It's deja-vu all over again, as the Mahareeshi Yogi Berra once said. Picture it: the Dead Sea, 1948. An umemployed guy wandering around the Dead Sea shoreline, looking for a cool place to stash his brewskis prayer books, stumbles upon a bunch of scrolls in a cave. These Dead Sea Scrolls turn out to be the lost books of the bible, which over the years give historians many insights into the life of whats-his-name, the Messiah guy. Now, fast forward 60+ years; history repeats itself. A unemployed guy named Blago or something, wandering around Lake Michigan shorline looking for a cool place to stash incriminating evidence brewskis, stumbles upon a bunch of books in a freshly dug grave (not unusual for Chicago.) These turn out to be the lost books of the new bible (Obama's autobiography, fool!) which will give future historians many insights into the New Messiah guy! At least, that's the story the guy I bought these from told me.
Caveat emptor: the books were in the ground for who knows how long and had to be painstakingly reconstructed by archaeologist types working many long hours over hot magnifying glasses (so they drank the buried brewskis to cool off.) What I'm trying to say is there's no way to know if they did it right. But, as the Obama economic team says when they make their estimates of the cost of Cap n' Trade or Health Care Reform, "It's close enough for government work!" So without further ado, here are the archaeologists reconstruction of
THE GREATEST STORY EVER TOLD: THE BARRACK OBAMA STORY
Excerpts from one of his many autobiographies, "The Audacity of the Dope" (Truthfully, outside of the cover and the raving endorsements of numerous newspaper literary critics, the excerpts are basically the whole book. And it's only $34.95!)
Ch. 1: http://www.thepeoplescube.com/red/viewt ... highlight=
<br>Ch. 2: http://www.thepeoplescube.com/red/viewt ... highlight=
CHAPTER 3: THE COLLEGIAC YEARS: EXCELLENCE ON MERIT, UNAIDED BY RACE-BASED PREFERENCES EVEN THOUGH HE DESERVES THEM (NO, SERIOUSLY!)
“Lots of people are great as Barrack Obama is great. But, the ordinary great person has ordinary greatness whereas an extraordinary great person like Obama has great greatness! Do you see the distinction?”
- Dr Jeremy Fudgebottom, Chief Admissions Policy Obfuscation Officer, Harvard Lawn School
After graduating high school, Barrack Obama was again at one of the many crossroads in his life, this one at the corner of La Salle St and Wacker Dr in Chicago. He knew that his goal was to make America hopeful and changeable and he knew that he must become President to realize that goal, but the way there was as of yet beclouded. What's more, he had no idea what he should do now that he was out of high school; a wrong move and he could be run over by one of these crazy Chicago drivers now coming within inches of the curb. Luckily, once again fate would intervene, not because Barrack was not capable of doing this all by himself but likely because fate was bored and had nothing else to do. As luck would have it, a couple of scouts from Harvard Lawn School were driving around Chicago one day when one of them glanced out his window and noticed Barrack's incredible intellect and superb judgement. He knew immediately they must bring this brilliant mind to Harvard! “Hey kid”, he shouted, “You wanna go to Harvard Lawn School?” “Sure, why not?”, Barrack replied, “lemme call my mom first!” Thus began one of the greatest careers in the history of universities everywhere.
Mom had some news of her own. She had outgrown the little bank where she spent so many happy hours denouncing captialism to her co-workers and moved on to one of Imperialism's great bloated institutions, Continental Illinois National Bank and Trust Company. Her star there would rise until, unhappily, the bank collapsed in 1984. But, her talent for using capitalism's own rope to hang itself would not go unnoticed and she would eventually begin a wonderful new career at Enron.
Likewise, his girlfriend Michelle (Aretha had now changed her name to Michelle Ma Bell after the heroine in the 1960's Beatles song) had good news of her own: she had been accepted into the Annoying Carping Unhappy Peoples Study Program at Princetown University, a division of Limosine Liberal Industries. She also won a scholarship for her brilliant essay, “If You Don't Give Me A Scholarship, You're A Racist!” Her wise, impassioned disquisition absolutely floored the Admissions and Groveling Committee, which is not as big an accomplishment as it sounds as the committee already spent most of its time there anyway (on the floor, that is.) Irregardless, the happy twosome celebrated their futures with pot and a little blow –er- Blizzards from the Dairy Queen.
