Tag Archives: satire

White House Dog, Bo: “I’m Voting for Romney/Ryan,” An Exclusive Interview with the First Dog

BoRomneyRyan

“Look, I know, I know…I’m a dog, and I’m supposed to be ‘loyal’ and all that…I get that all the time, but if you’d heard what I heard, and saw what I saw, you could break from some genetically-predispositioned loyalty to your owner too!” – Bo on the 2012 Election

October 9, 2012 – Washington, District of Collusion

Bo, the lovable White House canine and registered Democrat, came out harshly against his owner and current President of the United States, Barack Obama, during a recent interview with a street reporter from The Laissez Faire. The account from the young Portie offers an intimate look into the inner happenings of the White House, the President’s policy positions, and why one dog is breaking from his instinctual loyalty to support the candidate who is running against his owner in the 2012 U.S. Presidential election.

Bo is a black and white Portuguese Water Dog, who was taken from his previous owner, who had three dogs, and redistributed to the President and his family, who had zero dogs, when he was just a young pup in mid-April of 2009. Generally mild-tempered, Bo is quick to correct anyone who suggests he might share his owner’s qualities, explaining “…my similarities with my owner stop [at the color of my fur].” Bo turned four today, October 9, 2012, and respectfully corrects any “human-year” measurement with his “dog-year” equivalent accepting the simple conversion method of multiplying by a factor of 7, thereby tracking to turn 28 per his calculation. “It’s weird; I can’t believe I’m almost 30,” Bo explains, “Although living here has probably added a decade or two from having to suffer through all of my owner’s policy advisors.”

The following is an uncensored, exclusive interview with the “first dog” conducted during a morning walk down Pennsylvania Avenue in Washington, D.C.

LF: What is it like being “first dog” and getting to live at the White House with President Obama?

Bo [pausing to gather his response]: Hmm…I guess I’d compare it to a non-stop vet appointment where Paul Krugman, DVS, repeatedly takes a rectal temp with a freezing-cold candy thermometer while discussing his economic ‘visions’ through a dog whistle…

LF [chuckling]: Wow, really that bad?

Bo: Worse, the whole time [former President George W. Bush’s late cat] India is instagramming the whole thing and tweeting play-by-plays to the AKC!

LF [guffawing]: Well that was a colorful metaphor. So who will you be supporting in the November elections?

Bo [sighs]: I’m voting for Romney and Ryan.

LF: ‘Voting’? But you’re a dog; you mean ‘supporting’, right?

Bo: Oh no, I’ll be voting…yep, ACORN registered me to vote in the 2008 election. Bastards strapped on a high-voltage shock collar and had a goon hold his thumb over the zap button while he watched me fill out an entirely Democratic ticket. It was demoralizing to say the least.

LF: Wow! Did he ever actually shock you?

Bo: No, but he had a crazy look in his eye after I submitted my ballot. He wanted to do it just for kicks. I could sense it. So as soon as they removed the shock collar I bit him in the…well, let’s just say, if I can’t have ‘em, then he can’t either…

LF: Yikes…so, as a dog, whose species is known for their loyalty to their owners, why will you be voting for Mitt Romney and Paul Ryan in November?

Bo: Look, I know, I know, I’m a dog, and I’m supposed to be ‘loyal’ and all that…I get that all the time, but if you’d heard what I heard, and saw what I saw, you could break from some genetically-predispositioned loyalty to your owner too!

LF: Interesting, so what specifically would you tell voters about their decision this fall?

Bo: Well first, I would remind them that 28 dog-years is a long time for our country to be under his leadership again. I mean, just look at how much our national debt increased during the first 28 dog-years…it’s up something like $5 Trillion dollars since he took office! Why our $16 Trillion of national debt isn’t causing more people to start hoarding food and amassing firearms is beyond my simple canine-mind. It’s a really big deal, and he’s chosen to simply make fun of it in his private life while ignoring it in his professional life.

LF: What do you mean when you say he ‘makes fun’ of it in his personal life?

Bo: He actually started this disgusting National Debt-themed drinking game that he plays with his “college buddies” when they all get together.

LF: That’s…interesting? Can you recall any of the specific rules to this game?

Bo: It’s awful…let’s see…umm…Oh! Ok, for example, if the National Debt rolls to a new “trillion” while they all happen to be together, they divide the new number by one trillion, and have to take that many drinks. And if they’re not together when it hits a new trillion, they will sit and text or Facebook each other all night about it. Like when it hit $16 trillion, appropriately on the same day that the Democratic National Convention kicked off might I add, I saw him send a text to his buddies that read something along the lines of “16 DRINKS, B****EZ!!!!” with some cartoon icon of a beer mug followed by a fist-bump or something. [pauses] I know…it’s sick, seriously. Most of the other rules are just buzz-word drinking cues, you know, like they’ll take a drink every time they hear someone say “the National Debt,” “deficit spending,” “future generations,” and some others that are escaping me at the moment.

LF: Well your account is very insightful, to say the least. So you think the out-of-control National Debt should be a contributing factor for voters this fall?

Bo: Look, if Democrats gain power and win the White House, our National Debt will just keep compounding and we’ll be launched into the fast lane of the Road to Serfdom Express…and once you’ve started down that road it will take a near-miracle to safely exit back onto the Freedom Freeway…pardon the silly wordplay, but the Democrats in Washington notoriously bite the hand of the private sector that feeds their leviathan gluttonous government. I mean at some point, these successful business owners, the private sector producers, are going to be asked to foot more this enormous bill, and then…well just go read Atlas Shrugged by Ayn Rand, that should fill in the rest.

LF: Excellent suggestion. So besides the National Debt, what other issues would you like to highlight for voters this fall?

Bo: Obamacare, or as they deceitfully titled it, the “Patient Protection and Affordable Care Act.” What a crock! That’s like calling me, the “Fuzzy Little Kitten who Lives in a Salt-Water Aquarium Dog!”

LF: Interesting analogy. So you’re saying the President’s trademark legislation won’t actually protect patients nor promote affordable care, despite it being called the Patient Protection and Affordable Care Act?

Bo: No! Are you kidding me? Look at the plethora of taxes and fees they jammed into those 2,000+ pages of used toilet paper. I would challenge anyone to explain to me, within the constraints of real-life mathematics, how increasing the cost of doing business will make the underlying product or service more “affordable” to the consumer. And the “patient protection” thing? How does the inevitable decrease in supply of physician services and increase in government bureaucracies possibly protect patients!?

LF: Fair point on the “affordable” part, but can you expand on why the supply of physician services will decrease and how that will impact patient care?

Bo: Well sure. Look, the burdensome regulations and ever-growing costs of running a practice (including reimbursement cuts from government payers) are encouraging current physicians to start exploring exit strategies and discouraging potential future students from entering the field at all. And when those services become scarce in supply the costs will skyrocket and services will necessarily be rationed. In fact, only the super-rich will have any choice in the type and quality of care they receive because they’ll be able to pay out of pocket for their services, or will be able to afford a lavish insurance policy. But consider your average middle class patient in this near-certain outcome of my owner’s daft-thought legislation: after the docs inevitably break into two camps, those being “Cash Only/Super Insurance Docs” and “Government Reimbursed Docs,” those providers in the Government Reimbursed camp, who will be seeing the vast majority of patients, will have to ration care to only patients who are in greatest need…or you know, those deemed deserving of care by some unelected Health and Human Services panel of bureaucrats. So to your average middle-class readers: fast forward 10 years, maybe 20 on the high end, and you’ll be finding yourself on long waiting lists for the most basic of services with little to no choice in the care you ultimately receive. But then again, what do I know? I’m just a dog after all…

LF: You seem very informed in the health care issue. Why did you take such an interest in this topic?

Bo: Well it was one of my owner’s babies, it was a big deal, just ask Olympic gaffe-lete, Joe Biden [referring to one of Biden’s many gaffes where the Vice President was caught on a live microphone describing the magnitude of the Obamacare signing ceremony using a particularly untoward expletive].

LF: So as President Obama’s “best friend,” were you privy to anything during the Obamacare legislative or pre-legislative process that may be of interest to voters?

Bo: I do recall a particular morning walk with my owner and some of the legislators on the Obamacare team…it was just after they had to concede the universal payer option…they were despondent, and the morning’s cloudy skies, cool drizzle and a panhandling B.B. King saxophonist added to their blues that morning. Suddenly the President stopped walking and commanded his posse’s attention. When they turned to face him he dropped his head and admitted the bill’s shortcomings in its current form, but then he shot up as if he had been revived by some emotional defibrillator and said, ‘It just sounds so cool, though, man!’ He then scanned the donkey-gray sky and found the one ray of sunshine piercing the atmospheric gloom and spread his hands like a frame around that one lone solar soldier, squinted his eyes and passionately whispered, ‘Obamacare…’ And so it was settled in that moment, they went ahead and jammed the treachery through congress without even allowing anyone to read it and digest the vast consequences! What an awful moment for this country. Oh! And I’ll never forget Nancy Pelosi explaining to the American people that, ‘we have to pass it first to see what’s in it, duh!’

LF: Wow, you have a very vivid memory of that moment; it must have been very impactful for you.

Bo: Yeah well, I remember it so well because as he was standing there whispering ‘Obamacare…’ with more passion than Michelle [Obama] has ever heard, I posted up over his drizzle-spattered black wingtip shoe, lifted my leg, and let him know what I really thought of his idea right in front of his friends! It was magical!

LF: I can see where that would be memorable. So we’ve touched on the national debt, and now health care. Is there anything else you would like to speak to that has swayed you to the Republican ticket?

Bo: Well first, let’s remember that I’m a dog and technically I’m not able to speak at all. That being said… Two more things: The Supreme Court and potential United Nations gun control treaties.

LF: Well let’s take them one at a time. Let’s start with the Supreme Court. What about the Supreme Court is pushing you to the Republican ticket in 2012?

Bo: Well four of the current Supreme Court justices are in their seventies, and if my owner gets the opportunity to appoint more Kagan’s and Sotomayor’s to the bench, you bet he’ll be on top of that! Can you imagine such a young, liberal-leaning bench, digesting future cases and crapping out more and more activist rulings until they eventually just decide our Constitution itself needs to be re-written to ‘conform to the times,’ and task Elizabeth Warren with that project?! I’m outta here if that happens; I’ll be on a one-way flight to any country where my species isn’t a featured item on a dining menu!

