I woke up this morning with a song on my lips. Well, not exactly a song — more like a tune, a song without words. I’m sure you know it. It goes something like this: ha-huh-ha-huh-ha-huh-ha-HUH . . . ha-huh-ha-huh-ha-huh-ha-huh . . . ha-huh-ha-huh-ha-huh-ha-HUH . . . ha-huh-ha-huh-ha-huh-ha-huh . . . I’m referring, of course, to the music of His Serene Highness, the Emperor Barack Hussein Obama II, who after a brief two-week absence from the national scene that more or less coincided with the beginning of Ramadan brought his road-show version of Chicago to a joint session of Congress Wednesday night. They say you can go to the well once too often, but as far as BO2 is concerned, you can never go too often to the well of the Senate or the House.
I can never get enough of the Punahou Kid. That saturnine visage, occasionally punctuated by the faux Bobby Bonilla smile; the Islamic finger-wagging, as if he had studied oratory at a mosque in Indonesia or something, the muezzin singsong of the cadences, not quite white and not quite authentically black, either. I love the way he imperiously summons the feckless Senate eunuchs and the cannon-fodder congressmen to his mock-SOTU performances. I love seeing Michelle, scowling and glowering from her perch like Madame Defarge at the guillotine, clicking her knitting needles as she waits for the next head to fall into the basket. I love seeing Annunciata d’Alesandro Pelosi — that’s Maerose Prizzi to you — as the Lady in Red, her face frozen, the only sign of life the blinking of her adoring eyes. I love seeing John McCain and his fetching companion, Lindsey Graham, smiling like a couple of rubes at a three-card-monte game, so pleased are they to be patted on the head like the good little losers they are. And I love the way that, afterward, the press corps, conducted by Jake Lingle, immediately dances around like puppets on a string, mouthing the words to “The Press Conference Rag” as Rahm Emanuel delicately pirouettes in the background with a red Spanish rose between his teeth and a dagger behind his back.
My friends, our long march through the institutions is finally over. There is no aspect of what we hopefully will soon be referring to as the former United States of America — the “Supreme Soviets of America” has a much better ring to it, no? — that Hussein does not want to fundamentally change: the rapacious, malevolent private sector, the wrong-headed notions of individual “freedom” (the Education Department will soon fix that), any reference to this ever having been a Christian country, and that wicked charter of negative liberties, the Constitution, especially the so-called Bill of Rights. Imagine allowing anyone to say anything about political figures at any time, or owning a firearm, or, Gaia forbid, reserving to the states all powers not specifically enumerated to the federal government. In the interests of a happier, poorer, less polluting, freer America, this stuff has got to go.
And there's more:
Let’s say, for the sake of argument, that I’m currently working on yet another sequel to The Manchurian Candidate and I’ve come up with this crazy notion that, seven years after 9/11, the American people elected a man they had not even heard of a few years before, a man whose campaign was handled by a red-diaper baby, a man who was part Arab-African, the son of a Muslim, the circumstances of whose nativity are still unclear, whose college applications and transcripts have never been seen, who appears to have no friends from his days at Punahou, Occidental, Columbia, and Harvard. Heck, Hussein even went to Georgetown and made them cover up Jesus. And yet the enchanted Washington press corps finds Michelle’s bare arms and the Obamas’ new puppy — oddly enough, named BO — of far more journalistic interest. Talk about the dogs that don’t bark in the nighttime, the daytime, or any time!And more:
Or, to put it another way, if BHO II actually were the nutbag Right’s worst nightmare, a crypto-Muslim Marxist bent on the destruction of the Principal Enemy, as our friends the Soviets used to call us, how would he act any different
As you know, the only way I can understand current events is to do what eminent thumb-suckers like Frank Rich do, and that is to frame everything in a facile entertainment context so I can score cheap political points without having to do any, you know, heavy lifting.It's all about small government, you see, not racism or mindless hatred. They have signs and everything.
Being There II. A mild-mannered, well-spoken homeless person with the improbable name of Barack Hussein Obama II (Denzel Washington) takes the country by storm after he’s discovered aimlessly wandering the streets of Chicago by a shady newsman named Jake Lingle (Robert Downey Jr.). Over a couple of beers, Lingle bets one of his former colleagues at the Chicago Tribune, David Axelrod (Dr. Phil, in his big-screen debut), that he can’t get “Bambi” — who can’t remember a thing about his past at Columbia and Harvard — elected dogcatcher. Thus challenged, the campaign consultant goes to town, rounding up a coalition of red-diaper babies, radicals, terrorists, gangsters and the Daley political machine — the dreaded “Outfit” — to turn Obama first into a state senator, then a U.S. senator, and, finally… president of the United States! Before you say it’s too far-fetched to be believable, remember — it could happen!
Well, I have to admire the self-restraint it must take them to refrain from just writing or yelling the "N" word. That's all that provides a thin cover for the extreme racist sentiments most of these people are expressing.
"David Kahane" is the name of the screenwriter that Tim Robbins's Griffin Mill murders in The Player.
And yet here we have another David Kahane murdering the form of satire, the activity of political commentary, AND the notion of humor, all in one self-satisfied, unreadable post.
Isn't life a funny thing?
Yes, Mr. Wonderful, I think he's in the entertainment business. He must be a joy to work with.
They really resent it that they're not allowed to call people names anymore--it's the source of their hatred of political correctness (aka good breeding and manners).
That was a really amazing column. I had no idea what to do with it, so I did nothing.
You are braver than I.
Yeah, they're almost overwhelming. I could practically see the spittle fly.
Ponderous convoluted sarcasm masquerading as wit & humor. Kook-eyed conspiracy theories pretend to be exotic fantasias.
The guy thinks he's another Wolcott. I doubt he'll be writing for Vanity Fair any time soon.
That's really awful writing. There are a bunch of words but what the fuck is the point, what exactly is he trying to convey?--oh, now I know, self-promotion. Welcome to the world of the Megan McArdel School for Advanced Writing.
Wow, that was... dumb.
Wow. Just wow. That was some god-awful writing. It's smug and nowhere near as funny as the author thinks it is.
There is no aspect of what we hopefully will soon be referring to as the former United States of America...
Wait a minute. What happened to the importance of patriotism, wrong or right, for these people?
How do you guys do it? How do you read this crap day in and day out and not turn into angry monsters?
My strength is the strength of ten, for my heart is pure.
My strength is the strength of ten, for my heart is pure.
America's cash crop.
...the American people elected a man they had not even heard of a few years before, ... a man who was part Arab-African,
That's the part they really hate, the part that really motivates them, and the more loudly they deny it, the easier to see how true it is.
u mad? learn to recognize extreme sarcasm.
Running the gamut from 'Anonymous' to 'Mr. Wonderful', again liberals mistake themselves for somebodies even when they deep down know that they are nobodies. Only politically and socially speaking; God gives them greater love than even they can muster as, say, Chris M.'s leg for BHO.
What they seem not to realize is that not only David Kahane but most of his advocates all started as they did - mindless, 'emo' liberals; I know I did. Then, hey, we grew up.
And, of course, we all grew up into racists.
Puerile nonsense, which is equivalent to 'progressive thinking'.
Aww, "David" has friends.
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