As Barrack began his college career, there was one bothersome little question in his mind which would loom ever larger on the landscape as time wore on. He thought those scouts had recruited him for Harvard Law School but in reality he had been accepted to Harvard Lawn School. He had indeed noticed the extra “n” in the school name, but attributed that to a simple typo, maybe an overly enthusiastic sign maker or something. More troublesome was the fact that his classes seemed to have little to do with the Constitution and stuff but a lot to do with grass and fertilizer. He initially tried to pass it off by telling himself that having a good lawn was likely an important part of the lawyer business, but there was this nagging feeling that maybe that extra “n” in the school name really wasn't an error. Finally, late in his senior year, he broached the subject with Michelle to seek her opinion. With her superior command of the English language, Michelle was able to discern the truth.
Barrack was devastated. Firstly, he had wasted four years pursuing an objective that would not help him with his long term goal, a world of hopeful changelings. Secondly, because he was devoting all his time the past four years to his studies, he had not done any work on his slogan; let's face it, “Lawn care you can believe in!” is not the catchphrase of a successful Presidential Candidate, even in this dopey country. But luckily, Michelle had an idea; she would write a powerful editorial entitled, “If Harvard Law School Doesn't Give Barrack Obama a Law Degree, They're a Bunch of Racists!” and submit it to the Boston Globular Newspaper for publication. The tactic worked! Harvard Law School took one look at Barrack Obama's powerful mind and excellent genius-like qualities, and admitted him and graduated him on the same day, a new record! Plus, the school felt so bad about the mixup being their fault (well, they shouldn't have chosen a school name so similar to the reknown Harvard Lawn School, doncha think?) that they made Barrack the editor of their world famous Law Review thingy. Barrack (after checking carefully for extra “n's”) humbly accepted the credit and honors that were due him. Magnanimously, he also praised Harvard Lawn School for showing him how to keep his yard green. Now, it was on to “Cheers” to take the Bar exam.
It would normally be fitting for the Editor of the Harvard Law Review and a Law School Honors Graduate to accept a clerk position with a famous judge, just to help the old guy or gal out, show him or her the ropes as it were. Barrack declined to do this, reasoning that his talent was just too great to waste while propping up some washed-up back bench hack; the world needed him because the world needed his Changeable Hope! As he pondered his path towards his and the country's destiny, Barrack Obama realized his great talents would need to be used wisely. Doubtless all the country's top law firms would be calling, begging him to join their firms. Barrack decided he would not accept any of their offers; like his idols Lenin, Stalin and Castro, his calling was one of service to the people and that didn't mean bailing oppressive capitalist pigs out of legal jams or cutting their lawns, either! Likewise, making money was not a consideration for him, so he would not be applying for any CEO jobs at Fortune 500 companies.
But what, then? It was the late-1980s and a reactionary dolt of an actor named Ronald Raygun or something was President. Unbelievably, the country had rejected the enlightened but bad-sloganed Walter Mondale for a boob who was upstaged by a chimp in one of his movies! This man would have never gotten as much as a “C” in Political Theatre class at Barrack's old high school, but here he was acting the part of the President. Even worse, the world's only true just and righteous society, the Soviet Union, was being destroyed by a revisionist named Gorbachev and some fellow named Glassnose, probably a capitalist fifth-columnist. Time was a-wasting and he knew he must come up with a plan and soon. Perhaps if he went back to Chicago and stood on the corner of La Salle St and Wacker Dr in Chicago, something would hit him. And if the wrong thing hit him, he could sue because he was now a lawyer!
CHAPTER 4: ORGANIZING THE DISORGANIZED
One of the first things that struck the new lawyer when he got back to Chicago was how disorganized the place was! He said to himself, “We've got to organize these guys!” It was a calling that would enable him to honor his commitment to service as well as challenging his many lawyerly talents, though not so much his enormous capabilities in the natural sciences and the arts. So, he applied for a job at the Mayor Harold Washington Organizing Center and Community Outreach Program, named after the city's first black mayor and one of the few not named “Daley.”
It was the audacity of hope that led Barrack to apply there. The standards of hiring at Chicago's political and civic public service organizations are high; not just any fool can get a job there. Good references are usually required; the personnel dept's motto is “we don't want nobody that nobody sent.” Despite the incredibly high barriers, Chicago's upper crust recognized Barrack immediately as a “comer” and gladly took him on if only to be in on the ground floor with a rising star, to be able to look back someday and say, “We knew him when…..”