LF: That’s a fair point. So what about the United Nations gun control treaties you mentioned?

Bo: The U.N. is always pushing for this Arms Trade Treaty, which effectively aims to impose worldwide controls on small arms. My owner has supported banning hand guns and semi-automatic weapons even before becoming President. Why wouldn’t he support signing over our sovereignty and second amendment rights to this international body once reelection is no longer a concern? While our current congress likely won’t ratify such a treaty, after he greases those wheels it’s only a matter of time before we have a congress that is supportive and, BANG! The U.N. will be able to track civilian owned firearms and further advance efforts to disarm American citizens from their global perch. I don’t know about you, but something just doesn’t smell right about that…

LF: Great points and excellent information all around. For a dog, your words have been very insightful. You really put a lot of time and thought into this election. But to end on some lighter questions, what types of activities do you and the President engage in together at the White House?

Bo: When he does find some time for me, that is, when he’s not out golfing, vacationing, campaigning, and signing overreaching legislation…he actually does take me out in the White House lawn for some play time.

LF: Oh, what kinds of games do you play together?

Bo: Well the typical games that dogs and their owners play…except that when we play the games, they’re always a little different than what I hear from my friends at the dog park.

LF: In what ways are they different?

Bo: Well, for example: fetch. If we’re out playing fetch together, you know, we’re having a great time, he’s throwing and I’m fetching, and then out of nowhere some of the 47% of dogs who don’t play fetch walk over to our game, and all of the sudden my owner will take the stick after I return it to him, break it into small, even pieces, and just walk over and give the pieces to the other dogs!

LF: That doesn’t sound like much fun at all. Has he taught you any tricks?

Bo: Ha! Oh yeah, I can do tricks. But we only get to do tricks when he has guests visiting the White House, and even then he just pays a staffer to follow me around the whole night with a taxpayer-funded iPad loaded with a single PowerPoint presentation that he uses as an improvised teleprompter so he knows what to say when it’s time to show off my tricks. It’s true! Seriously, it’s a PowerPoint he had someone throw together that’s like 10 slides. Each slide is just a blue background with a large word in white text, “Sit,” or “Shake,” or “Rollover,” and so on. So whenever we run into him schmoozing with his guests the staffer will hold the iPad up so the president can read it, and advance the slides while the president reads each word and I perform each trick. For real, it happens every time we have guests. And I literally cannot say no to the tricks, I have zero control when it’s trick time…it’s like I’m trained or something. But what’s more, the last slide in the presentation isn’t a trick at all but some closing joke that really freaks me out! It says, “Thanks Bo, and whatever you read about me eating a dog when I was a boy, it ain’t true! *chuckle and acknowledge guests*” Any idea what that’s all about?

LF [chuckling]: Well, if you haven’t read his book yet, check that out sometime, I think you’ll find your answer.

Bo: Well, I’ll have to download the podcast or something since I can’t read, but I’ll get on that after this interview.

LF: Well this has been very insightful and informative. But I would like to leave the readers on a happier note, and maybe there isn’t one, but is there anything you do like about being “first dog” and living in the White House?

Bo: The girls, I love ‘em! We actually have a lot of fun together. They give me a lot of attention and we play together often. Seriously, were it not for those two sweethearts, I would have surely locked myself in the bathroom with a box of king-size Hershey chocolate bars by now.

Crossposted at TruthInJest

Klobuchar Eager to Return to Washington to Advance Teen Sci-Fi Romance Debate

Minnesota Senator Amy Klobuchar
Minnesota Senator Amy Klobuchar

Minnesota Senator Amy Klobuchar

“My main motivation this election cycle is winning the hearts of Minnesota voters so that I may return to the Senate chambers and push the key debate that is dividing this nation: Werewolf versus Vampire,” – Amy Klobuchar on 2012 Senate Race.

September 19, 2012 – Minneapoleft, Minnesota

Incumbent U.S. Senator and teen sci-fi romance aficionado, Amy Klobuchar (dyed-in-the-wool D-MN), revealed her motivation behind her 2012 reelection campaign in a recent press release: furthering the debate of werewolf versus vampire, referring to the ongoing debate of ‘Jacob versus Edward’ from the wildly popular teen sci-fi series, Twilight. The first-term Senator, whose nose pinocchioed during a December 2009 interview with Fox News’ Chris Wallace when she described the Obamacare legislative process as “fairly transparent,” recently issued a press release detailing her inspiration this election cycle. The release noted, in part, “The biggest issue facing American voters today is one of monstrous proportions: Team Jacob or Team Edward. If elected to a second term, I will fight for you to bring this issue to the Senate floor so the American people can hear an honest debate. Who should reign supreme: Jacob, a chiseled, principled, and yummy werewolf, or Edward, a soft-spoken, romantic, and scrumptious vampire?”

The announcement comes as no surprise to the politically-tuned electorate. Klobuchar, who left a career of lawyering to try an even less favorably-perceived career of legislating, was poised to be a key contributor during current Supreme Court Justice Elena Kagan’s senate confirmation hearings. However, during the June 30th, 2010 confirmation hearing, which is meant to be a serious inquiry into potential Justice’s qualifications, Klobuchar cornered Kagan asking her to comment on “the famous case of Edward vs. Jacob, or the Vampire vs. the Werewolf.” Kagan, known to colleagues as ‘the Kaganator’ and rumored to have once squashed a neighbor’s trespassing puppy with her bare foot, shot back sharply at Klobuchar with a piercing “I wish you wouldn’t!” before rushing to catch a flight to Los Angeles where she was scheduled to play Kevin James in his self-directed auto-biographical documentary.

Following the vampire versus werewolf inquiry during Kagan’s confirmation hearings, Klobuchar’s inner monster came out again during an October 31st, 2011 interview with MSNBC’s Rachel Maddow. Klobuchar explained to Maddow that, “…as you know there are a lot of ghosts and goblins running around Washington, but not a witch on a broom. That was the last election,” further substantiating her fascination with make-believe monsters and taking a personal jab at former U.S. Senate candidate Christine O’Donnell of Delaware.

Klobuchar’s press release refers to her exchange with Kagan as “the debate that got away,” and promises voters that “[Klobuchar] will work across the aisle to petition the Supreme Court to hear the case of Werewolf versus Vampire,” emphasizing one of the Senator’s key 2012 campaign themes of bipartisanship. However, despite her oft-touted record of perceived bipartisanship, the “approximately two-thirds [of Klobuchar’s] authored bills that received Republican co-sponsorship” represent a collection of largely negligible, low-priority ‘campaign bills’ (i.e., bills drafted for the main purpose featuring during reelection ads and promotions) that either did nothing to help ease the economic malaise overshadowing the U.S. business climate, or should be left to the states.

Additionally, Klobuchar’s campaign message of ‘working across the aisle,’ which is intended to win over independents, moderate Republicans, and freedom-haters who want a bigger federal government, contradicts her glaringly transparent record of voting lock-step with her big-government, don’t-worry-just-give-us-your-money-and-we’ll-make-all-your-decisions-for-you Democrat party 91% of the time. In fact, Klobuchar proudly cast her vote for Obamacare, which recently cost an announced 300 Minnesotan’s their jobs as Minnesota-based Saint Jude Medical Company reorganized in an attempt to offset the approximately $60 million in new Obamacare taxes set to begin scraping away their margins in 2014 (not to mention the countless other jobs that will be shed as the bill’s event horizon approaches).

Klobuchar also repeatedly voted to increase the debt ceiling (an action that contributed to the historic downgrade of the United States’ public debt by the Standards & Poors rating agency), voted against a Farm Bill amendment that would have limited taxpayer subsidies to only those farmers earning less than $250,000 per year, and voted against the energy-independence-promoting and job-creating Keystone XL Pipeline project. [For a more thorough list of Klobuchar’s dismal record in the senate, The Laissez Faire has compiled a table included at the end of this article highlighting the Senator’s selected legislative actions juxtaposed to the point-in-time U.S. National Debt and Unemployment Rate.]

The 2012 U.S. Senate race in Minnesota will begin intensifying as November nears. Klobuchar, the de facto Washington insider, has in excess of $5 million of cash on hand. Her largest contributions came from lawyers, who make their living helping their clients navigate the labyrinth of regulations imposed by lawmakers, and the anti-baby organization EMILY’s List, which works to promote female candidates who share their vision of allowing individuals to be stripped of their right to life before they can even speak for themselves.

Other notable contributors to Klobuchar’s 2012 campaign fund include American Adhesives, Inc., the leading U.S. manufacturer of the red-colored adhesive tape that has been tangling business owners for generations; the controversial Vamp-PAC, a committee dedicated to electing candidates who favor federal relief to vampires; and FullMoonRisingPAC, a committee dedicated to supporting candidates who share their vision of equal rights for werewolves at home and abroad.

Klobuchar also recently stole endorsements from the typically conservative Minnesota Farm Bureau and two Minnesota business leaders, who have apparently been glamoured by Klobuchar’s supernatural operatives. The trend-breaking Minnesota Farm Bureau endorsement may be explained by Klobuchar’s vote against Senator Rand Paul’s (R-KY) amendment to the 2012 Farm Bill that would have limited taxpayer subsidies to only those farmers earning less than $250,000 per year…that or the endorsing committee was higher than the U.S. debt-to-GDP ratio during the endorsement decision making process.

The two noted business leaders, Bill Hawkins, former CEO of Obamacare victim and medical device giant Medtronic, and Paul Walser, CEO of Minnesota-based Walser Automotive, each have their own reasons to be cheerleading for Klobuchar. Hawkins attributed his praise of the Senator to her recent work to try to reduce a new medical device tax. Yes, the same medical device tax born from the Obamacare legislation that Klobuchar proudly voted for in the first place…Mr. Hawkins must have missed that memo.

Paul Walser’s endorsement is apparently a quid-pro-quo for the ‘personal attention’ Klobuchar gave to the Minnesota dealership group when Walser was appealing then-government owned General Motors Corporation’s decision to terminate a franchise agreement with one of Walser’s dealership locations. Nothing says crony-capitalism like inserting a legislator into the equation of two market participants, especially with the influences the government must have had with the recent taxpayer funded bail out of General Motors Corporation.

