legs) constructed an equation in his head and spit the answer back at Dick Tracy. After giving Dick the answer, Dad said, “didn’t they teach you Algebra in college? And one other thing, the answer won’t do you any good.” Dick Tracy, who had been asking where McCoy could have landed, was stunned. “Why not?” he queried. “Because,” replied Dad, in a tone like he was lecturing a freshman in a remedial math appreciation course, “It happened eight hours ago. He could be in Vegas by now!” Fact of the matter was that McCoy was a helicopter pilot in the Utah Air National Guard. Rumor had it that he was in the air at the very moment, scouring the west Utah desert looking for himself. He didn’t find himself there, no matter how hard he looked! What a waste of good aviation fuel. A few days later he was arrested with $499,970 in his possession. Now I ask you, who charges $30 for a freaking milkshake! Anyway, I never did see Mrs. McCoy again. And none of us are scheduled to see Richard again until 2017.
It always amazes me how Obama’s life parallels that of crooks. Now why could that be? Let’s see…McCoy demanded and got half a million. He was thinking small potatoes. Obama demanded, and got, trillions. McCoy was in the Air National Guard. Obama commands the world’s funkiest Air Force. Obama also goes on vacation in his own private Boeing 747 – complete with room service and parachutes if he really wants one. McCoy got a free trip to San Francisco. Barry and Michelle have had free trips to Europe to pick up an unearned Nobel Peace Prize. A trip to Spain was also booked so that Michelle could observe the locals walking around in fluffy pants just like the ones worn by Francisco Pizarro when he beat up on the Aztecs – which was a surprise since Pizarro captained the visiting team – So much for home field advantage. Other memorable flights have included vacations in Panama City, Chicago, Martha’s Vineyard, and Cleveland (doesn’t everybody grow up dreaming of living it up in Cleveland?) McCoy fell through the air. Obama’s popularity has also taken a nose dive. McCoy apparently spent $30 for a large milkshake. Obama bought shrimp on the public’s dime. McCoy demanded a right turn – heading to San Francisco. Obama demanded a left turn – heading for disaster. Dick Tracy called my dad. Obama…CRAP! My analogy just fell apart! Such is life – but you get the picture. Knowing Dad, he’s probably thrilled out of his gourd that Obama has never called him. Dad’s favorite swear word is Jackass. I’m sure he’s used it on numerous occasions to describe Obama. Speaking of a Jackass, I read just now that Newt Gingrich is saying that Obama’s world view is based on Kenyan colonial plantation politics, which is so out of touch with reality that he judges Obama to be “factually insane.” I’ve had my disagreements with Gingrich in the past, can anybody spell Scozzafava? But on this issue, you nailed it Newt!
You feel you’ve been rehabilitated? – Parole Board Chairman
Oh, yes sir. Absolutely, sir. Yeah, I’ve learned my lesson. I can honestly say that I’m a changed man. I’m no longer a danger to society. That’s the God’s honest truth. – Red
No Barry. You are not rehabilitated. You are not a changed man. You remain a danger to society. Barry has invented a new antiperspirant – unemployment! We not only have that, but Barry promises unemployment offices with valet parking! I have it on good authority that Barry once asked his own high school English teacher, “If George Washington never told a lie, HOW did he become president?” I gotta admit, Barry is no cheap politician. He’s cost us a fortune. And Barry is happy to stand on his record. That way, nobody can see it. In fact, Barry fits the classic definition of a communist. He has nothing and wants to share it with us!