Barrack's boss at the Center was Mr. Grant, an old-style hard-drinking populist leftist blowhard if there was one, a pol in the tradition of the legendary Kingfish, Huey Long. Coincidentally, Mr. Grant once played Huey in a dramatic production of some sort. Another associate was the press release writer Murray, a kind-hearted fellow who apparently really believed all the Party stuff. Then, there was Ted, the vainglorious Press Secretary who was always making flubs which embarrassed the Center and the City Administration. Despite his frequent goofs, he still held on to a six-figure job at a community organizing center. Ted surely had many hidden talents or something; no one in Chicago succeeds based on political connections or anything like that.
On Barrack's first day on the job, he was forced to hit the ground running. Mr. Grant stumbled into the office after one of his weekend benders and began growling orders: “Barrack! There's a bunch of winos in the alley behind City Hall. Dust them off and put them on the city payroll as ‘Alley Cleaners' at $100 bucks a week. Give ‘em each ten bucks and the rest goes to the ‘community'. Murray! Write a press release regarding the imminent strike by the city's alley cleaners; be sure to point out that they haven't had a raise since they were hired! Ted! In the future, see if you can avoid referring to the city's former mayor as ‘The Late Mayor Dully.'” Wow! Being a community orgranizer was going to be a lot of work, but it was sure going to be exciting!
But Obama's plan to take over the world, er, bring changing hope to the world was not progressing. He was still at a loss as to the right path to take. Out of the blue, his typical white grandmother called. She had recently had a trance where a short ugly guy with pointy ears had told her that Barrack Obama must become an Illinois State Senator.
“But how, Gran?”, Barrack asked. The current incumbent, a universally respected party apparatchik named Irma Pipco-Fuppish, would be nearly impossible to unseat, only partially because she had gained weight over the years and was stuck in her chair.
“He said to use the force, Luke, er, Barrack!”
“You mean, the Democratic Party machine????”
“No, the OTHER force!”
“Ohhhhhh……”
Perhaps coincidentally, an odd elderly couple named Minnie and Roman Castevet had recently dropped around the Center where Barrack worked. A bizarre discussion ensued where they asked if Barrack could persuade his young assistant Rosemary to have a baby for a friend of theirs. If he could, they would be able to do him a favor in turn, perhaps like granting him anything he wanted. Rosemary admired and respected Barrack a lot, to the point that she would do anything he asked even it seemed incredibly presumptive (a phenomena that would re-emerge to serve him well in later years!) But would enduring a nine month pregnancy and carrying the offspring of an anonymous stranger be just too much to ask, even of a simpering goofy bimbo like her? Suprisingly not! Rosemary was eager to do absolutely anything to help Barrack in his quest and went along with every tedious detail the Castevets demanded (even the part about eating raw meat every day) without understanding in the slightest how her pregnancy would help make Barrack Obama King of the World, er, State Senator from Illinois. The baby (?) was born in her apartement and shortly after mysteriously disappeared along with the Castevets and a month's supply of raw meat.
Just as mysteriously, Irma Pipco-Fuppish disappeared on her way home from a Weight Watchers meeting just one week before the November election. The Democratic Party Leaders were beside themselves! Where were they going to get a candidate to replace the revered Mrs. Pipco-Fuppish at this late date? They needed someone exceptional to stave off the challenge of the intelligent, personable and able hack the Republicans had nominated. (Ed note: Well, that's too much hyperbole even for an Obama autobiography. The Democrats could nominate a lump of turd in that district and it would win.) But, the Democrats had someone much better than a lump of turd! They had Barrack Obama! He ably picked up the sword of the fallen Mrs. Pipco-Fuppish and carried on Chicago's fight against capitalist oppression and competitive elections! The grateful citizens of the Windy City rewarded him with 70 per cent of the vote (pre-election polls showed the lump of turd getting 75% but why quibble?) The press located the Republican contender in an alley behind City Hall and pried the bottle of wine away from his lips long enough for him to magnanimously say, “It was a great fight, Ma! Now gimme back my medicine!”
Barrack Obama's career was back on track. He had showed he could win a hotly contested election and that he could unite disparate groups behind him. Next stop: Peoria, er, Des Plaines?………… er, wherever the hell the bloody State Capitol is.