Fortunately, Minnesota voters who are not crony-capitalist CEOs, super-rich farmers, or sympathizers with/members of the make-believe monster community have a choice this election cycle. Kurt Bills, an articulate and dapper economics phenom has emerged as the Republican challenger to Klobuchar’s cozy Senate seat. Bills is a first-term state legislator and high school teacher of advanced economics at a public high school in Rosemount, Minnesota, a suburb of the Twin Cities. And contrasting Klobuchar’s philosophy that ‘everything will be better if we just legislate individual decisions from Washington,’ Bills believes that the best people to make decisions for Minnesota citizens are the Minnesota citizens themselves.

Bills offers a stark contrast for Minnesota voters in many other dimensions. Bills is a high school economics teacher and small business owner, and was never a partner with two prominent law firms. Bills believes that the people, not government, create jobs. Bills opposes the job-killing Obamacare legislation, and would never have voted for such government overreach. Bills stands behind his freedom-rooted principles, and is more than just a popular name with a killer hot dish recipe whose vote simply follows the party leadership suggested positions. And lastly, Bills has never discussed teen sci-fi romance during any legislative hearings whatsoever.

Hence, Kurt Bills.

The following list summarizes select bills sponsored by creepy crawly Klobuchar juxtaposed to the U.S. National Debt and Unemployment Rate, revealing her disconnect from the current economic woes facing the United States.
Date Bill Brief Description U.S. National Debt ($) U.S. Unemployment Rate (%)
9/13/2012 S. 3542 (112th): A bill to authorize the Assistant Secretary of Homeland Security (Transportation   Security Administration)… A bill to authorize the   Assistant Secretary of Homeland Security (Transportation Security   Administration) to modify screening requirements for checked baggage arriving   from preclearance airports, and for other purposes.

$16,045,678,692,730.60

*

6/20/2012 S. 3319 (112th): A bill to amend the National Trails System Act to revise the route … Amends the National Trails System Act to revise the route of the North Country National Scenic Trail to be the one contained in the Department of the Interior description “North Country National Scenic Trail, Authorized Route”

15,777,954,587,181.90

8.2

12/1/2011 S. 1939 (112th): Broadband  Conduit Deployment Act of 2011 A bill to amend title 23,   United States Code, to direct the Secretary of Transportation to require that broadband conduits be installed as part of certain highway construction   projects, and for other purposes.

15,088,441,787,407.60

8.5

11/30/2011 S. 1928 (112th): Stalkers Act of 2011 A bill to provide criminal penalties for stalking.

15,110,498,560,876.70

8.7

10/4/2011 S. 1653 (112th):   International Tourism Facilitation Act A bill to make minor   modifications to the procedures relating to the issuance of visas.

14,856,859,498,405.70

8.9

3/17/2011 S. 625 (112th): A bill to amend title 23, United States Code, to incorporate regional transportation   planning organizations into statewide transportation planning, and for other purposes. Requires states, at a minimum, to cooperate with affected nonmetropolitan local officials responsible for transportation through regional transportation planning organizations to develop and implement long-range statewide transportation plans and statewide transportation improvement programs, with emphasis on addressing the transportation needs of nonmetropolitan areas of the state.

14,223,730,274,180.80

8.9

5/24/2010 S. 3397 (111th): Secure and   Responsible Drug Disposal Act of 2010 A bill to amend the   Controlled Substances Act to provide for take-back disposal of controlled   substances in certain instances, and for other purposes.

12,989,095,409,531.00

9.6

3/15/2010 S. 3110 (111th): Broadband Service Consumer Protection Act A bill to improve consumer protection for purchasers of broadband services by requiring consistent use   of broadband service terminology by providers, requiring clear and   conspicuous disclosure to consumers about the actual broadband speed that may   reasonably be expected, and for other purposes.

12,636,662,956,140.00

9.8

12/3/2009 S. 2825 (111th): Cell Phone Early Termination Fee, Transparency, and Fairness Act A bill to require cell   phone early termination fees to be pro-rated over the term of a subscriber’s   contract, and for other purposes.

12,087,361,675,014.70

9.9

10/28/2009 S. 1988 (111th): A bill to suspend temporarily the duty on certain bamboo vases. Amends the Harmonized   Tariff Schedule of the United States to suspend temporarily the duty on   certain bamboo vases.

11,893,668,881,089.00

10.0

9/24/2009 S. 1708 (111th): Student Attendance Success Act of 2009 A bill to establish a grant   program to prevent truancy, and for other purposes.

11,770,679,815,806.10

9.8

10/1/2008 S. 3666 (110th): Copper Theft Prevention Act of 2008 A bill to require certain   metal recyclers to keep records of their transactions in order to deter individuals and enterprises engaged in theft and interstate fencing of stolen copper, and for other purposes.

10,124,225,067,127.60

6.5

7/31/2007 S. 1905 (110th): Regional Presidential Primary and Caucus Act of 2007 Divides the United States   into four regions of specified states (including the District of Columbia)   for holding presidential primaries/caucuses in each presidential election   year.

8,932,438,299,899.54

4.7

7/16/2007 S. 1791 (110th): Biodiesel Education and Expansion Act of 2007 A bill to amend the Farm   Security and Rural Investment Act of 2002 to reauthorize, and increase   funding for, the biodiesel fuel education program.

8,886,560,061,162.27

4.7

5/15/2007 S. 1403 (110th):   Farm-to-Fuel Investment Act of 2007 A bill to amend the Farm   Security and Rural Investment Act of 2002 to provide incentives for the   production of bioenergy crops.

8,803,253,918,300.67

4.4

5/14/2007 S. 1387 (110th): Federal Greenhouse Gas Registry Act of 2008 States as the purpose of   this Act the establishment of a federal greenhouse gas registry. Requires an   affected facility to submit to the Administrator of the Environmental Protection Agency (EPA), for inclusion in the greenhouse gas registry, periodic reports, including annual and quarterly data. Authorizes the Administrator to bring a civil action against the owner or operator of an   affected facility that fails to comply with the requirements of this Act.   Imposes a civil penalty of not more than $25,000 per day for each violation   of this Act.

8,819,697,851,326.45

4.4

* Unemployment data not yet released

Sources for above datapoints:

Legislation and Summaries: http://www.govtrack.us/
U.S. National Debt: http://www.treasurydirect.gov/
Unemployment Rate: http://data.bls.gov/

Crossposted at TruthInJest

Why I Love Barack Obama

i-love-obama

I’ve received complaints about being too hard on President Obama, since he is an exceptionally nice guy, likable, kind-hearted, and well-intentioned to boot.

So let me do my best to fashion a love letter to Barack Obama, the way the majority of Americans would have it.

Barack, I love that you always follow through with your promises. Like closing Guantanamo Bay, ending extraordinary rendition, terminating the “war on terror” (even though you are fighting for the indefinite detention provision of NDAA), not using drones to kill innocent women and children, and not unconstitutionally declaring wars against foreign countries like Libya.

I love how you respond to foreign policy crises with skill and aplomb. Like how you visit the countries of our closest allies, for example Israel, and not insult our relationship with Britain by giving their heads of state cheesy gifts, or returning cherished gifts to them, not bowing to foreign heads of state, not blaming others for our embassies getting stormed, or giving foreign aid to nations run by terrorist groups that want to destroy Israel. I love how you schmooze with dictators and have a blame America first instinct.

I love how you play golf, skip more than half of intelligence meetings, leak our intel secrets to make yourself look good, claim credit for the Seals’ killing of bin laden over and over again, use the word “I” repeatedly, stammer constantly, can’t give a speech without a teleprompter, make a big deal out of your NCAA brackets, go on Letterman and hobnob with celebrities when you should be doing other things, skip out on jobs briefings for months on end… I love it all. And I love you.

I love how the tides have lowered, race relations have healed, and our entire country is making “progress” while being fundamentally transformed. I love how you say that we are in a recovery when part-time jobs are taking the place of full-time ones, your administration has netted only 100,000 jobs, and the middle class bled over 40% of its wealth. I love how we are at 8% or more unemployment for 43 months and you claim that as a success. Not to mention real unemployment is something like 20%. You saved us from 50% unemployment and a 100% loss of wealth. Like you said, “you didn’t build that.” Thanks for humbling us.

I used to be a fool, thinking that I loved America as it was founded. Constitutionally limited government, liberty, and free market prosperity. I loved that we used to declare wars only when they were declared on us, way back before the progressive era. I loved that we were respected for being the land of the free and the home of the brave.

But now I see that was all wrong. I loved a lie.

I love Barack Obama.

Author’s Note: For most of the documentation to these claims, see here.

Workers of the World, Let’s Exploit the Rich!

wowguild

Blaine Dabbley, Emerson College branch of the Private College Socialists of America, as recorded in the 31st Internationale’s weekly minutes.

While greedy corporatists count their record-breaking profits, we proletarian have been scheming in the shadows, trying to devise a way to exploit the oligarchs who rule this fascist hellhole.

And the answer is going to shock and surprise you: we are going to work for personal profit!

Sounds too crazy to work? Runs contrary to every Marxist principle that we hold dear? Wait, dear comrades, before you turn me in to the internal thought police.

As we sit in the drudgery of our parents’ basements, racking up tokens on World of Warcraft, the thought suddenly arises — what are we getting out of this tremendous expenditure of energy?

Hours of amusement in our whitey tighties, to be sure. But what about the big picture? When do we get ours?

The answer is stark and beautiful in its social justice: We exploit the rich.

How you say? Let me explain my scheme in full detail.

We are currently whiling away the hours wasting our effort on fruitless endeavors, such as slaying orcs in the mystical land of Azeroth. What if we took those hours of living in fantasy land, and employ our labor in reality?

This is the good part: We can take rich people’s money by offering them the hours we would otherwise spend pointlessly spending video games, and in the process, we learn a trade or a craft in real life!

Sure, we would start out like noobs. I mean, what should a Level 1 cashier with 5 dexterity make in dollar tokens, compared to a Level 3 Assistant Manager who can actually delete a can of corn from the receipt without starting the checkout line procedure over again?

