What About B.O.B?

Posted By:	The Boneman
Posted On:	Fri Jun 6th, 2008

In the days following the horrific 9/11 attacks we Americans were pretty freaked out. Once we'd learned who was responsible we were hoppin' mad and spoiling for a fight. Patriotism was riding as high as Old Glory and, had I told you "at the time" that in less than 8 years, the President of the United States would be an olive-skinned, black guy named Barack Hussein Obama, you might have fattened my lip for me. Not that I suspect B.O.Bama of being a terrorist sympathizer, but for a Harvard grad you'd think he'd have the smarts to pick a little more solid "go to" guy in the spiritual department? Goodness - I mean forget about all the Muslim stuff, the racism, the AIDS conspiracy - it boils down to this: If the Minister whose church he's attended for 20 years, who performed his wedding and baptized his children, prefers the slogan "God Damn America" to "God Bless America," 'he' might be the one in need of all this CHANGE he's been goin' on about. Turn that cardboard sign around and read the dang thing. Good hell -Warren Jeffs would be a step in the right direction.

If you stop and think about it (which I've obviously done) it makes you wonder if B.O.B. knows something we don't. He acts to me like it doesn't matter 'what' he does or 'whom' he associates with - the good Reverend Wright, Louis Farrakhan, who knows - maybe even Al Queda? In fact if the dream I had about him the other night should prove to have any basis in reality, B.O.B.'s more clandestine chums might make Al Queda look like Al Bundy. The great and rightfully revered Civil Rights activist, Dr. Martin Luther King once spoke eloquently of 'his' "Dream." A dream that still resonates in the heart of our nation some 40 years hence. Ladies and gentleman, I had a dream too - a ‘bad' dream. A freakin' ‘nightmare'. I dreamed of a man - a leader who speaks about big Changes, about Unity. He wants to bring us all together. One big, happy, harmonious world - streamlined for the future. One government, one religion, one economy - we're all brothers and sisters under the skin, right? Oui, Si, Yessiree - under the skin where they implant the identification-chip! Membership has it's privileges.

Actually part of the dream was a lot like those spooky documentaries on Hitler or Nostradamus that the Discovery and History channels frequently produce. In any case I hope you're ready for this, because the Dream Network is about to go "Face to Face" with "The Man Who Sold The World." (Cue the creepy "Omen" chorus - "Dominee Massoose, Dominee Massoose.)

It was June 6th, 1960, when the tortured cries of a strange newborn ripped through the cacophonous clatter of a wind battered tent into the dark, merciless heart of the howling desert. The wind shrieks and nervous shadows play upon the shuddering canvas, as the third world receives a new arrival. A child who would one day cast a long and fearsome shadow upon our tired world. Little is known about the circumstances surrounding this unusual birth, though legend holds that the father of the child was a darkly handsome and domineering figure whose few acquaintances described as moody, bitter, arrogant and unemployed. His sudden disappearance on that fateful night, is as mysterious as the identity of the child's mother, who is believed to have died giving birth. The only recorded information about the baby's mother comes from an unofficial account from an attendant midwife, Fhataza Kao. She presided over the birth and would later describe the baby's mother as a friendly creature who loved table-scraps and responded to the name Bingho.

"Was most terrible night of my life, I try - but can't never to stop the screamings. So very, very not eh, right, this baby. Holy Fumsakh Tar - to make, eh Jewish man pay full retail. I was so frightening - all alone with horrible birth defect crying and growling. Everyone either die or pull their eyes out running away. The strange screamings of baby thing scaring so hard, I mix rum with milk to give eh, calm down - did not help a fimple. But I stay with child, all through night. I not leave new childborn all alone. Not until someone come to pay me. Fhataza no go through such of a night for Fufkus. Fugneecha Groat is how I saying of that. Being honest, I know not the happenings of the child? (shrugs) All I remember is that when dust settles and morning finally come, two skinny German speaking mans, eh arrive in black autocar. One goes to eh, capture baby, the other puts roll of paper money in my hand and shoot me in head. I kid, I kid, I still have, eh, small . . . to make laughing. Instead he only use gun so can do the raping. I slept through his raping and the raping of other one too. Eh, Germans, what to say - they love the rape, some say they love David Hasselhoff, I say raping. No hands down." At this point the got kind of weird.

Due to a funny little numerical birthmark behind the infant's left testicle, baby Barack's infancy was marked by great contention. On the one side you had the minions of evil-doers, willing to sacrifice their lives to safeguard the boy king. And, of course, the armies of the righteous (or as their badges read N.E.R.D "non-evil righteous doers") who desperately sought to destroy the child before he could grow up and fulfill his infamous destiny. It went fast and furious - every covert op you can name: insurgencies, emergencies, executions retributions, infiltration, observation, insurrection, outsurrection, upheavals, downheavals, overthrows, underthrows. Undercover hyper-evil supplicate nannies, and subterfuge by heaven's own bloodthirsty grannies. Mind-blowing car chases, bone-jarring explosions, plenty of running around and shooting guns and occasionally a diaper change. Many analysts (political and otherwise) attribute Obama's political platform of Change to a deep-seated syndrome associated with infrequent and perilous diaper changes on the run.