CHAPTER 5: BARRACK OBAMA: THE ILLINOIS STATE SENATE AND BEYOND
The worms had started to turn and everything was starting to go Barrack Obama's way. After his stunning election to the Ill State Senate, Michelle had proposed marriage and her immense intelligence and beauty (along with her father's shotgun) convinced Barrack to say “Yes!” Michelle wanted to be married in a church but Obama was not well acquainted with the dens of the People's opium. He did not believe in angels, the devil or any of the usual religious BS; as an educated Harvard intellectual, he only believed in realistic concepts like social justice, moral relativism, leftist multiculturalism… you know, the usual secular BS.
Happily, a friend recommended he stop in at Rev. Jerry Wright's Happy Peppy Good-Time Church right in the new Senator's district. Barrack did and was favorably impressed; never had he met such an up group of happy, loving folk, especially the pastor who was just so full of love for everyone! Furthermore, it would be an ideal place for he and Michelle to make new friends and build a political base as well as nourish their spirits. Somewhat unfortunately, the Rev. Wright tended to be a boring speaker and Barrack would end up falling asleep in his seat during the sermons on nearly every Sunday for the next 20 years.
There is a controversy about Barrack Obama's service in the Illinois State Senate which requires explanation. It is true that most of his votes during this time were simply “PRESENT” meaning he did not vote for or against an issue, but he was in the building and presumably conscious. However, the fault was not Barrack's; he had fully intended to cast votes on all bills and issues.
By way of background, the Illinois State Senate uses electronic voting machines attached to the member's seats to record their votes and send them to the main computer for stuffing, er, tallying. Barrack had such a machine at his seat, and his was named “HAL”. At first, Barrack and HAL got along famously; when a bill was posted, Barrack would give HAL his instructions for the vote and then head out to the hall to sneak a smoke until the votes were tallied. But then, suspicious things started to happen; for example, Barrack noticed a bill he told HAL to vote against passed by 100-0. He started to check the newspapers to see how his vote was posted on various bills and found that consistently HAL had disregarded his instructions by voting opposite to what Barrack had specified, by voting “PRESENT” or by voting “SHOVE IT, MOTHER F-----“. Barrack decided he would have to disconnect HAL but this could be dangerous work; HAL had numerous self-defense mechanisms and booby traps to prevent tampering by Republicans. So, he got a janitor to do it. As the last strained choruses of “Daisy” left HAL's speaker, the machine re-booted itself and suddenly a pre-recorded video appeared on its screen. It was the voice and image of the late Chicago mayor Richard J. Daley speaking to Barrack from the great beyond: “Barrack Obama, this is Richard J. Daley! YOU are the one they have been waiting for! YOU will be the one to lead the country out of darkness and into less darkness! YOU will be the one to reverse the tide of cutbacks from the Raygun/Bushy Replubicans and resume the growth of spending programs for the people which will include the usual generous cut for assorted cronies, consultants, relatives and hacks! YOU are “Change We Can Believe In!” Believe me! But first, you gotta do something about that name! I mean, Barrack Obama, it won't play in all 57 states, pal. This is Dick Daley, signing off!”
Obama was stunned! “Change We Can Believe In! What a great slogan! Who the hell is Richard J. Daley? I'll have to ask grandma about that! What did he mean about my name? It's a cool, hip name. Nobody would vote for Steven Urkel! There are 57 states???? I thought there were only 53! Lee! Rico! Youngblood!” Barack's head was now spinning so much from the experience, voiceovers from the old “Untouchables” series were now mixing in with his own thoughts.
Barrack Obama resisted it at first, but soon accepted his fate. “I've got to change my name again,” he said to himself, “I can't let Lee, Rico and Youngblood down!” A new name would be hard work. Kareem Abdul Jabbar was already taken and he didn't want to go down that street again. But there was a new cool-sounding name in the world; there was this guy who was President of Iraq, which was some funny oily country in the Middle East. They were religious over there, weren't they? That would extend his appeal to the superstitious low-information types. What if he just augmented his current cool name a little?
Barrack had the answer! He would now call himself Barrack Insane Obama! That would further coolify his already cool name. Luckily, the first person he tried it out on was Michelle, who clarified the issue of the Iraqi President's surname for him. Though doubtless that the man was INSANE, his name was actually HUSSEIN! This would be an even cooler name, extend his appeal to an important American voting bloc and allow him to get rid of the troublesome nickname “Stinky” because his initials were no longer “B.O.”