Dumas. Ever read it? You’ll like that one, Heywood. It’s about a jailbreak. – Andy Dufresne
Jailbreak? Maybe we ought to file that one under ‘Educational’ too. – Red
Too bad Obama didn’t write “The Count of Monte Cristo.” I sure would have had a lot of fun writing jokes about President Alexander Dumbass. To his sneaky credit, Obama has, of late, been trying somewhat half-heartedly to reinvent himself as a moderate. He’s been preaching religious tolerance. And he refrained from calling Kanye West a jackass again at last weekend’s VMA Awards. No word yet on what Kanye called Obama. With Obama it is all about perception, not reality. Obama must really be lapping it up now that John Boehner is dangling the idea that he might vote for bringing back higher tax rates for the “rich.” But what was triangulation for Bill Clinton and Dick Morris, is simply strangulation for Barack Obama. Obama’s heart just isn’t into it. We are witnessing the weakest attempt at triangulation that national politics has ever known. Obama is a communist with a small “c”. If I ever discover that it is really a big “C” I’ll make sure you heard it here first. Obama just can’t put any sincerity into his measly attempt to look reasonable. He’s a communist ideologue now and forevermore. He ain’t foolin’ nobody no moe’.
Making yourself some friends, Andy? – Red
I wouldn’t say ‘friends’. I’m a convicted murderer who provides sound financial planning. – Andy Dufresne
Obama can’t even keep up with a convicted murderer. At least Andy provided sound financial planning. Given Obama’s fiscal track record, the entire world knows that Obama can’t do the same. Andy provided a prison guard the option of sending his kids to Harvard or Yale. Obama is giving us the option of the poor house or the poor house. “I’ll take what’s behind Door Number 2, Barry!” This is the poor house, just like what is behind Obama’s Door Number 1 and Door Number 3.
Why are you called Red? – Andy Dufresne
Maybe ’cause I’m Irish – Red
Obamism: A philosophy based on false premises and promoted – by liars – to the ignorant. How can you be so obtuse, Obama? You’re not Irish. And there are doubts that you are even American. Don’t blame us for thinking that, Barry. You’re the one spending zillions of dollars in an effort to hide your past: school transcripts, birth certificates, passport information, employment records, and information at the fish hatchery where you were allegedly spawned. Or was that the hen house where you were allegedly hatched? Red, your name says it all. You’re red, as in Karl Marx, as in Chairman Mao, as in Fidel Castro, as in Van Jones, as in Michelle.
It is quite interesting, and the oldest play in the playbook, that Obama’s minions seek to discredit those who question Obama’s citizenship. Derisively calling doubters of Obama’s legitimate citizenry “birthers,” the minions seek to deflect attention from the real issue at hand. The minions figure they might as well kill two birds with one stone – ridicule the observant citizens while simultaneously taking attention away from the real issue. Even Obama gets into the act, mocking those asking for proof of his citizenship, saying he can’t walk around every day with his birth certificate stapled to his forehead. We agree, Obama. Just one day with it glued up there would be sufficient. Think you can work it into your schedule? – Didn’t think so.
His judgment cometh, and that right soon – Embroidered sign in Warden Norton’s office.
Judgment is coming in less than two months. The people will be judging Obama but it will be the congressional Democrats who will pay the piper. And the congressional Democrats are running scared. Pass the popcorn; this is making for great theater. Now some Democrats are actually challenging Nancy Pelosi on the repeal of the Bush tax cuts. They are demanding the continuation of the tax cuts. It is hilarious. The Democrats spend years mocking trickle-down economics…but when the chips are down, there they are, trying to save their sorry rear ends by demanding what they know in their hearts to be something that really works. Steve Martin once said that comedy isn’t always pretty. Yeah, and sometimes, Steve, it’s freaking’ beautiful! The Democrats are in full panic mode. The oceans are receding. The birds are chirping, and the American People are about to teach Obama the biggest lesson of his life. We’re not collectively holding our breath – but if Obama promises to be good next year, maybe Santa will give him a clue for Christmas.
Barry, November 2nd won’t even feel like Thanksgiving to you. But it sure will feel like Christmas to the rest of us. There’s nothing like the present, all tied up in a nice little bow. Perhaps Chris Matthews will even get some tinsel down his leg! Just one last thing, Obama – We would never compare you to a dog. We prefer to think of you as a flounder.