Musings on the Most Ridiculous Band I Can't Stop Listening To

Tag: barack obama (Page 1 of 4)

A Short History Of Presidential Illness

The first, say, 15 Presidents were all so much sicker than your modern brain can imagine. All of them were on the verge of collapse at all times, and their assholes were dirty, and there was nothing to do if they got pink-eye. Vaccines also didn’t exist, so they were susceptible to all sorts of foulness including–and it pains me to report this–slave-based diseases. You could catch drapetomania!

Millard Fillmore was a straight-up leper. Shit fell off him all the time. A guy named Mousy Halbrooke followed him around gathering up fingers and kneecaps and whatever. After hours, Millard’s wife would do it, and she resented it. “Here’s your fucking nose, Milly. That’s what you get from fucking whores.” I don’t know if leprosy is communicable via whore-fucking, but Mrs. Fillmore sure thought so.

You know about Herbert Hoover, but did you ever hear of Hector Hoover? That was Herbert’s semi-sentient twin who grew out of his shoulder. There was a well-defined head, and two nubbins that might have been arms, and also a dick. Hector used his nubbins mostly to play with his dick, and he whispered to Herbert in a secret language. The press was aware of this, and had in fact interviewed Hector several times, but they didn’t tell the public because it was a different time.

Grover Cleveland was hit by trains on two non-consecutive occasions, and no one ever heard about it.

Leon Czolgosz’s bullet was the best thing to happen to William McKinley. The 25th President was riddled with disease: spongified fingerlings, brain pustules, ear hemorrhoids, heterosexual tendencies, dingal fungus, and massive problems with his gooch. He also thought he was an Irish Setter named, ironically, Mousy Halbrooke. Crazy ol’ Leon was putting Billy out of his misery, way I see it.

Eisenhower died five times. Full-on brain death. They buried him once, but Ike was a fighter, and so he got out of the coffin and threw clods of dirt at John Foster Dulles for a while. The press was aware of all five death, but never reported it because it was a different time. Also, they were scared of Ike.

Kennedy was jacked-up on speedballs. Every old photo of him you’ve ever seen, every newsreel appearance: high as nine kites. Look up Dr. Jacobson. Here, I’ll do it for you. JFK was vibratingly high at all times, which is maybe why he thought he could invade Cuba all by himself.

Reagan also died five times. “Ike’s not gonna beat me, Mommy,” the Gipper would often say to Nancy, who was gobbling his eagle at the time, as was her wont. And then he’d die.

Both Bushes were werewolfs. The Secret Service would lock them in the bunker during full moons. As befits a patrician family, they ate very few interns. Barely any, really.

Obama had scurvy. “EAT AN ORANGE, GODDAMMIT!” Michelle would beg him. But he wouldn’t, and so all his teeth fell out and ran across the room. The press knew, but never told anyone because it was a different time, and also they were afraid of being bitten by Obama’s now-noncorporeal teeth.

Down At The Mall

Forget “Remember when the President was charming?”
Forget “Remember when the President could hold an impromptu conversation with a rando without it getting weird?”
Forget “Remember when the President was fuckable?”
Forget “Remember when the President could talk to children like a human?”
Forget all that shit.

Remember when the President could walk a mile without a golf cart?

A Nation Mourns

“God, I hate white funerals.”

“Not, uhhhh, a lot of conflict. No one gets drunk, throws herself into the casket. Subdued folks.”

“How much longer is this, anyway? I got a basketball arena full of wine-drunk ladies waiting for me.”

“Little bit longer. Just George W.’s eulogy and then they fly the body to Houston.”

“How many places are they burying this man? Is this a horcrux thing?”

“No idea. Michelle?”

“Mm?”

“He keeping his hands to himself?”

“For the most part.”

“I can hear Hillary grinding her teeth from here.”

“She is not in a healthy headspace right now. How you doing?”

“Michelle, I am, uhhhh, not gonna lie to you: popped a xanax on the ride over.”

“Not a terrible idea. Holy shit, you’re kidding me.”

“What?”

“Is he snoring?”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

“Tell Melania to elbow him in the fat.”

“Oh, don’t make me talk to her.”

“Barack Hussein Mohammad Mustafa Whiteyhater Obama, you get that cat-woman to wake Lumpy up. We are on camera.”

“Fine, okay. Um, Melania?”

“Da, Chocolate President?”

“Michelle, she called me–”

“I don’t care what she called you. Take care of this.”

“Everythin’ all raht down there?”

“We’re fine, Bill.”

“Yer thigh cold? Ah c’d rub it for yew.”

“All good on the thigh front, Bill. Barack?”

“Fine, fine. Melania?”

“Da?”

“Can you nudge the President, please? I think he’s resting his eyes a bit loudly.”

“He is sleep, da. Let him. He no say stupid thing vhen he sleep.”

“Melania–”

“Maybe he die in sleep. Ve can throw him in coffin vith other body.”

“Melania–”

“You kill him for me, Svarte Piet.”

“Do not call me Black Pete.”

“Is Christmas. You are Black Pete.”

“An’ then Daddy said, ’43, don’t tell Jeb, but you’re mah favorite. Tell Neil, though.’ Daddy made me promise to tell everyone that Neil was his worst son. An’, you know, I agree. Neil ain’t even smart enough to be the Fredo. More like a family pet or beloved servant, one who was mistakenly granted access to banks and their workins’.

“An’ then he said, ‘I won my war, you pussy,’ an’ I said, ‘Yeah, but I won my reelection,’ an’ I called him a word that means ‘homo’ but not ‘homo.’ The stronger variation. He tried to karate chop me, but he was very weak at this point an’ I was able to get him in a naked rear choke.