It was now time for Obama to ditch the boring State Senate gig and get on with the important work of busting the federal budget like old what's his face said. There was only one place to do that; where all taxpayers-be-damned pork-barrel spenders go, the US Senate! As luck would have it, one of Illinois 3 US Senators was about to retire. He had to have that seat! It was time for him to call him some favors, an idea that would've worked if he had ever did any for anyone. But the fate of the country's savior was at stake here and there was no time to waste helping people. He had to act fast.
Caveat emptor: the books were in the ground for who knows how long and had to be painstakingly reconstructed by archaeologist types working many long hours over hot magnifying glasses (so they drank the buried brewskis to cool off.) What I'm trying to say is there's no way to know if they did it right. But, as the Obama economic team says when they make their estimates of the cost of Cap n' Trade or Health Care Reform, "It's close enough for government work!" So without further ado, here are the archaeologists reconstruction of
THE GREATEST STORY EVER TOLD: THE BARRACK OBAMA STORY
Excerpts from one of his many autobiographies, "The Audacity of the Dope" (Truthfully, outside of the cover and the raving endorsements of numerous newspaper literary critics, the excerpts are basically the whole book. And it's only $34.95!)
Ch. 1: http://www.thepeoplescube.com/red/viewt ... highlight=
<br>Ch. 2: http://www.thepeoplescube.com/red/viewt ... highlight=
CHAPTER 3: THE COLLEGIAC YEARS: EXCELLENCE ON MERIT, UNAIDED BY RACE-BASED PREFERENCES EVEN THOUGH HE DESERVES THEM (NO, SERIOUSLY!)
“Lots of people are great as Barrack Obama is great. But, the ordinary great person has ordinary greatness whereas an extraordinary great person like Obama has great greatness! Do you see the distinction?”
- Dr Jeremy Fudgebottom, Chief Admissions Policy Obfuscation Officer, Harvard Lawn School
After graduating high school, Barrack Obama was again at one of the many crossroads in his life, this one at the corner of La Salle St and Wacker Dr in Chicago. He knew that his goal was to make America hopeful and changeable and he knew that he must become President to realize that goal, but the way there was as of yet beclouded. What's more, he had no idea what he should do now that he was out of high school; a wrong move and he could be run over by one of these crazy Chicago drivers now coming within inches of the curb. Luckily, once again fate would intervene, not because Barrack was not capable of doing this all by himself but likely because fate was bored and had nothing else to do. As luck would have it, a couple of scouts from Harvard Lawn School were driving around Chicago one day when one of them glanced out his window and noticed Barrack's incredible intellect and superb judgement. He knew immediately they must bring this brilliant mind to Harvard! “Hey kid”, he shouted, “You wanna go to Harvard Lawn School?” “Sure, why not?”, Barrack replied, “lemme call my mom first!” Thus began one of the greatest careers in the history of universities everywhere.
Mom had some news of her own. She had outgrown the little bank where she spent so many happy hours denouncing captialism to her co-workers and moved on to one of Imperialism's great bloated institutions, Continental Illinois National Bank and Trust Company. Her star there would rise until, unhappily, the bank collapsed in 1984. But, her talent for using capitalism's own rope to hang itself would not go unnoticed and she would eventually begin a wonderful new career at Enron.
Likewise, his girlfriend Michelle (Aretha had now changed her name to Michelle Ma Bell after the heroine in the 1960's Beatles song) had good news of her own: she had been accepted into the Annoying Carping Unhappy Peoples Study Program at Princetown University, a division of Limosine Liberal Industries. She also won a scholarship for her brilliant essay, “If You Don't Give Me A Scholarship, You're A Racist!” Her wise, impassioned disquisition absolutely floored the Admissions and Groveling Committee, which is not as big an accomplishment as it sounds as the committee already spent most of its time there anyway (on the floor, that is.) Irregardless, the happy twosome celebrated their futures with pot and a little blow –er- Blizzards from the Dairy Queen.
As Barrack began his college career, there was one bothersome little question in his mind which would loom ever larger on the landscape as time wore on. He thought those scouts had recruited him for Harvard Law School but in reality he had been accepted to Harvard Lawn School. He had indeed noticed the extra “n” in the school name, but attributed that to a simple typo, maybe an overly enthusiastic sign maker or something. More troublesome was the fact that his classes seemed to have little to do with the Constitution and stuff but a lot to do with grass and fertilizer. He initially tried to pass it off by telling himself that having a good lawn was likely an important part of the lawyer business, but there was this nagging feeling that maybe that extra “n” in the school name really wasn't an error. Finally, late in his senior year, he broached the subject with Michelle to seek her opinion. With her superior command of the English language, Michelle was able to discern the truth.