(That reminds me, I need some choom and Spicy Doritos. I’ll have my mom pick some up nachos later and float me a twenty until my plot comes to fruition.)

Anyway, so I was saying, we would totally exploit these rich bastards by getting them to trade us cash for time we would otherwise spend doing nothing. Okay, not nothing. Conquering a Level 27 Wyvern together did have its merits.

But didn’t you guys see that the new Call of Duty is coming out? My mom says she’s not going to entertain my socialist ramblings anymore and that I’m going to have to pay for it myself. I know, I know. She’s totally on the rag.

That got me to thinking. Just six hours spent at the local Supermart bagging groceries instead of playing Wow would totally cover my Call of Duty price. And then I wouldn’t have to beg my mom to drop me a fifty. We’re having hard enough time making bills as it is – the capitalist system being so heartless and corrupt.

Think of it this way: We would be profiting with our labor, and taking money out of the pockets of fat cats to boot! Sweet revenge!

So who’s with me? Who is up for exploiting the rich? When do we begin this revolution of returning money back to its rightful owners?

World of Warcraft players of the world unite!

President Obama Endorses Mitt Romney

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In a move sure to shock the country, President Obama has endorsed Mitt Romney. At an impromptu press conference held at the Waialae Country Club in Honolulu, Hawaii, the president, leaning on a nine iron and slurping intermittently on a cherry-lime Italian Ice, gushed about the former Massachusetts Governor’s qualifications for president.

“Mitt’s got a hell of a lot of experience, I’ll be frank,” Mr. Obama opened, decked out in a bright white Polo and baggy khaki shorts. “Let’s face it, he has more executive experience than I did when I assumed office, and believe me, that would have been handy.”

An awkward pause punctuated the odd remark, until it became noticeable the president’s eyes were tracking the closed captioning of a CNN report by Wolf Blitzer on the muted club house television. Obama suddenly snapped out of his trance and continued the press conference.

“Mitt has a record of working with Democrats in the state of Massachusetts, and we think that is an admirable trait for a member of the opposition party,” Obama remarked and chortled with a sparkle in his eye.

Without warning, Obama picked up his club and started walking back to his golf cart, a titanium-plated behemoth known affectionately as the mini-tank. A gaggle of secret service men seemed to appear from out of nowhere. One popped out of a trash can, a camouflaged one stepped out from in front of a Coke machine, and the short order cook threw off his apron and precipitously tossed the spatula as he sprang over the counter. The entire press corps, mics, cameras and all, moved in unison, like a pack of gazelles, to follow the president’s trek to the back nine.

“I mean, think about it,” Obama said over his left shoulder, “We’ve got a man who’s far and wide considered a moderate, and one I hope will do nothing to touch my radical agenda. Have you seen my approval numbers? Sure, they’re up now. But most people think the country’s on the wrong track and government’s too big and intrusive. Bringing a status quo Republican into the fold would make my transformational program look sensible, like there’s no legitimate dissent to what the Barack has been cooking.”

Cheerily, the president hopped into the back of his mini-tank, and motioned for the chauffeur to drive forward. Dozens of journalists ran as fast as they could to keep up.

“If you were me, who would you pick to be president?” Obama said behind him. “Besides, I’ve got better things to do than be the leader of a measly country I’m not even a citizen of.”

With that numerous producers gave the throat slash signal to their reporters not to pursue any questioning further.

“Chauffeur, stop.”

Obama climbed out of the mini-tank and grabbed a driver handed to him by his bagboy. The reporters huffed and puffed to keep up. They finally arrived and stuck microphones and cameras in his face.

“To tell you the truth,” he said. “I can’t even look at myself in the mirror anymore without thinking that maybe I’m not this godlike figure I’ve been hyped up to be.”

A tear began to trickle down his left cheek, but he brushed it away with his golf-gloved hand. But then a devilish grin appeared on one side of his face, like he knew a secret no one else was in on.

He walked over to the tee, ball waiting on it, and took a hard swing. The ball started off nearly straight, but then sliced hard.

As he came back to the reporters, he did an exceptionally odd thing. He stopped in front of the mini-tank and smoothed his shorts. Then he emphatically took two big steps forward. He stopped again, and then took one step back.

Obama climbed into the back of the mini-tank and waved goodbye, as he rode into the Hawaiian sunset.

Author’s note: The above is satire. It is a fictionalized account intended to elucidate certain ideas and principles by taking them to absurd lengths. It is not intended to be taken literally.

You Didn’t Write That!

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After reflecting the other day on an especially magnificent post that I had just completed, just as my pride was about to develop into smug self-satisfaction, Obama’s voice came ringing into my head with that mortifying god echo of his:

“You didn’t write that!”

At first I was indignant, but then duly chastized. The more I reflected upon it, the more I realized that I was not responsible for one iota of the entire eloquent, masterfully crafted piece.

The Obama angel on my left shoulder pleaded with the individualist, pro-capitalist devil on my right:

“If you were successful, somebody along the line gave you some help.  There was a great teacher somewhere in your life. Somebody helped to create this unbelievable American system that we have that allowed you to thrive.  Somebody invested in roads and bridges. If you’ve got a business. you didn’t build that. Somebody else made that happen. The Internet didn’t get invented on its own. Government research created the Internet so that all the companies could make money off the Internet.”

Indeed, I thought soberly, owning up to the pittance of humility and insignificance apropos for a measly government ward like myself, I wasn’t responsible for a single positive thing in my life.

  • Had I invented the Internet? No, Al Gore did that.
  • Did I manufacture the keyboard, the monitor, the mouse? The government allowed HP to do that.
  • What of the software, the operating system? That fellow creature of omnipotent government Bill Gates had developed that.

Then again, what had I accomplished on my own in my life?

  • My parents raised me since I was helpless in the womb, and nourished me, clothed me, and housed me. And munificently, the Department of Health & Human Services deemed they were fit enough to keep me.
  • The “public” educated me to a moderate level throughout high school, and kept open the libraries in which I foolishly believed I was remedying my ignorance.
  • Farmers grew and raised the food on which I so greedily noshed, and . . .

Why stop with these mere material manifestations of my environ?

  • Had I invented the English language that was channeled through my neurons, automaton-like, within the confines of my prefrontal cortex and thence to my motor neurons and down to my furiously typing fingers?
  • What of time and space itself? Was I responsible for these aspects of existence?
  • Did I found America?

No, the government magnanimously allowed all these things to exist for me. “What hasn’t the Obama regime done for me?” is a better question to muse upon than merely wondering about what I had accomplished in the life that I thought I was leading.

If the government chose, it could end everything for me. It could close the roads on which I traveled past shuttered businesses. It could shut down the DMV, which makes automobile travel permissible. It could remove the TSA, meaning all aircraft would be beset by bomb-wielding terrorists.

It could stop healthcare, meaning we could all die of plague and disease, and need the government to save us. How grateful would we be to Obama for that?

Looking back upon my post, I see that it doesn’t quite meet my standards. In fact, it might be perceived as outrageous or even inflammatory. Why, some might even say that I was being flippant with a man who has taken himself out of context.

But don’t blame me. I didn’t write that.

Congratulations! You’ve Just Been Annexed.

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The Obama administration has been thinking out of the Constitutional box as of late. The State Department has masterminded a way to recoup the costs of financing welfare state amenities for the underdeveloped South due to our open border policies: start annexing countries outright.

Numerous South American and Latin American dictators woke up in their pajamas to a cup of real 100% Columbian coffee and a message from the State Department: You’ve got mail.

After clicking through the banner suggesting donations for Obama’s re-election campaign, the tin despots encountered the following message:

Congratulations! You’ve just been annexed.

Now, there’s nothing more you need to do. Statewide elections for representatives to the House of Representatives and Senate will begin in five days. Your receipt of this email is confirmation of your immediate resignation.

We would appreciate a kind word endorsing the Democrat Party (just saying).

You see, we expect to have our House held hostage by the Republican Party after our own November elections, and we need all the help we can to restore the government to the people. The Senate is likewise in danger of being captured by the authoritarian GOP party, and we need your two seats to maintain the status quo of transformational change. Consider this an act of liberating your people, if you will.

Kindly transfer all treasury funds by check or money order to Hillary Clinton c/o The State Department, USA (we sent half of it to you to begin with).

Your population now has a pathway to American citizenship, and for that your lawless and corrupt government should be thankful.

Warmest regards, Hillary

P.S. Obama/Biden 2012, Clinton/Wasserman-Schultz 2016

P.S.S. Dilma, if you see my husband in Rio on behalf of the CGI, please do keep an eye on him (and don’t try any funny business).

Ironically, there are now officially 57 states, with one left to go.

Author’s note: The above is satire. It is a fictionalized account intended to elucidate certain ideas and principles by taking them to absurd lengths. It is not intended to be taken literally.

Occupy Movement Shouts “May Day!”

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Field reporting by Blaine Dabbley, embedded guerrilla journalist in the Occupy movement’s twelfth brigade and sophomore student in Film Studies at Emerson College, writing for the Sentinel Dispatch.

It was a rude awakening Tuesday morning when my roommate Seth put his size eleven boot squarely in my jaw. I lay prone and drooling on my unicorn sleeping blanket, unsuspecting of the tirade that was to come.

Stomping around the dorm and thumping his chest like a gorilla, mad as a silver back finally able to grab a hold of some picture-snapping Japanese tourist, my testosterone-saturated roommate proceeded to frogstomp me into a near coma. He kept rambling on about “Call of Duty 4!” while spouting off certain unsavory sexual terms that shall be left unsaid, since they are part of a hate speech suit I intend to bring. It seems the stupid, closed-minded fool couldn’t realize that I had done him a favor by scratching his disk! The game obviously promoted America’s neo-imperialist wars of aggression, which were still being waged against the poor brown-skinned peoples of the Middle East despite President Obama’s best efforts.

But the worst part was when Seth snatched me up by my freshly glittered bronytail, which I had dyed with impressive streaks of pink and powder blue for the “May Day” rally. I had gotten the idea while cowering in the corner the night before as Seth and his drunken friends vagazzaled his girlfriend Lisa for her birthday. It actually came out quite nice.

