Hello there. I’m noted political pundit, expert and guru Sara Benincasa, and I’m pleased as Kenyan-Hawaiian punch to debut my weekly Wonkette column, “Barry Can You Hear Me?” This is a column in which I write down my thoughts about our president, each week, for you. You’re welcome!
Hoo boy, what a week, am I right? I say “boy” to no one in particular, and certainly not to our president, who is not a boy, but a strapping, tall, well-muscled man! Historically, white women who call black men “boys” are also inclined to demand that near-strangers bust up their chiffarobes, and I do not own one of these.
(Chiffarobes! Not black men! LOLOLOLOL! You guys!)
This week, the greatest governmental leader in the history of leaders of governments faced the usual tidal wave of oppressive criticism from pea-brained Neanderthals and thuggish jerk-cowards, all of whom are at least part-time members of the KKK.
On Monday, Obama traveled to Oil Death, Alabama, to snack on the luckiest fried ocean corpses in the world. He called the Gulf Coast seafood “delicious.” Can you imagine what it would be like to travel through Our President’s alimentary canal? If I were lucky enough to get inside that noble tummy, I’d try to stay in for as long as I could, even if I had already been worked into a sludge by secretin, cholecystokinin, and gastrin and ghrelin!
Unfortunately, not everybody shares our Fishmonger-in-Chief’s fondness for dead ocean things from the Gulf of Mexico:
Steve Platts, a resident of Gulfport, Mississippi, who used to eat seafood daily, now insists he will no longer eat fish from local waters. He thinks that between the oil and the dispersant chemicals used to clear the slick, the health risk is too high. “I don’t want to fish or eat the fish anymore,” Platts lamented, “I don’t trust anything coming out of the Gulf.”
This is sad, when a local human has lost trust in the bloated diesel-flavored corpses of sea beasts that emerge from a nearby wretched dead zone, especially when our national dad says it’s cool, go ahead and try it, you’ll like it.
On Tuesday, no one could deny the rousing eloquence of Obama’s big speech from the Oval Office, a speech that was exactly like “I Have a Dream” plus Nixon’s Checkers speech plus whatever the fuck Jesus said on the cross combined, only better.
The speech was so great that on Wednesday, the Swedish chef in charge of BP said, “Smyorgen byurgen byorgen schmyorgen,” which means, “Here, put some of our Swedish Fish™ in your Gulf, they are delicious!” At this point he gave Barack a check for like a kabillion dollars, again, because of the good speech. Then Carl-Henric Svanberg scuttled back into the gnome-palace where he dwells, watching very dour silent films about Death.
Then on Thursday, while Tony Hayward was getting stretched on the rack, Obama put on a magic suit and flew to outer space, where he pushed the Earth back so that we went back in time, and he saved us from an even greater disaster that could have happened, only we’ll never know it, because he is sworn to secrecy. That is the only reason for his “cool” as a “cucumber” approach to this oil spill. He knows how bad it could have been.
Now it is Friday, hooray! Obama will probably spend Shabbos with a few close friends, and then he will go to sleep, stuffed full of challah and an unwavering commitment to Israel. His dreams will be sweet, soaked in seawater and blood and the flop-sweat of many oil company CEOs. He’ll take a good long rest, and on Monday, he’ll wake up to a clear and clean Gulf, because of faith.
Sara Benincasa covers the White House from her one-room apartment next to Ground Zero, where she knits fuzzy sweaters for her future step-children, Sasha and Malia.
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