Barrack was devastated. Firstly, he had wasted four years pursuing an objective that would not help him with his long term goal, a world of hopeful changelings. Secondly, because he was devoting all his time the past four years to his studies, he had not done any work on his slogan; let's face it, “Lawn care you can believe in!” is not the catchphrase of a successful Presidential Candidate, even in this dopey country. But luckily, Michelle had an idea; she would write a powerful editorial entitled, “If Harvard Law School Doesn't Give Barrack Obama a Law Degree, They're a Bunch of Racists!” and submit it to the Boston Globular Newspaper for publication. The tactic worked! Harvard Law School took one look at Barrack Obama's powerful mind and excellent genius-like qualities, and admitted him and graduated him on the same day, a new record! Plus, the school felt so bad about the mixup being their fault (well, they shouldn't have chosen a school name so similar to the reknown Harvard Lawn School, doncha think?) that they made Barrack the editor of their world famous Law Review thingy. Barrack (after checking carefully for extra “n's”) humbly accepted the credit and honors that were due him. Magnanimously, he also praised Harvard Lawn School for showing him how to keep his yard green. Now, it was on to “Cheers” to take the Bar exam.
It would normally be fitting for the Editor of the Harvard Law Review and a Law School Honors Graduate to accept a clerk position with a famous judge, just to help the old guy or gal out, show him or her the ropes as it were. Barrack declined to do this, reasoning that his talent was just too great to waste while propping up some washed-up back bench hack; the world needed him because the world needed his Changeable Hope! As he pondered his path towards his and the country's destiny, Barrack Obama realized his great talents would need to be used wisely. Doubtless all the country's top law firms would be calling, begging him to join their firms. Barrack decided he would not accept any of their offers; like his idols Lenin, Stalin and Castro, his calling was one of service to the people and that didn't mean bailing oppressive capitalist pigs out of legal jams or cutting their lawns, either! Likewise, making money was not a consideration for him, so he would not be applying for any CEO jobs at Fortune 500 companies.
But what, then? It was the late-1980s and a reactionary dolt of an actor named Ronald Raygun or something was President. Unbelievably, the country had rejected the enlightened but bad-sloganed Walter Mondale for a boob who was upstaged by a chimp in one of his movies! This man would have never gotten as much as a “C” in Political Theatre class at Barrack's old high school, but here he was acting the part of the President. Even worse, the world's only true just and righteous society, the Soviet Union, was being destroyed by a revisionist named Gorbachev and some fellow named Glassnose, probably a capitalist fifth-columnist. Time was a-wasting and he knew he must come up with a plan and soon. Perhaps if he went back to Chicago and stood on the corner of La Salle St and Wacker Dr in Chicago, something would hit him. And if the wrong thing hit him, he could sue because he was now a lawyer!
CHAPTER 4: ORGANIZING THE DISORGANIZED
One of the first things that struck the new lawyer when he got back to Chicago was how disorganized the place was! He said to himself, “We've got to organize these guys!” It was a calling that would enable him to honor his commitment to service as well as challenging his many lawyerly talents, though not so much his enormous capabilities in the natural sciences and the arts. So, he applied for a job at the Mayor Harold Washington Organizing Center and Community Outreach Program, named after the city's first black mayor and one of the few not named “Daley.”
It was the audacity of hope that led Barrack to apply there. The standards of hiring at Chicago's political and civic public service organizations are high; not just any fool can get a job there. Good references are usually required; the personnel dept's motto is “we don't want nobody that nobody sent.” Despite the incredibly high barriers, Chicago's upper crust recognized Barrack immediately as a “comer” and gladly took him on if only to be in on the ground floor with a rising star, to be able to look back someday and say, “We knew him when…..”
Barrack's boss at the Center was Mr. Grant, an old-style hard-drinking populist leftist blowhard if there was one, a pol in the tradition of the legendary Kingfish, Huey Long. Coincidentally, Mr. Grant once played Huey in a dramatic production of some sort. Another associate was the press release writer Murray, a kind-hearted fellow who apparently really believed all the Party stuff. Then, there was Ted, the vainglorious Press Secretary who was always making flubs which embarrassed the Center and the City Administration. Despite his frequent goofs, he still held on to a six-figure job at a community organizing center. Ted surely had many hidden talents or something; no one in Chicago succeeds based on political connections or anything like that.