The upshot of all this cloak and dagger business was that the boy Barack fell into the protective clutches of a private multi-national business consortium dedicated to promoting evil and a chain of deviate massage parlors called "Unhappy Endings." Operating from a luxurious bunker hidden deep within the granite walls near Lake Geneva Switzerland; the filthy rich sinister co-op is comprised of 13 of the richest and most politically influential men and women in the world. Individuals who have long ago sold their souls for wealth and fame and who are now solely devoted to bringing about the ascension of the anti-Christ, even unto world domination. An endeavor that they imagined would bring them unimaginable wealth and power, but proved to be unusually challenging. In his teens, for example, Borack discovered his supernatural powers and enjoyed a good practical joke. "He was like Ashton Kutcher on steroids" speaks a darkened silhouette. "And once he almost had us convinced that evil bored him and he was determined to make a humble living selling homespun bric-a-brac on E-bay. Oy - he would often disappear for days at a time. For this we used the code 'Barack is living with his Mother in Hawaii.'"

As Barack began to mature and entered his thirties, the consortium began to plot day and night as to how he might best be inconspicuously introduced into positions of political influence. One of the most unpleasant moments in the history of the Consort came when Barack suggested that he should be President of the United States. Everyone bit their tongues in time to avoid insulting him with their laughter - all except for KFC magnate Colonel Harlan Sanders. The dyed-in-the-wool southern gent simply found the notion of a black President too amusing for his own good. While the others around the table desperately attempted to placate the obviously angered, but bemused son of evil, the Colonel carried on - helpless with laughter. "That is rich, yessir, a darky as President - that's a good one, boy, and totally believable. (Nearly speechless with the giggles now). "Maybe if we got, a woman to run against him, nobody'd suspect a thing." This time as he doubled over and howled with laughter he didn't notice that Barack had transformed himself into a 7 foot chicken - brandishing a gleaming chrome hatchet. When Sanders finally noticed the change, he was immediately sobered. The Colonel made a game effort at getting the situation back under control, "now don't go taking that personal Sonny - there's no rule says we can't have a little fun while we're gearing up for World Domination?" Turning to the remaining 12 for support, "Lighten up, right guys?" But the situation had turned dangerously unpredictable and the group responded to the Colonels pathetic entreaty with all the upbeat levity of the Manson Jury.

Doing a remarkable impression of cartoon rooster, Foghorn Leghorn, Barack toyed with his wheelchair bound prey. "Ahsay I do believe I got it now - you're not laughing with me?" Paralyzed with fear the Colonel takes the fool's bait, "right, right we're laughing . . . "at" you? Woops." Whereupon Barack swings the hatchet and neatly halves an enormous dictionary on the boardroom table. "Oh s#*t McNuggets," the Colonel exclaimed as he scrambled to maneuver his wheelchair toward his private elevator. "Ahsay, ahsay yer no spring chicken these days are ya Colonel?" Ironically, Sanders never made it to the elevator in one piece, but it's rumored that his arms kept right on wheelin' after parting ways with his famous bearded noggin. "Let this be a lesson to the rest of you, not to go off half-cocked and never call me a ‘Darky'. I don't even want you to refer to me as the Prince of Darkness. We're together on that right?" "Right" came the response in unison. "It's also time I started calling the shots around here (wiping the Colonel's blood on his breast feathers) "Unless anyone else would care to express their opinion?"

"I think we all knew that the Colonel's days were numbered," Borack continues no longer chickened out, "and because of that I've been sifting through possible replacement candidates for over two years and trust me, finding that perfect combination of wealth, influence and evil is, by no means, an easy task. I'm confident, however, you'll all agree that the person I'm about to introduce to you fits the bill to a T - or should I say O. Ladies and Gentleman - I respectfully submit for your consideration - Oprah Winfrey.

Needless to say this was something of a coup for B.O.B and almost immediately Oprah and Obama became thick as thieves. In fact, although it would be necessary for Barack to take a wife in order to maintain a wholesome public image (think John Travolta and Kelly Preston), behind the scenes Oprah would be his Queen and partner. The world was theirs for the taking and it was Oprah's idea for Barack to begin his political career in the Illinois Senate so they could shack up in Chi-town. And one day, after he'd proven himself an extraordinary leader, Barack would seek the Presidency. They began to make far-reaching plans which included Barack's eventual ascension to Emperor of New Babylon, but a bitter dispute would threaten their corrupt-Camelot. It arose over the seemingly insignificant issue of which mark would be worn by all citizens of the world - the Mark that would be a required identity worn on the skin of the hand or forehead in order for legal purchase of necessities and to avoid random execution. Barack insisted on remaining B.C. (biblically correct) insofar as the mark should be the foretold 666, whereas Oprah was adamantly in favor of her trademark O. Rather than tearing apart their beautiful dream regime they reached compromise by placing the sixes inside the "O".

The dream petered out about the time I was running from the goons trying to give me the mark. And the last thing I remember was feeling sorry for black people – I mean they finally get a brother in the Whitehouse and he turns out to be the most evil man in the history of the world? Snap! The next day I poked around the internet and learned that I'm far from the only person who suspects B.O.B. of being Beelzebub's boy, which shouldn't have surprised me. I 'was' however, surprised to learn that Mormon pundit Glen Beck had leveled the self same accusation at Obama on ‘national television.' You can watch it on You Tube - he laces it with just enough jest to cover his butt, but I think he wanted to be the first to mention it, just in case it turns out to be true. And yes it's certainly easy enough to laugh it off, but if McCain drops dead of a stroke tomorrow, I'm hittin' my knees. As far as myself, it's not like I really want B.O.B to be the AC. Revelations makes for exciting reading and all, but I'm in no particular hurry to see the moon turn to blood. I've got Lennon and Zoe coming up on puberty and I don't need locust and pestilence on top of that. In the mean time I'll be repenting and working on those many imperfections that make it necessary. I do recommend it.