Stop the crucifixion! I’ve seen the Obama light!


Less than a month after intellectually blighted Americans celebrated the coronation of their lord and savior Barack Obama, the world is for the first time and finally at peace, oppressed people are enjoying freedom and prosperity, and the world economy is as bullish as Ted Kennedy at fraternity kegger.  Things are even looking brighter for George Obama, whose life wasn’t as directly corrupted by white man’s greed as his brother’s, but still sucked.  Before George became First Brother, he survived on less than $1 a month and hope, since Barack apparently didn’t have his address to send him a few dollars.   But his decision to celebrate his brother’s rise to power with a spliff landed him in a Nigerian jail where he’ll enjoy improved living quarters, daily nourishment, and the sort of regimented life favored by socialists the world over.

In my diary, which is less tawdry than Barbara Walters’ tell-all book, but nonetheless devoted to world leaders on whom I have crushes, Margaret Thatcher has been supplanted by Barack Obama as the statesperson with whom I’d most like to slow dance to Journey’s “Faithfully” under a mirror ball in a balloon-festooned gynmasium.  Sure, Attila the Hen has great hair and can rock a pair of low-heeled taupe pumps, but her views on liberty as a birthright and the benefits of free-market economies would really, in retrospect, be better stitched on pillows than pursued as ideals.  She was always so, “My way is the right way!  Human beings have rights!  Stop starving your people!”  Really, if you think about it, she’s a little bit judgmental.  I suppose Iron Maggie was really more of a rebound gal in my development as a human being, since I was drawn to her mostly because she was the polar opposite of her predecessor, Leonid Brezhnev.  Leo, as I liked to call him, was really nothing more than a big, squishy teddy bear, no matter what the history books say.  Beneath those caterpillar brows were eyes that saw the world as it could have been, if only he’d had the means of forcing it into submission.  His detractors always said it was wrong to use military power to sway public opinion, but how is that different than slapping a child’s hand to stop him from touching a hot stove?  Sometimes you have to be cruel to be kind when people aren’t smart enough to know what’s good for them.  During my Thatcher years, I nearly forgot how safe I felt imaginary-dancing in Leo’s arms, but the rise of President Obama brings those tingly feelings back to me.  And it’s even cooler this time around, since Barack knows all the words to “Faithfully” and sounds just like Johnny Cochran when he sings them softly in my ear.

I actually think it’s a good thing that President Obama chose tax cheats as disciples, since it makes him more Christ-like.  Just as Jesus forgave the sins of the men crucified with him, Barack absolved Timothy Geithner of his misdeeds and petitioned the public to be gentle with Tom Daschle, who misunderstood some complicated law he thought granted free car service to people who care.  Inspired by their peers, some of Barack’s other disciples are digging into their pockets and retroactively tithing to their state religion.  As I write this, literally hundreds of Barack’s friends, colleagues and supporters are lining up at the door of the IRS, checkbooks in hand,  eager to donate past earnings and lift the country out of recession.  It makes me think all the drama over the trillion-dollar economic stimulus package is nothing more than partisan hype.  If Barack’s appointees continue this trend of generosity, surely the government will have more than enough money to cover the tab for all the proposed social programs.

There’s a new lilt in my step as I anticipate the future under an Obama administration.  I feel a little like Barney Frank atop a  Mardi Gras float.  I’ve been promised a tax rebate that exceeds my payroll witholdings, I’ve been assured I can live in my house whether I continue paying for it or not, and I’m pretty sure I’ll wake up some morning to find a brand new electric car in my driveway, courtesy of my president.  I won’t have anywhere to drive, since my job is under threat, but is having a job really necessary in an era of unlimited progress?  I enjoyed having goals and working toward them, since achieving them brought an odd sense of pride.  But pride is really more Margaret Thatcher than Barack Obama.  And has pride ever fed a hungry child?


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