On Barrack's first day on the job, he was forced to hit the ground running. Mr. Grant stumbled into the office after one of his weekend benders and began growling orders: “Barrack! There's a bunch of winos in the alley behind City Hall. Dust them off and put them on the city payroll as ‘Alley Cleaners' at $100 bucks a week. Give ‘em each ten bucks and the rest goes to the ‘community'. Murray! Write a press release regarding the imminent strike by the city's alley cleaners; be sure to point out that they haven't had a raise since they were hired! Ted! In the future, see if you can avoid referring to the city's former mayor as ‘The Late Mayor Dully.'” Wow! Being a community orgranizer was going to be a lot of work, but it was sure going to be exciting!
But Obama's plan to take over the world, er, bring changing hope to the world was not progressing. He was still at a loss as to the right path to take. Out of the blue, his typical white grandmother called. She had recently had a trance where a short ugly guy with pointy ears had told her that Barrack Obama must become an Illinois State Senator.
“But how, Gran?”, Barrack asked. The current incumbent, a universally respected party apparatchik named Irma Pipco-Fuppish, would be nearly impossible to unseat, only partially because she had gained weight over the years and was stuck in her chair.
“He said to use the force, Luke, er, Barrack!”
“You mean, the Democratic Party machine????”
“No, the OTHER force!”
“Ohhhhhh……”
Perhaps coincidentally, an odd elderly couple named Minnie and Roman Castevet had recently dropped around the Center where Barrack worked. A bizarre discussion ensued where they asked if Barrack could persuade his young assistant Rosemary to have a baby for a friend of theirs. If he could, they would be able to do him a favor in turn, perhaps like granting him anything he wanted. Rosemary admired and respected Barrack a lot, to the point that she would do anything he asked even it seemed incredibly presumptive (a phenomena that would re-emerge to serve him well in later years!) But would enduring a nine month pregnancy and carrying the offspring of an anonymous stranger be just too much to ask, even of a simpering goofy bimbo like her? Suprisingly not! Rosemary was eager to do absolutely anything to help Barrack in his quest and went along with every tedious detail the Castevets demanded (even the part about eating raw meat every day) without understanding in the slightest how her pregnancy would help make Barrack Obama King of the World, er, State Senator from Illinois. The baby (?) was born in her apartement and shortly after mysteriously disappeared along with the Castevets and a month's supply of raw meat.
Just as mysteriously, Irma Pipco-Fuppish disappeared on her way home from a Weight Watchers meeting just one week before the November election. The Democratic Party Leaders were beside themselves! Where were they going to get a candidate to replace the revered Mrs. Pipco-Fuppish at this late date? They needed someone exceptional to stave off the challenge of the intelligent, personable and able hack the Republicans had nominated. (Ed note: Well, that's too much hyperbole even for an Obama autobiography. The Democrats could nominate a lump of turd in that district and it would win.) But, the Democrats had someone much better than a lump of turd! They had Barrack Obama! He ably picked up the sword of the fallen Mrs. Pipco-Fuppish and carried on Chicago's fight against capitalist oppression and competitive elections! The grateful citizens of the Windy City rewarded him with 70 per cent of the vote (pre-election polls showed the lump of turd getting 75% but why quibble?) The press located the Republican contender in an alley behind City Hall and pried the bottle of wine away from his lips long enough for him to magnanimously say, “It was a great fight, Ma! Now gimme back my medicine!”
Barrack Obama's career was back on track. He had showed he could win a hotly contested election and that he could unite disparate groups behind him. Next stop: Peoria, er, Des Plaines?………… er, wherever the hell the bloody State Capitol is.
CHAPTER 5: BARRACK OBAMA: THE ILLINOIS STATE SENATE AND BEYOND
The worms had started to turn and everything was starting to go Barrack Obama's way. After his stunning election to the Ill State Senate, Michelle had proposed marriage and her immense intelligence and beauty (along with her father's shotgun) convinced Barrack to say “Yes!” Michelle wanted to be married in a church but Obama was not well acquainted with the dens of the People's opium. He did not believe in angels, the devil or any of the usual religious BS; as an educated Harvard intellectual, he only believed in realistic concepts like social justice, moral relativism, leftist multiculturalism… you know, the usual secular BS.