In a huff, I grabbed my dufflebag and my trampled pride and hit the road. The open road south reminded me of the potentialities of becoming the next great American writer, perhaps the next Jack Kerouac or even a Matt Taibbi. If my beat coverage of the courageous Occupy Movement could stir the apathetic and ignorant public to save our democracy, I wouldn’t believe my life was a total waste.

Entering the city, the crisp morning air was suddenly roiling with the rusty brown vapors of exhaust. It smelled like war in my mind, as I sat in crawling traffic on the Tappan Zee bridge. I felt invincible cranking up the visceral stylings of the authentic punk rock band Green Day, and I devoured its anti-corporate message.

Finally arriving in lower Manhattan around noon, my Occupy brethren were already there in full force. I could see my friends Janet, Wilson, Mary, and Christopher on the street corner, holding the signs “We are the 99 percent,” “This is What Democracy Looks Like!” and “You Don’t Speak for Us, Corporate Media!” We met near a Java Joe’s near Zuccotti, which was a really bad idea since we were all jonesing for cappuccinos and forgot about the national strike. We decided to strike for an hour as a sign of solidarity and grab a few to go — but no espresso today. This was war.

We struck up a conversation with some homeless people nearby and asked them if they wanted to join the rally. They didn’t seem to like us much, however. When they asked us for some change, we told them that was exactly what we were working for — change. We informed them that under our proposed system, they would never have to beg for money or food again. They scoffed at us and shuffled down the sidewalk. My friends and I weren’t sure what we said wrong.

As we stumbled onto the city street, fully recaffeinated and recharged, the Black Bloc anarchists showed up. They were looking all badass like the shock troop cavalry had just arrived at Thermopylae. They were armed with billy clubs and we were armed with blue tooth headsets. We made a formidable pairing.

The sirens were blaring and the mounted police showed up. And still we pressed on. The anarchists were determined to take down the business establishment and the clash with police loomed like an irresistible force soon to meet an immovable object. They marched like a herd of rhinos, seemingly sharing one mind, over to ransack the coffee shop we had just visited.

This presented a moral dilemma: do we join in out of principle or abstain because we enjoyed our delicious beverages? After a unanimous show of up twinkles, we decided to tag along. Seeking an explanation from the anarchist leadership, I wiggled loose my digital recording equipment and approached with caution.

We picked up our signs and were ready to join the fray when almost immediately skirmishing broke out between Occupy and some tea party rabble that had shown up to harass us. The insolent bastards were throwing diapers and pacifiers at us, yelling some drivel that it was time to grow up. But they didn’t know that we were going to tell our black bloc brethren!

Suddenly, a huge guy with a nose ring and prison tats showed up with a brick, ready to bash the skull in of one redneck ‘tea party mom,’ until a female police officer jumped in his way. He smashed her in the helmet and lunged at the teabaggers, but then a dreaded tazer struck the goliath in the hamstring. After a few zaps and a disgusting odor of smoke, the man was felled like a mighty oak. (For those who would like to contribute to his legal defense fund, please contact me below.)

And then there was silence. The sight of a human toppling like a Jenga set was enough to put the fear into our circle of comrades. We immediately burst out into a rousing chorus of “Kumbaya” as Wilson thumped admirably on his moroccan drums. But the black bloc crew wanted no part of it. They continued on towards the local business establishments, like a giant blob sharing one centralized brain. We were in awe.

I ran into the volatile mix while my friends stood in shock. My second-hand army field jacket rustled in the wind, as I disregarded the tear gas, the piercing sirens, and the police bullhorns and ran up to a brute wearing a Guy Fawkes mask. “Today, what are we fighting for?!” I yelled. Pushing my mic into his face for comment, all I could get at first was “Hmmmph!”

I instructed the man to take off his mask and I asked him again. Just then he ran full steam into the plexiglass window of the store, bouncing off without even cracking it. Meanwhile, several of his comrades found the door and wrested it open from the store manager before he could lock it. The faces of the yuppies sipping their coffees as the black bloc army sought to smash this vestige of the capitalist system was truly priceless.

But before the brigade could bring this heartless expression of our cruel system to its knees, the agents of the one percent showed up to crush our grand aspirations. It was us against them. Occupy against the world. Compassion against the capitalist system. And as the raid came down upon us with full force, the pigs tying our hands behind our backs, we swore that this would not be the last they had seen from us. We will never die out. We can never be silenced.

This is what was rushing through my mind when I detected the faint sound of people laughing overhead. Lifting my chin to look up at an assembly of gawkers, it appeared several policemen had gathered around me. They were just standing there, sipping coffee, munching on donuts. Were they laughing at me?

After they snapped a few pictures with their digital cameras, cluelessly mocking my super-trendy hairstyle without any appreciation of its deeper cultural significance, they untied me and let me go. But not before one of them planted a boot in my ass, with a hearty gusto not even my roommate Seth could match.

Occupy will have its revenge. Oh yes, we will have our revenge. You can bet on it.

Author’s note: The above is satire. It is a fictionalized account intended to elucidate certain ideas and principles by taking them to absurd lengths. It is not intended to be taken literally.

Kyle Becker blogs at RogueGovernment, and can be followed on Twitter as @RogueOperator1. He writes freelance for several publications, including American Thinker and OwntheNarrative, and is a regular commentator on the late night talk show TB-TV.

President Obama’s State of the Planet Address

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In honor of Earth Day scheduled for April 22, 2012, President Obama delivered a speech before the 12th meeting of the IPCC, entitled “The World Without a Tomorrow: Why We Need Global Governance Now More Than Ever Before Manmade Climate Change Destroys Us All.” The following is a transcript of the president’s remarks:

Distinguished members of the United Nations Intraglobal Panel on Climate Confidence, members of the Political Bureau of Environmental Affairs, herbivores, omnivores, honorable flora, fauna, microbial life forms, and residents of the United States

We stand here now, on the third anniversary of our sacred refounding, persons of diverse colors and genders – men, women, transsexuals, hermaphrodites all – united in one vision to bring forth from the bowels of history, one utopian dream, one audacious hope for all life on this planet, to usher in the progress of real change.

Together as one, looking forward to a brighter tomorrow, one of darkness, one of… collapsing industrial infrastructure, abandoned oil refineries, and out-of-business coal plants, until one day, one glorious day, America’s Atlantic seaboard will resemble a night satellite picture of the grand experiment once known as the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea. May Supreme Leader Kim rest in peace.

There are some who will doubt us. Heck, some may even mock us a little. But it is the calling of each and every generation to get behind the people and to push forward repeatedly until they are excited enough to get beyond the quaint and antiquated ways of their ancestors, to dismiss the old pieces of paper that enslave us to the past, so that we may accomplish the historic task of fundamentally transforming this world the way that we, as one people, see fit.

To realize our grand vision of a post-industrial society demands the complete replacement of our economy of yesterday with a leaner, greener one. That is why I propose a bold new energy strategy for the United States, one that you think you might have heard before but is actually a little bit different this time – one incorporating windmills, waterwheels, and yes, even steam power. We must get beyond the old way of thinking that says nuclear energy is the way of the future. We must not fall prey to the temptation that argues that drilling offshore and on American soil are solutions to our ongoing addiction to foreign oil. We must forgo even the empty promise of natural gas, which, though our critics claim it is a “clean” source of energy, is yet just another form of the poisonous carbon gas we can ill afford to be monkeying around with.

If I might respond to those who say that they have freezed their keisters off since the onset of the so-called “Little Ice Age,” which I might point out is a direct consequence of the now over-fulfilled consensus of manmade global climate change, no one said it was going to be easy. But if we can get the markets, the banks, and the entrepreneurs to get out of the way, our government can accomplish anything we set your minds to.

Right now the government is dispensing billions and billions of dollars in grants to companies to develop energy technologies that might be called too “inefficient,” “expensive,” or “unreliable” to cut it in what is left of the marketplace. But I’m not going to accept that way of thinking. We might have had a little rocky period, a four year-long recession that is undoubtedly the fault of my predecessor, but the economy is well on the way to recovery. Now there have been some grumblings about a ‘jobless recovery,” which has led to unexpectedly high real unemployment of say, fifteen to (unintelligible) percent – but help is on the way.

Just this year, we hope to create or save tens of millions of jobs by hiring all the young, enthusiastic people of our nationwide mandatory GreenCorpse… ummm, I think there might be a typo there… to promote our green jobs programs, to pick up the litter that plagues our highways and national parks, and simply by not crushing what little industry remains left. Those companies who want to continue to do business are going to have to do it according to our terms, and hell, if they kick a little back to a Democrat in need, they may even be allowed to keep a greenback or two.

Now some have called this fascism. Let me be clear. A meek and conservative form of fascism was tried under FDR and it failed to reach the kind of results we are looking for. No, we are looking to create a new form of superfascism that not only incorporates all aspects of the national economy, but looks to fuse it all together under the umbrella of global governance, while meeting the challenges of addressing the spectre of climate change. Let me now speak to this crucial issue, which is of such vital importance to ourselves, our children, the planet, and of course, polar bears.

To those who think we can continue the status quo of climate change, let me just say that the time for delay is over. If we are going to overcome this perpetual crisis, we are going to have to think big. That is why why we must once again raise the global carbon tax, to regulate excess temperatures out of existence. We might even see a day when the world’s temperature is permanently set on a slightly warm but temperate 72 degrees. Of course, we can argue whether or not it should be 68 degrees. Democracy can be messy.

Our critics will say that we are dreaming impossibly big dreams. They may say they’re humongous or even ginormous. But let there be no doubt. The failure of their imaginations must not lead to the crisis of our consciences. We must move forward, with all the certainty of a moral crusade, to lead the world to complete climatelessness and environmental homeostasis by the end of this decade. The consequences are too grave to neglect. The death of the old order, and the rebirth of a new dawn, with or without man, requires courage and sacrifice. These are extraordinary times.

All species, since the beginning of time, have struggled with the ever-present threat of climate change. We human beings, along with the complete effort of all animals, from the three-toed sloth to the ring-tailed bandicoot, from the humpback whale to the duckbill platypus, must now work together to make worldwide climate equality a reality. And if that makes everything and everyone room temperature, then that is the bold mission that lays ahead. Are you in?

