Some years ago, during the height of Occupy, I walked from my house in Los Angeles up to Wilshire, where a bunch of kids had gathered to decry … something. Drones maybe? Definitely the president and his bad neoliberal ways no better than a common President Bush. I went home and made a sign on a cardboard box; it read Out of Work Single Mom for Obama. I returned and stood across the street from them and waved and smiled, waved and smiled. A black woman in a Mercedes tried to give me some money. Oh no oh no, thank you, but no! I am just here to counter the children angry at a man who is imperfect and with whom I don’t always agree but who is decent, sober, thoughtful. You could be sure that as he was okaying a strike, he wasn’t playing computer Solitaire. Thank you though, lady, that is sweet of you.
I don’t love Obama no matter what: I would be angry if he lit a kitten on fire with a rolled-up hundred. (Yes, I know kittens are sometimes killed in drone strikes.) I am glad he stopped over-compromising with the Republicans, finally, because that was fucking ridiculous. He’s not good on transparency or First Amendment stuff. I am not sure about TPP, because everybody but him seems to think it’s a total shitball, and yet his advocacy for it makes me think it must be okay. I trust him, almost always, to do the right thing.
And here comes the New York Times with an interesting story about how Barack Obama spends his nights, “Obama After Dark,” and not a person in the world would read that headline and think of hookers and blow, except for the cats at WND who know the truth that Obama is a gay hustler smoking pole for crack.
What does the president do after dinner with Michelle and the girls? He retires to the Treaty Room to write, and read, watch a little ball with the sound down low, and think. He plays some Scrabble, because he is smart. He reads all of his briefing papers.
“He is thoroughly predictable in having gone through every piece of paper that he gets,” said Tom Donilon, Mr. Obama’s national security adviser from 2010 to 2013. “You’ll come in in the morning, it will be there: questions, notes, decisions.”
You are a Wonkette reader, so you remember what it was like to have an incurious president, one who did not care to read his briefings, one who sneered “okay you’ve covered your ass now” when people tried to brief him that al Qaeda was taking flying lessons right here in the USA.
But the children don’t remember it, I guess. They are angry at the first sober, thoughtful president we’ve had in a generation, for not going far left enough fast enough — as if the pendulum won’t swing right the fuck back if suburban Americans get scared from too much too soon. Really, you can only make one big change at a time, let people get used to it, think it’s the way it always was. The Republicans tried to do too much too soon under Bush; they got greedy with their one-party rule, and they got smacked with a Pelosi Congress, right in the kisser.
There aren’t that many rules to being a fellow traveler here at Wonkette — you can disagree on most things (except advocating for Marine LePen) as long as you’re not a shitbird about it. But one requirement for membership is you have to love the president, even as a temperamentally centrist kind of guy, for being a thinker. A man who can be alone with himself and be comfortable. A man nobody accuses of being in it for any but reasons bigger than himself, except of course for all the pole-smoking and crack.