Happily, a friend recommended he stop in at Rev. Jerry Wright's Happy Peppy Good-Time Church right in the new Senator's district. Barrack did and was favorably impressed; never had he met such an up group of happy, loving folk, especially the pastor who was just so full of love for everyone! Furthermore, it would be an ideal place for he and Michelle to make new friends and build a political base as well as nourish their spirits. Somewhat unfortunately, the Rev. Wright tended to be a boring speaker and Barrack would end up falling asleep in his seat during the sermons on nearly every Sunday for the next 20 years.
There is a controversy about Barrack Obama's service in the Illinois State Senate which requires explanation. It is true that most of his votes during this time were simply “PRESENT” meaning he did not vote for or against an issue, but he was in the building and presumably conscious. However, the fault was not Barrack's; he had fully intended to cast votes on all bills and issues.
By way of background, the Illinois State Senate uses electronic voting machines attached to the member's seats to record their votes and send them to the main computer for stuffing, er, tallying. Barrack had such a machine at his seat, and his was named “HAL”. At first, Barrack and HAL got along famously; when a bill was posted, Barrack would give HAL his instructions for the vote and then head out to the hall to sneak a smoke until the votes were tallied. But then, suspicious things started to happen; for example, Barrack noticed a bill he told HAL to vote against passed by 100-0. He started to check the newspapers to see how his vote was posted on various bills and found that consistently HAL had disregarded his instructions by voting opposite to what Barrack had specified, by voting “PRESENT” or by voting “SHOVE IT, MOTHER F-----“. Barrack decided he would have to disconnect HAL but this could be dangerous work; HAL had numerous self-defense mechanisms and booby traps to prevent tampering by Republicans. So, he got a janitor to do it. As the last strained choruses of “Daisy” left HAL's speaker, the machine re-booted itself and suddenly a pre-recorded video appeared on its screen. It was the voice and image of the late Chicago mayor Richard J. Daley speaking to Barrack from the great beyond: “Barrack Obama, this is Richard J. Daley! YOU are the one they have been waiting for! YOU will be the one to lead the country out of darkness and into less darkness! YOU will be the one to reverse the tide of cutbacks from the Raygun/Bushy Replubicans and resume the growth of spending programs for the people which will include the usual generous cut for assorted cronies, consultants, relatives and hacks! YOU are “Change We Can Believe In!” Believe me! But first, you gotta do something about that name! I mean, Barrack Obama, it won't play in all 57 states, pal. This is Dick Daley, signing off!”
Obama was stunned! “Change We Can Believe In! What a great slogan! Who the hell is Richard J. Daley? I'll have to ask grandma about that! What did he mean about my name? It's a cool, hip name. Nobody would vote for Steven Urkel! There are 57 states???? I thought there were only 53! Lee! Rico! Youngblood!” Barack's head was now spinning so much from the experience, voiceovers from the old “Untouchables” series were now mixing in with his own thoughts.
Barrack Obama resisted it at first, but soon accepted his fate. “I've got to change my name again,” he said to himself, “I can't let Lee, Rico and Youngblood down!” A new name would be hard work. Kareem Abdul Jabbar was already taken and he didn't want to go down that street again. But there was a new cool-sounding name in the world; there was this guy who was President of Iraq, which was some funny oily country in the Middle East. They were religious over there, weren't they? That would extend his appeal to the superstitious low-information types. What if he just augmented his current cool name a little?
Barrack had the answer! He would now call himself Barrack Insane Obama! That would further coolify his already cool name. Luckily, the first person he tried it out on was Michelle, who clarified the issue of the Iraqi President's surname for him. Though doubtless that the man was INSANE, his name was actually HUSSEIN! This would be an even cooler name, extend his appeal to an important American voting bloc and allow him to get rid of the troublesome nickname “Stinky” because his initials were no longer “B.O.”
It was now time for Obama to ditch the boring State Senate gig and get on with the important work of busting the federal budget like old what's his face said. There was only one place to do that; where all taxpayers-be-damned pork-barrel spenders go, the US Senate! As luck would have it, one of Illinois 3 US Senators was about to retire. He had to have that seat! It was time for him to call him some favors, an idea that would've worked if he had ever did any for anyone. But the fate of the country's savior was at stake here and there was no time to waste helping people. He had to act fast.
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