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Incorporating 'Tiger Beat.'You know, I originally pitched this weekly column to Tiger Beat, and they obviously jumped at it. But then I realized that the best place in the world for my devotion to Our Pantymelter in Chief was this reactionary liberal blog for overeducated elitist assholes, which is why Wonkette and I are happy to bring you another edition of “Barry Can You Hear Me?”

Squeeeeeeee! After Barackistan’s wham-bam, slam-dunk appearance on The Roundtable of Harridans, watching former NYU professor/current Czar of Videography Arun Chaudhary’s weekly sitcom West Wing Week is almost anticlimactic. I say “almost” because there has never been a time when anyone who watched West Wing Week did not have an orgasm at least once during the viewing — and in my personal experience, this week’s installment is no exception.

Once again the mischievous Arun stiffs us with regard to a few days of Obama’s activity. Usually we learn what Bammerz did last Friday, and then Arun, who is not unlike the trickster-god Coyote, pretends that Saturday and Sunday didn’t happen, and then we hear about Monday. In this instance, West Wing Week doesn’t even start until Monday!

This is of course bullshit, and I have come to believe that the missing days in West Wing Week are when President Handsomepants goes to visit his other family, the secret one that doesn’t know he’s president, the one that just thinks Daddy has a very busy job selling Xerox machines to small businesses up and down the Eastern seaboard. He goes home and kisses his lovely wife, Guadalupe (she’s Mexican!), and ruffles the hair of his handsome twin sons, Cesar and Chavez. They just graduated from high school, C and C did, and “Rufus Smith” can’t wait to hear about his boys’ Freshman Orientation at … at … where did they decide to go again? Oh, George Washington University? Things are about to get complicated in this zany screwball comedy Barry/Rufus calls life!

Even 'Star Trek' was sexier than this.
Mmkayz, this week’s episode is called “The Men in Blue Jumpsuits,” which sounds much gayer than it is. The titular men are spacemen from the NASA, and they show up to, I don’t know, eat Dippin’ Dots? We see a tantalizing flash of these Smurftastic alien men, before Arun takes us right to the best day of the week: MONDAY!

Arun pulls a fun move where he gives a close-up of a screen broadcasting some hot piece of ass behind the podium in the Rose Garden, and then you see that the hot piece of ass has turned around to walk into a door, the camera pans to the actual door near the screen and said hot piece of ass WALKS IN FROM THAT SAME PLACE! This is Brian Mosteller, Deputy Director of Oval Office Operations, just cold breakin’ the fourth wall. Would you like to learn more about him? Then perhaps take a gander at teen investigative journalist Ryan Katz’s investigative report in the Revere High School Lantern! Here is your first “national clip,” Ryan. Enjoy the full scholarship to Medill that surely shall follow at some point.

Then something happened with Obamar and the spacemen, and he thanked them for their courage but it’s like, I find it hard to care about anything other than the fact that Barack’s suit looks beautifully tailored. That is some Savile Row shit right there. Perhaps David Cameron brought it with him as a gift when he rode his magical flying polo pony o’er the Pond to visit his Colonies recently?

Next, Barry commemorated the passage of the Americans with Disabilities Act, and we got another delicious shot of Brian Mosteller-Benincasa looking on anxiously as Barry marched out the door. And then Barry signed a thing that says, “Yes, we government people will hire more of the disableds.” And all that was just on Monday! Only patriotism, coffee, and the residual blow left in the president’s system from the ’80s keep him going.


On Tuesday, an Oompa-Loompa got past security using his typical magical wiles, and thus did Barry end up shaking the hand of John Boehner on camera. It’s a disgusting task, but sometimes presidents must do dirty things, with orange humans. Pelosi was there too, lookin’ fresh as a daisy and foxy as Helen Mirren, and they all talked about bipartisanship or something else John Boehner hates.

Then it was time to welcome the World Softball Champions, a group of mostly blond Aryans from Georgia. Curiously, Elena Kagan did not also come to greet them. Obama has lost faith in his latest SCOTUS pick. Also, it is nice that he makes time to greet female athletes, this is good for persons with vaginas who enjoy hitting or bouncing things. I am not one of them, but I was on the 1994 National Baton Twirling Association World Championship Baton and Dance Team (this is true!), so fuck off.

On Wednesday, he went to my native homeland of New Jersey to greet disturbingly corpulent Governor Chris Christie. He left Michelle at home because her bigotry against shitty eating would have prompted a war, a war that she and her very sexy arms undoubtedly would have won. He also said hey to Newark’s own dreamweaver, Mayor Cory Booker, who (FULL DISCLOSURE!) once sent me a private message on Twitter to say thank you when I wished him luck on Election Day. Therefore, the ethics of journalismitisticality demand that I recuse myself from further comment on Mayor Booker, other than to say that he fucking rocks and is Newark’s best hope in decades and thank God that asshole Sharpe James is no longer in charge. Seeing Booker shake Obama’s hand was like watching a Handsome-Off, which is a competition held only when two extreme hotties get together.

Then Obama visited Tastee Sub Shop, while Christie paced outside, snarling and gnashing his teeth. Mayor Booker just went and opened a playground while looking handsome. Then Barack went to The View where the perimenopausal housewives in the audience went fucking nuts for his shit.

On Thursday, I guess he talked about education? Whatevs. The point is that even with his shortcomings and his administration’s fuck-ups, it is such a goddamned relief to have a smart, capable person in charge of the White House that I find myself returning to my default state of abject and total devotion. I spent a week doing comedy in Oslo in June and it was exciting to be in The Europes and not be embarrassed to mention the name of the CEO of Los Estados Unidos. It is a fact that the Norwegians are gay for Obama, and so am I, in a heterosexual fashion.

Have a fabulous weekend, you latent homosexuals. I am to commence writing a book about panic attacks (yet another true thing!) and, probably, eat unnecessary amounts of pasta whilst chained to my desk and computational machine. See you next week, when I will be fatter than Chris Christie and twice as hateful toward teachers’ unions (I used to be a high school teacher! Final true thing of the week!) Fare thee well, Communists!

Sara Benincasa will be the last participant in NASA’s “Teachers In Space” thing on the Space Shuttle next month. Look to the sky, cretins!

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