Author’s note: The above is satire. It is a fictionalized account intended to elucidate certain ideas and principles by taking them to absurd lengths. It is not intended to be taken literally.

Kyle Becker blogs at RogueGovernment, and can be followed on Twitter as @RogueOperator1. He writes freelance for several publications, including American Thinker and OwntheNarrative, and is a regular commentator on the late night talk show TB-TV.

Obama’s Third Bill of Rights

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President Barack Obama, Chairing the 33rd Progressive Internationale held at the “United Nations,” delivered a speech in which he declared a Third Bill of Rights:

“We brothers in equality cannot be content, no matter how high or low the standard of living, if some fraction of our people—whether it be one-third or one thousandth or one millionth — is independent and self-reliant, and therefore, unappreciative and resistant to change.

This Social Democracy had its beginning, and grew to its present strength, under the protection of certain government-granted rights—among them the right to non-offensive speech, a servile and uniform press, a speedy trial in the court of public opinion, and the security that comes from non-stop surveillance, random searches, and confiscatory seizures. These were the privileges of our servitude and obeisance. And all was well — for a while.

As the people declined in pride and vigor, however—as our hollowed-out economy mysteriously imploded, no doubt due to saboteurs —these guarantees proved inadequate to ensure the equality so vital to our prosperity.

We have come to a clear realization that social freedom cannot exist without government dependence and thus, democratic empowerment. Independent men are not free men. People who hunger for freedom and a life outside the dictates of government are the stuff of which fascist reaction is made.

But we understand now that some people are getting anxious that the dream of our progressive forefathers might go unfulfilled. Lest anyone should doubt that government can deliver the goods, the following pledge is being made to the citizens of the world.

In our day, these economic truths have become self-evident. We have accepted, so to speak, a Third Bill of Rights under which a new basis of service and security can be established for all—regardless of station, race, creed, sexuality, gender, ethnicity, girth, skin tone, or transgender status.

Among these are:

The right to an unproductive job in one of the many departments or services or offices or bureaus or agencies of the government;

The right to earn enough to eat Chinese take-out every night, if that is what one should so desire, or to buy an expensive overcoat, or to spend 90% of one’s time being entertained;

The right for every bureaucrat to regulate the labor of the citizenry as he or she should see fit, in order that the goals of equality and efficiency can be attained;

The right of every policeman to carry out his or her duty to the state in freedom from resistance;

The right of every community to commandeer and enlist every child in the service of the public good;

The right of doctors and nurses to provide medical care to anyone with any illness without rationing and without respect to cost in terms of time, manpower, and technology;

The right to open-ended insurance to gird our good citizens against old age, sickness, accident, unemployment, and death, regardless of what each citizen puts into the economy;

The right to a state education adequate enough to inform the citizen of his or her own self-interest.

All of these rights spell happiness. And after our war against inequality is won, and all the casualties of human opposition removed from our eyes and the history books, we must be prepared to move forward, in the implementation of these rights, to new goals of servitude and sacrifice.

We must be prepared to give up our lives, our fortunes, our sacred honor, and even our country itself, to ascend to our rightful station as a first among equals; and to realize the honor the world for whom we sacrifice for has prepared for us, and to march forward, in harmony with the all-knowing and all-good State, to the very end of history.

Author’s note: The above is satire. It is a fictionalized account intended to elucidate certain ideas and principles by taking them to absurd lengths. It is not intended to be taken literally.

Kyle Becker blogs at RogueGovernment, and can be followed on Twitter as @RogueOperator1. He writes freelance for several publications, including American Thinker and BeatObamaPac, and is a regular commentator on the late night talk show TB-TV.

Welcome Back, Carter: A Post-Comatose Democrat Awakens to the Obama Administration

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Shuffling into the office at the Institute for Anthropological Research, the smell of musty, acrid yellow-paged tomes filled my nostrils. My flat-soled penny loafers skid over the linoleum tile as my cumbersome feet sought to find the ground beneath me after each step. In my right hand, a tripod walker guided me in to see my colleagues, Ray and Laura, who were sitting on opposite sides of the room pecking away on their laptops.

A slab of light peeked through the windowshades onto Laura’s glasses, which tinted for a moment as she turned and rose, an amiable smile hung awkwardly on her cherubic face.  A shaggy black-haired professor dressed in an olive green turtleneck sweater followed suit soon after her. It was Ray.

“Michael!” they burst as I set down my half-filled Saddleback book bag on an oaken table. They came to give me a hug, but I had to wave them off, lest I fell once again.

“Please, please,” I made out, “I’m a little precarious on my feet, so forgive me for taking a raincheck on the hearty embraces.”

“Of course,” Laura said with a half-smile on her face, not personally hurt so much as wounded at seeing me in such a dilapidated state.

“Before we continue further, I’d like to talk to both of you,” I said, and detected a bit of trembling in my voice. “Do sit down.”

We all took a seat around a lowered round table, surrounded by shiny black upholstered couches.

“May I get you some chamomile tea?” Ray asked in polite upspeak.

“No… thank you,” I answered, wanting to get right to the point. “What can you tell me about what happened before — the accident?”

“Why, that was nearly eleven years ago,” Laura said, and then stopped for a moment to think. “It was right after the Patriot Act was signed…”

“After the September 11th attacks?” I asked to confirm.

“Yes, that’s right,” Laura answered and exchanged a strange glance with Ray. “We were talking in the faculty lounge…”

“And I passed out, right?” I asked, pressing to get to any new insight on what happened.

“Why, yes…” she answered tersely.

“It seems to me we were arguing about the former president… Bush. Is that right?” I probed eagerly. They silently nodded their heads.

I stopped and looked at my vein-covered hands. They were already beginning to shake. A bird flew near the window and landed on the sill outside. Pausing for a moment to collect my thoughts, I heard the birds’ wings flap as the creature flitted away.

“I’ve been doing some thinking about that. What if I came out and told you right now that I don’t support the president?”

“Who, Bush?” Ray asked with a laugh. “That’s fine, we don’t support him, either.”

“No,” I stated flatly. “That president has long left office. Unfortunately, his policies are still here. And perhaps even worse.”

“Why, take it easy, Mike,” Laura said with a tender tone of voice, leaning forward to pat my shoulder. “We know it’s been hard, especially since Rebecca left…”

“Leave my ex-wife out of this,” I retorted, barely controlling the strain in my voice at her suggestion. “What about the wars? The debt spending? The violations of civil liberties? Everything we complained about so hotly before the accident? Has anything changed? Why can’t you just respond to what I’ve said? ”

“But, Michael,” Ray responded, “don’t be absurd. We know what happened to you after you awoke from your coma. We know there must have been a lot of stress. We’re willing to put all that behind us. Forge ahead on new ground. We wouldn’t want you to overheat again and pass out…”

“Look,” I stated, now realizing that these people’s opinions were not what mattered any longer, but the integrity of my mind. I had to detach. “This isn’t about me. I just wanted to know what you thought of me not liking where things are going in this country, in the White House, in this college?”

“Well, I don’t know what to say to that, Michael,” Laura replied in a concerned manner, obviously greatly offended. “What has gotten into you? It’s like we don’t know you anymore.”

“I’m tired of feeling ashamed for having my own thoughts, my own mind,” I said.

“Michael,” Laura intoned with her pleading brown eyes. “If you don’t like it here, then maybe you’re not ready to come back. We can talk to the Chair, Dr. Warner, about getting you some sabbatical time…”

“There won’t be any need for that,” I said shortly. “You’ll have my resignation instead.”

The two gasped in shock at the sight of a man rejecting them, turning down their precious offer, burning his career to ashes in the process. They didn’t know whether to condemn him or admire him.

“You leave now, Mike,” Ray said in a cautionary hush, “And we can’t promise we’ll help you come back.”

“I don’t expect you to,” came my firm reply. “Rachel and I are moving to the country. We’re going to buy a nice little vineyard in the Napa valley. I’m going to work all day in the fields and write books about the intellectual dishonesty of academia at night.”

“Oh, c’mon,” Ray asked with a broad smile. “Really, Michael? You come out of the looney bin and can’t adjust to the rigors of academic life, and so you’re going to lash out at us? Because we don’t concur with your every statement? You really have lost it.”

“Maybe so, Ray,” I finally answered, a soothing sense of calm coming over me. “But know I’ll never be held captive to your subjective standards of right and wrong ever again. The irrational group think, the smarmy artificiality, the trifling courtesies, the dry, dusty hell of shared communion among the pathetic disciples of this shopworn liberal religion… you can keep it. I would rather get my hands dirty in the fields than soil my conscience among the meek and pliant intellects I see all around me. Succeed or fail, it will be up to me, and not up to you.”

With that, Rachel appeared at the door, the same charming, mysterious smile on her face that she wore the day I first met her. Out of her nurse’s clothes for good and into her civilian slacks and sweater, the red-haired beauty appeared eager to be on her way. Off into the California sunset, off into the unknown tomorrow where our own vitality and lust for life were the only limits. We were off to see our gorgeous destiny together — brilliant, sunny and glorious — and we pitied the poor bastards who dared to stand in our way.

Author’s note: The above is satire. It is a fictional account intended to elucidate certain ideas and principles by taking them to absurd lengths. It is not intended to be taken literally. This is the fifth and last of a five-part series. Previous installments can be found in “Related Posts.”

Kyle Becker blogs at RogueGovernment, and can be followed on Twitter as @RogueOperator1. He writes freelance for several publications, including American Thinker and BeatObamaPac, and is a regular commentator on the late night talk show TB-TV.

Demz in Da Hood

The entire Democratic House minority has adopted a “wear your hoodie to work” day in solidarity with Congressman Bobbi Rush, who was dragged off the House floor by “da man” after delivering a stirring and extremely lucid speech on the late Trayvon Martin. Rush caused a scandal by breaking House rules on decorum when he sermonized from The Bible while wearing a gray hoodie.

The tragic shooting of Trayvon Martin led to an outcry for justice by those who believe Martin’s shooter Zimmerman was wrongfully released in accordance with Florida’s “Stand Your Ground” law.  According to 9-11 tapes, the neighborhood watchman Zimmerman, who is a Democrat with hispanic heritage, suspected Martin and followed him in part because he was wearing a hoodie and presumably because he was black.

