The No-Cajone Pony is Acting Stupidly
I’d give my left flipper to be the teleprompter operator on September 8th, in the year of our Pronoun-in-Chief, the Unicorn King, Precedent Uhhhhbama (Peace be upon him), OediPOTUS Wrecks, Obama-Lama-Ding-Dong, OOO (Occupant of the Oval Office; a.k.a. “Triple O”), His “O”ily-ness, the Hopiate of the Masses, Barackus Hubris Maximus, and His Travesty. Imagine His Phoniness, staring grimly at TOTUS as his speech performs linguistic cartwheels, raining on his parade.
Visualize General Zero, grandly pontificating “… while ATMs and corporate jet owners rape the means of production employed by the proletariat who are forced to sell their own labor in order to survive because they don’t have any means of production, and in their most desperate hour must engage in class struggles against the bourgeois society sprouting from [PolarCoug inserts new text here] a gigantic tamale that The First Lardass devoured in between the largest pair of lobsters ever to grace the fine chinaware in the West Wing.” Pregnant pause—panic sets in and TOTUS fast forwards past the offending passage in hopes that General Zero can hitch those dangling cajones back up from whence they most recently descended.
“We must protect jobs! We must liberate workers from the feudal lords who hold sway over their vassals, apprentices, journeymen, and serfs. We are called to a high and noble cause; to rescue [PolarCoug strikes a second time.] Debbie Downer with a Nadler burger and a side order of fries. Yes, make it a double and throw down some of that there special sauce slathered on a sesame seed bun made from the remnants of whatever holds Al Gore together these days!” The collective commies in the Joint Session of Congress go hysterical with wild cheering, right on cue, as His Imperious Majesty Barack the First, President of America, Protector of the People as Long As They Know Their Place and Belong to The Right Unions, Defender of the Privileges Accrued by Attending the Right University, and Scourge of the Rich If They Don’t Contribute To The Democratic Party stares in stunned silence at the utter gibberish that just erupted from his silver tongue and between his freshly waxed jowls.
Suddenly Chris Matthews notices that he isn’t the only Socialist-In-Residence (SIR) whose leg is suddenly and violently tingling. He orders Camera Four to zoom in on Pinocchio’s left leg. A tell-tale stain of unknown origin is snaking its way past the knee; settling in a pool inside that size-11 Salvatore Ferragamo shoe with the non-slip sole. Too bad the foot inside isn’t non-slip, too. Same goes for the sole, uh, soul. Speaking of pee, Matthews, from deep within the wretched recesses of his cankered heart, recalls “The Six Ps”—Proper Planning Prevents Piss Poor Performance. He recognizes that The Gerbil President has failed to define his overall social media goals and objectives, including allowing the sheeple to kiss his ring as he towers over them, offering his all so that they might live… but then, hope! It appears that Jimmy Carter 2.0 has indeed prepared for just such a contingency and is going to his back-up plan to save him from this fall from grace. Still reading his teleprompter through the miracle of a swiveling neck, King Zero twirls around to face Vice President Joe Biden, who is regally sitting on the dias behind him.
[PolarCoug punches the appropriate button.]
“Stand up, Chuck! Let ‘em see ya!” screams BoBo the Clown. Joe sits there like a slab of unappreciated granite from the 2010 Pelosi Botex Collection, just Biden his time. “Come on, Chuck! Let the people see ya!” implores Barack Ilyich Lenin. Joe looks glued to his seat; his ass unwilling to extricate itself from the rich Corinthian leather of his high-backed executive throne. Somewhere in Ohio a horse has just given his all so that Biden wouldn’t come totally unglued at this defining moment of his completely un-illustrious career. For his part, Biden is reconsidering China’s one-child policy. “Perhaps,” he thinks, “The Soetoros had one too many kids.” Captain Clueless, unaccustomed as he is to being defied, implores Vice President Glueless one last time. “Chuck! Don’t be shy! Get up here! Let the people see ya!”
[PolarCoug adjusts the scroll knob to a moderately faster speed.]
The Chicago Charlatan’s lips quiver with excitement as the words tumble out of his oral orifice at approximately the speed of a freight train thundering down the track at the lice-infested hippie camped out at the nearest crossing guard sign. “A maggot could run against me and win in a landslide. At least it eats crap and does not spew it! If I had bent over any more to Boehner over the date of this speech Michelle was going to divorce me! If you want to know the truth I’m against jobs; unless they are controlled by the government or are ‘green’ boondoggles! And Boehner, I’m sorry about not consulting you first. But at least you’re not alone. Bela Pelosi wasn’t consulted, either. It’s still daylight. She can’t come out of her coffin until the sun goes down!” Whew! If Ear Leader had spoken any faster he would have fractured his tongue!
[PolarCoug flips a switch.]
The entire Democratic Caucus of the House of Representatives leaps to its feet, and yells “You lie!”
[PolarCoug twiddles the third knob from the left.]
“Impossible!” thunders LOLbama. “I practiced in front of the mirror in my bedroom for three weeks while Michelle threw expensive shoes at my head! Well, it wasn’t exactly my own bedroom. I was on Martha’s Vineyard livin’ the life of O’Reilly while the country went to Hand in a Hell-Basket!”
Biden stands up.
[PolarCoug calibrates the resonant frequency of the O’racle’s vocal chords against the sheen glimmering off of Biden’s newly-bleached teeth.]
“LOOK AT ME! LOOK AT ME!” screams Mister Narcissistic Personality Disorder. “LOOK. AT. ME!”
Biden looks at him.
And this is when it happened. This is the moment the entire population of the world recalled as the precise instant in time when Oblahblah won the Nobel Prize in Dumbassery. This was the highlight of the night where Barry should have spent the evening visiting Uncle OingoBoingoDUI Obama instead of preaching to Congress. This was a moment tantamount to giving Anthony Weiner an overdose of saltpeter.
Barry acted stupidly, as he had countless times before:
- Barry, the uninvited guest who invited himself to Capitol Hill.
- Barry, who once flipped the bird during a debate.
- Barry, who has allowed more people to look up his nostrils than any other politico in history.
- Barry, who secretly knows they arrested the wrong Obama.
- Barry, whose only friend is Casey Anthony because everyone hates her too!
- Barry, whose stimulus was a Trojan Horse. Or, was it that the Trojan was a stimulus horse?
- Barry, whose manufacturer forgot to include an ample supply of barf bags.
- Barry, who watched the oceans rise and the earth crack; the total opposite of what he promised.
- Barry, whom General George S. Patton should have slapped instead of an enlisted man.
- Barry, who put the BS in joBS.
- Barry, who won the Arab Spring—one lobster at a time.
And what was it that Obama did that was worthy of such notoriety?
You’ll be disappointed to learn that it’s really quite anti-climactic (pun intended) considering all of the foreplay we just went through. Obama simply realized he was having an election that was lasting for more than four hours!
♩ ♪ ♫ ♬ When Cameron was in Egypt’s land…let my Weiner go! ♩ ♪ ♫ ♬
Thank you, Mister Speaker, for suddenly growing a pair. Savor the moment, and don’t be afraid to use them again.