The Democrats issued the press release for the “hoodie day,” which was attained by an anonymous source:

My Democrat brothas and sistas!

Tired of being pushed around by white Republikkkan crackers who think they run this joint? Are we a bunch of House *redacted* to put up with the forcible removal of our brotha Bobbi Rush by the Klan members who run the GOP?

It is time to rise up and speak Truth to Power!

We demand that the Republikkkans back off their thuggish tactics or we will mobilize our allies in the New Black Panther Party, Media Matters and the Southern Poverty Law Center to mount a ferocious campaign condemning them for their actions!

That is, unless the GOP is willing to amend the $3.4 trillion budget just submitted by us compassionate Democrats to the racist, bigoted, hoodiephobic Republikantz by adding a $200 billion remembrance fund, which will be distributed to our non-partisan allies in the media to keep hate crime victims’ memories alive!

Giving the Democrat rebuttal to those “Republican crackerz” who would dare cut off a black man in mid-diatribe will be Maxine Watters, Sheila-Jefferson Lee, and Hammerin’ Hank Jackson.

We cordially invite you to wear your official Obama 2012 gray hoodie in solidarity with Congressman Rush (and Trayvon Martin, of course). All proceeds go toward the re-election of Dear Leader.

With your help, we can defeat racism by taking the fight to the evil white oppressors in the Republikkan party!

Sincerely, Nanci Pelosi

The Republicans plan on holding a moment of silence in the tragic victim’s honor.

Author’s note: The above is satire. It is a fictionalized account intended to elucidate certain ideas and principles by taking them to absurd lengths. It is not intended to be taken literally.

Kyle Becker blogs at RogueGovernment, and can be followed on Twitter as @RogueOperator1. He writes freelance for several publications, including American Thinker and Own the Narrative, and is a regular commentator on the late night talk show TB-TV.

Obama's Energy Plan: Wind, Water & Algae for America's Future

President Obama unveiled his bold new energy strategy today before christening a Fulton steam barge in Flatbrush, Missouri upon the Mississippi River. The president stood atop a soap box and delivered an address while reading from a hand-cranked teleprompter especially designed to save energy.

Thousands of locals gathered to celebrate the carnival-like atmosphere, complete with waterwheel-driven Ferris wheels, windmill-powered carousels, and one-way roller coasters. The futuristic setting looked like a scene from the 1814 World’s Fair, if one had taken place.

Underneath a giant banner reading “Welcome to America’s Future!” throngs of men, women, and children noshed on funnel cakes and old-fashioned hot dogs.

“Today we usher in a bright new era,” the president began with an echo that trembled the mighty waters of the Mississippi, “one where Americans will no longer be beholden to big oil, scary nuclear, and king coal. We look forward with clear vision to a future where America is powered by steam, water and wind power.”

“Hoorah!” yelled the American people, who were warming towards the proposal.

“The heart of my Progressive Energy Plan is the switchover of our gasoline engines, coal-fired plants, and nuclear power facilities to steam engines, windmills, and waterwheels by 2046. Such a strategy will place America clearly at the forefront of technological change in the green energy field, far ahead of the gas-rich Russians and oil-heavy Saudis,” said President Obama.

The crowd burst into uncontrollable applause before the president was able to calm the people down through a casual flap of the arms.

“Now, some have called this plan foolish. They call steam power an impossibility, hydropower a fanciful dream, and wind power plain quixotic. They point to the failures of Europe and argue that green energy doesn’t work, won’t work, can’t work. But what is leadership but the ability to take the failures of others and turn them into dizzying success stories?”

People roared in agreement as they chewed on salted pretzels and stared spellbound at the dim multicolored lights, which seemed to cast a faint vermillion glow on the president’s face.

“Thank you, thank you,” Mr. Obama said, “But you haven’t heard the best part yet. Under my plan, families of four making under $25,372 a year will be eligible for the Light a Candle for Change tax subsidy. So if you buy candles, file those receipts with the Internal Revenue Service for a credit towards your tax liability.”

The crowd once again cheered in assent.

“And the grandest innovation of all…” Mr. Obama spoke and lingered for a moment to relish the tension. “Algae. We will replace our dependence on fossil fuels with clean, green renewable slime.”

Jaws dropped. Eyes widened. Ice cream cones fell to the ground.

“I know, I know,” the president said with a laugh. “I was astounded too when I found out about it last week.”

A hush fell over the audience.  As the winds stirred briskly through that Missouri town, and plastic hot dog wrappers were blowing through the dusty streets, it appeared indeed that the gods of fortune had once again smiled upon America, that they should be blessed with such an ingenious president.

The president waved his arm in triumph, signaling the end of his address and the ceremonial christening of the U.S.S. Foolproof. With a dash of his supple wrist, the president slammed the bottle of Dom Perignon against the stolid steamship, but to no avail. Repeatedly, the president dinged the champagne bottle against the stubborn hull. Mercifully, Michelle Obama snatched the bottle from the president’s hand and shattered it against the bough.

“Heh, heh,” the president laughed, “Just a few technical difficulties. Nothing to worry about. Now, everybody go on board and do some riverboat gambling. It’s on me.”

Author’s note: The above is satire. It is a fictionalized account intended to elucidate certain ideas and principles by taking them to absurd lengths. It is not intended to be taken literally.

Kyle Becker blogs at RogueGovernment, and can be followed on Twitter as @RogueOperator1. He writes freelance for several publications, including American Thinker, and is a regular commentator on the late night talk show TB-TV.

Guest Photoessay: Obama Youth League Rises from Occupy Movement’s Ashes

Dana Milliband is a photojournalist and beat reporter for the New London Times. His work has appeared in Rolling Stone, Esquire, The New Republic, The Atlantic, and Coffee Drinkers Monthly.

The dilapidated shanty towns lovingly erected across America’s towering urban metropolises in protest of rampant Wall Street greed were until recently the sites of many a strident sit-in, raucous drum festival, and vigorous love-in. But the Coleman-covered encampments were not merely the makeshift assemblies of anti-capitalist contagion, they were the ramparts of a generation left out in the cold of free market madness.

Pacing the abandoned ghost towns, my footsteps crushing the discarded styrofoam containers, cast aside like so many broken dreams, I sought any signs that the weary youths were not hopelessly lost. Avoiding the excrement of their dashed expectations, I soldiered onward until there was the faintest sign of human activity ahead. Encircled around a rusted oil drum, some standing with their hands cupped over a blazing inferno, were a dozen youths of fiercely defiant visage. Unsheathing my Nikon D4, I set out to tell these broken warriors’ stories.

The air was chill, but not exceedingly so, as I cautiously approached Lynn, a Lesbian Rights Activist at New York University. One could tell from her skulking war cry, which she screeched out of nowhere, that she was in no mood to be trifled with. Red-dotted napkins littered the encampment, meaning the activists had either sacrificed a squirrel or the ladies were cycling together. Regardless, I plucked up the courage to strike a conversation with the young people, drawing on my sobering experience in the South American rain forests.

Lynn instantly calmed once I unwrapped a granola bar and slowly handed it to her as if we were making an illicit drug transaction (not that I would know anything about that). She was genial from that moment forward and warmed to the idea of interacting with the press. After giving her an extensive list of credentials, she agreed to let me photograph her and interview her for the article. The other brave souls agreed likewise.

The Occupy Movement, from all of their reports, was in a state of crisis. Lacking a clear set of goals or anyone who really cared about their non-negotiable demands, they decided to shift gears and become a political action committee: the Obama Youth League. Unfortunately, the Occupy movement had suffered from extremely unkind media coverage, and new recruits and donations were in short supply. The president didn’t even seem to want anything to do with them. The heart of the movement was all that remained, formed by a grizzled cadre of veterans who could spearhead a new campaign come spring.

Lynn passed an empty tuna can to Pat Walker, a transsexual anarchist from South Queens. Apparently, this was a way of signaling that it was someone else’s turn to talk.

The winds instantly picked up and peering over the skyscrapers, the overhead sky had faded from crystalline azure to bleached faded gray. Below me, a two-year old in a Che Guevarra T-shirt tugged at my khaki pants and was peering into my waste pack. Handing the boy a packet of peanut butter rice cakes, Pat instantly smacked my hands away.

“Don’t give my son any peanuts!” Pat exclaimed. “Miguel is extremely allergic to nuts and fish!”

“Oh, sorry!” I replied in shock, not knowing what such a fragile two-year old was doing out in the cold like this.

Picking up the package from the ground, which garnered a number of perplexed looks, I began to feel the cool drops of rain splashing on my neck. Forgetting where I was, and drawing sheerly on my maternal instinct, I casually offered for the gathering to come to my Manhattan apartment for a photo session. Shockingly, the entire band heartily agreed.

We took the train to my apartment. Of course, I had to pay for the excursion after the council convened and determined it was their right to free transportation. So be it.

Hopefully, this would be my insight into the inner workings of the Occupy Movement. What drives them. Their hopes, dreams, and their expectations for America’s future.

Upon entering my beautiful apartment, “Mike J.” unzipped his canvas rucksack and passed a glass bong to a tall preppy kid simply called “Jonesy.” A college girl named Sarah peeled off her hoody and threw it onto the floor.

“Woo-hoo!” she yelled. “Par-tay!”

“So…” I interjected in a loud voice, trying to get a hold of the Occupiers before some kind of crazy mob mentality took over. “Before we move into my studio, I want to hear some of those high ideals that motivate you as a movement.”

“Obama 2012!!” came a shout from behind me. “What-what!”

“Excuse me?” I asked, not understanding.

“Dude, we’re just trying to get Obama re-elected,” said a Crustafarian-looking kid in a faux-army T-shirt. “What else did you think this was about?”

“I don’t know. Principles…ideals,” I searched my memory for some of the platitudes I’d heard them shout early on in the movement. “Fairness?”

“Man, it’s all about free stuff,” said another kid. “Now shut up and toke a J.”

“No, I’m not going to toke a J!” I responded angrily. “Who gave you permission to smoke marijuana in here anyway?”

I snatched the cig from Jonesy’s hand and reluctantly took a hit.

“Can we just finish the photo shoot?” I exhaled after suck a hit in deep. “You guys can hit the showers… one at a time, of course… cause to be honest, yall are ripe.”

“Sure thing, dude,” Jonesy said. A couple of chicks were already rifling through my goth collection wardrobe. When they began making out, I wanted to tell them to stop. The words began to come out of my mouth but fell flat onto the floor like pebbles.

“Over here, big dawg!” I shouted, popping open a Lowenbrau from the fridge. “Check out my studio. Ain’t it pimp?”

“Man, it’s alright,” he said semi-impressed. “My dad’s a corporate attorney in New Jersey and one of his clients is Mick Tellsley. Went to his studio one time in Piscataway, and the man has some impressive chops.”

“THE Mick Tellsley?” I replied in awe. “Did you see his spread in Vogue covering Sundance?”

“Hell yeah, bro,” Jonesy replied. “April 2010, collector’s issue. Got it laminated and framed at my college pad.”

“Let me shoot you,” was all I could get out. “You’ve almost got fashion model good looks.”

“You really think so?” he asked rhetorically, smoothing back his hair.

Just then, a young lady dressed in retro Gothic attire exited the dressing room. She was marvelous. Hastily throwing together a canvass with Jonesy and Blaine, I put together my tripod and began snapping pictures.

Here was the soul of the Occupy Movement, not that emo-crap spread put out by Becky Weston of the Village Voice. Simply known as “Red,” she embodied everything one could want in a symbol of the future: doleful, dark, and depressing.

This was the Obama Youth League.

Next in my photoessay was Joan, a transplant from Anchorage State who was simply bored with life. She joined Occupy because she liked people, Obama, and drugs.

After telling me her life story, she disappeared to the dressing room and emerged looking like a goth angel. This was no longer about a political movement, but the spirit of America.

“Give me nonchalant!” I yelled enthusiastically. “Now, disillusioned!”

The shoot kept getting better and better. Inspiration was dripping off the photographs.

Moved by the experience, and possibly the cannabis vapors lingering in the air, I felt like joining these Young Turks protesting the system through their rebellious calls for bigger government and support of America’s historic president. Why not rally for free college tuition? Free healthcare? Free… whatever? The only thing holding us back is our imagination.

Finishing the shoot with Blaine, a friend of Jonesy’s, I was satisfied that I had captured the full spectrum of the Occupy Movement and it’s burgeoning Obama Youth League. I felt that these faces would serve the president well in his bid for a second term.

Author’s note: The above is satire. It is a fictionalized account intended to elucidate certain ideas and principles by taking them to absurd lengths. It is not intended to be taken literally.

Kyle Becker blogs at RogueGovernment, and can be followed on Twitter as @RogueOperator1. He writes freelance for several publications, including American Thinker, and is a regular commentator on the late night talk show TB-TV.

Guest Photoessay: Obama Youth League Rises from Occupy Movement's Ashes

Dana Milliband is a photojournalist and beat reporter for the New London Times. His work has appeared in Rolling Stone, Esquire, The New Republic, The Atlantic, and Coffee Drinkers Monthly.

The dilapidated shanty towns lovingly erected across America’s towering urban metropolises in protest of rampant Wall Street greed were until recently the sites of many a strident sit-in, raucous drum festival, and vigorous love-in. But the Coleman-covered encampments were not merely the makeshift assemblies of anti-capitalist contagion, they were the ramparts of a generation left out in the cold of free market madness.

Pacing the abandoned ghost towns, my footsteps crushing the discarded styrofoam containers, cast aside like so many broken dreams, I sought any signs that the weary youths were not hopelessly lost. Avoiding the excrement of their dashed expectations, I soldiered onward until there was the faintest sign of human activity ahead. Encircled around a rusted oil drum, some standing with their hands cupped over a blazing inferno, were a dozen youths of fiercely defiant visage. Unsheathing my Nikon D4, I set out to tell these broken warriors’ stories.

The air was chill, but not exceedingly so, as I cautiously approached Lynn, a Lesbian Rights Activist at New York University. One could tell from her skulking war cry, which she screeched out of nowhere, that she was in no mood to be trifled with. Red-dotted napkins littered the encampment, meaning the activists had either sacrificed a squirrel or the ladies were cycling together. Regardless, I plucked up the courage to strike a conversation with the young people, drawing on my sobering experience in the South American rain forests.

Lynn instantly calmed once I unwrapped a granola bar and slowly handed it to her as if we were making an illicit drug transaction (not that I would know anything about that). She was genial from that moment forward and warmed to the idea of interacting with the press. After giving her an extensive list of credentials, she agreed to let me photograph her and interview her for the article. The other brave souls agreed likewise.

The Occupy Movement, from all of their reports, was in a state of crisis. Lacking a clear set of goals or anyone who really cared about their non-negotiable demands, they decided to shift gears and become a political action committee: the Obama Youth League. Unfortunately, the Occupy movement had suffered from extremely unkind media coverage, and new recruits and donations were in short supply. The president didn’t even seem to want anything to do with them. The heart of the movement was all that remained, formed by a grizzled cadre of veterans who could spearhead a new campaign come spring.

Lynn passed an empty tuna can to Pat Walker, a transsexual anarchist from South Queens. Apparently, this was a way of signaling that it was someone else’s turn to talk.

The winds instantly picked up and peering over the skyscrapers, the overhead sky had faded from crystalline azure to bleached faded gray. Below me, a two-year old in a Che Guevarra T-shirt tugged at my khaki pants and was peering into my waste pack. Handing the boy a packet of peanut butter rice cakes, Pat instantly smacked my hands away.

“Don’t give my son any peanuts!” Pat exclaimed. “Miguel is extremely allergic to nuts and fish!”

“Oh, sorry!” I replied in shock, not knowing what such a fragile two-year old was doing out in the cold like this.

Picking up the package from the ground, which garnered a number of perplexed looks, I began to feel the cool drops of rain splashing on my neck. Forgetting where I was, and drawing sheerly on my maternal instinct, I casually offered for the gathering to come to my Manhattan apartment for a photo session. Shockingly, the entire band heartily agreed.

We took the train to my apartment. Of course, I had to pay for the excursion after the council convened and determined it was their right to free transportation. So be it.

Hopefully, this would be my insight into the inner workings of the Occupy Movement. What drives them. Their hopes, dreams, and their expectations for America’s future.

Upon entering my beautiful apartment, “Mike J.” unzipped his canvas rucksack and passed a glass bong to a tall preppy kid simply called “Jonesy.” A college girl named Sarah peeled off her hoody and threw it onto the floor.

“Woo-hoo!” she yelled. “Par-tay!”

“So…” I interjected in a loud voice, trying to get a hold of the Occupiers before some kind of crazy mob mentality took over. “Before we move into my studio, I want to hear some of those high ideals that motivate you as a movement.”

“Obama 2012!!” came a shout from behind me. “What-what!”

“Excuse me?” I asked, not understanding.

“Dude, we’re just trying to get Obama re-elected,” said a Crustafarian-looking kid in a faux-army T-shirt. “What else did you think this was about?”

“I don’t know. Principles…ideals,” I searched my memory for some of the platitudes I’d heard them shout early on in the movement. “Fairness?”

“Man, it’s all about free stuff,” said another kid. “Now shut up and toke a J.”

“No, I’m not going to toke a J!” I responded angrily. “Who gave you permission to smoke marijuana in here anyway?”

I snatched the cig from Jonesy’s hand and reluctantly took a hit.

“Can we just finish the photo shoot?” I exhaled after suck a hit in deep. “You guys can hit the showers… one at a time, of course… cause to be honest, yall are ripe.”

“Sure thing, dude,” Jonesy said. A couple of chicks were already rifling through my goth collection wardrobe. When they began making out, I wanted to tell them to stop. The words began to come out of my mouth but fell flat onto the floor like pebbles.

“Over here, big dawg!” I shouted, popping open a Lowenbrau from the fridge. “Check out my studio. Ain’t it pimp?”

“Man, it’s alright,” he said semi-impressed. “My dad’s a corporate attorney in New Jersey and one of his clients is Mick Tellsley. Went to his studio one time in Piscataway, and the man has some impressive chops.”

“THE Mick Tellsley?” I replied in awe. “Did you see his spread in Vogue covering Sundance?”

“Hell yeah, bro,” Jonesy replied. “April 2010, collector’s issue. Got it laminated and framed at my college pad.”

“Let me shoot you,” was all I could get out. “You’ve almost got fashion model good looks.”

“You really think so?” he asked rhetorically, smoothing back his hair.

Just then, a young lady dressed in retro Gothic attire exited the dressing room. She was marvelous. Hastily throwing together a canvass with Jonesy and Blaine, I put together my tripod and began snapping pictures.

Here was the soul of the Occupy Movement, not that emo-crap spread put out by Becky Weston of the Village Voice. Simply known as “Red,” she embodied everything one could want in a symbol of the future: doleful, dark, and depressing.

This was the Obama Youth League.

Next in my photoessay was Joan, a transplant from Anchorage State who was simply bored with life. She joined Occupy because she liked people, Obama, and drugs.

After telling me her life story, she disappeared to the dressing room and emerged looking like a goth angel. This was no longer about a political movement, but the spirit of America.

“Give me nonchalant!” I yelled enthusiastically. “Now, disillusioned!”

The shoot kept getting better and better. Inspiration was dripping off the photographs.

Moved by the experience, and possibly the cannabis vapors lingering in the air, I felt like joining these Young Turks protesting the system through their rebellious calls for bigger government and support of America’s historic president. Why not rally for free college tuition? Free healthcare? Free… whatever? The only thing holding us back is our imagination.

Finishing the shoot with Blaine, a friend of Jonesy’s, I was satisfied that I had captured the full spectrum of the Occupy Movement and it’s burgeoning Obama Youth League. I felt that these faces would serve the president well in his bid for a second term.

Author’s note: The above is satire. It is a fictionalized account intended to elucidate certain ideas and principles by taking them to absurd lengths. It is not intended to be taken literally.

Kyle Becker blogs at RogueGovernment, and can be followed on Twitter as @RogueOperator1. He writes freelance for several publications, including American Thinker, and is a regular commentator on the late night talk show TB-TV.

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