“It should be noted that sev’ral generations of Bushes were in the hospital room while this was goin’ on.”

“Oh, thank God. He’s awake.”

“Michelle, no one has ever before thanked God that that man was awake.”

“Weird year. Is someone doing  Darth Vader impression?”

“That’s Cheney.”

“Ah.”

A Goat In Fox Clothing

“Run again.”

“Bron, I can’t keep telling you this. I, uhhh, can’t be president again. Two terms, all you get.”

“No, no, no. Two terms in a row. You only get two terms in a row. Take one off, and then you can be president again.”

“You know I taught Constitutional Law at Harvard, right? Trust me on this one.”

“You trust me on this: my shot’s going in.”

SWISH

“What’s the score?”

“The score is irrelevant. We both know any points you make are ones I let you make.”

“I think I’m, uhhh, holding my own.”

“I could break your ankles at will, sir.”

SWISH

“Did you see my eyes were closed?”

“I did. Bron, you’re angry.”

“This motherfucker–”

“Yup, yup. Outdoor voices.”

“If I’m so dumb, how come I’m so rich?”

“What are you gonna do?”

“Kobe!”

SWISH

“Really?”

“What do you think I should do? There’s that special election this week in Ohio. I was thinking maybe I should pick a fight with him and get him to say some serious bullshit.”

“Don’t engage. Leave it alone. You ended up net positive on this one. Think about it: what else could have gotten your school this amount of free publicity?”

“It’s incredible. The phones in the front office exploded. Literally. There was a BANG and smoke. I saw it happen.”

“There you go: you won.”

“So I should do it again! Mr. President, I have an idea.”

“Don’t say–”

“I’m gonna go on Fox News.”

“–you’re going on…Jesus, man, he’ll launch the nukes. That’s his safe space.”

“And I’m gonna get up in there. All day. I’m gonna start with the two dummies and the lady, and then the one where it’s all hot women and one dude. I’m gonna be the dude.”

SWISH

“Shepard Smith is not bad. He does not lie.”

“No. Does not lie.”

“But is working for evil. And I’m staying in the studio all afternoon until Hannity gets there, and when that mother–”

“Language.”

“–sees me talking to his late-night phone buddy, he’s gonna lose it. I bet that’s when he’d snap. He’d be, like, sending little shitposts out all afternoon when he saw me with all the girls and just getting furious, and now I’m sitting at the same desk as his best friend. Got my glasses on. Gonna shave the head. Black suit. Bow tie.”

“Going full Nation of Islam?”

“Fruit of Islam.”

“You are, uhhh, going to get a nickname. Low-IQ LeBron.”

“That’s not bad, actually.”

“Thank you.”

SWISH

“Thank you, sir. What is the monster lady’s name? Looks like the Khaleesi, but old and mean?”

“Laura Ingraham. Sour apple of human being.”

“By the second segment, she’s gonna have her hand on my forearm. I’ll bet you a hundred-thousand dollars.”

“Who am I, Charles Barkley? No bet. LeBron, don’t do this. You’re poking a stupid bear.”

“Quarter-of-a-million says I get slobbered during the show.

“In public. We are in public.”

“I think he might tweet it out. And delete it real quick, maybe. Or misspell it.”

“He would never say it.”

“Say it? He says it all the time. When him and Junior are alone? That’s how they bond, by saying it. He loves saying it.”

“He wouldn’t tweet it. He’s not a 15-year-old pitching prospect. It pains me to say this, but he’s not that dumb.

“He is that racist, though.”

“Oh, shit, yeah.”

DRIBBLE

“Mr. President, take the shot.”

BOUNCE PASS NOISE

“Thank you, Bron.”

BALL BEING SWATTED AWAY BY GARGANTUAN HAND NOISE

“That was instinct, but I enjoyed it, sir.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I’m gonna be honest with you: I sort of resent you for not being the president now.”

“Me? You resent me?”

“Isn’t it weird how emotions work like that?”

“Don’t go on Fox.”

“Just Hannity. And I’m wearing a dashiki and sandals and shit.”

“Do I have to ask Michelle to talk to you?”

“No., sir.”

“Don’t poke the stupid bear.”

“Yes, sir.”

SWISH

SWISH

“Where did the second ball come from?”

“I’m LeBron James.”

“Yup. All right.”

The Democratic National Committee Has A Strategy Meeting

“All right, all right, let’s come to order. I hope everyone got enough matcha and gluten-free bagels. Nancy Pelosi had them flown in special from San Francisco. Everyone thank Nancy.”

“Moisturize me.”

“Later, later. First off, let’s have a moment of silence for Phillip Roth. The nation mourns, except for the dummies in the middle. Oh, Phil! No one has cataloged the travails of the Baby Boomer Jew like you. Hey, maybe that should be our message for the Midterms?”

“Chuck?”

“I’m speaking, Dianne Feinstein.”

“I know, but I think maybe our message for the Midterms should be about women. There’s a young popular group out there now, and they have a saying. ‘Girl Power.’ Perhaps we could use that?”

“Maybe. Maybe. But is ‘Girl Power’ inclusive enough? I feel like it’s not doing enough to capture the white male demographic that hasn’t voted for us since Reagan but we keep chasing.”

“Hm. True.”

“Okay, back to the meeting. As always, we start with the same question: has anyone developed charisma since the last time we met?”

“Chuck, I have been told I’m very charismatic.”

“Kamala, you’re a different type of charisma than what we’re looking for. We need an Asgard kind of charisma. You’re more Wakanda.”

“Wow.”

“Any thoughts on my idea abut changing your name to Kim?”

“I’m against it.”

“Okay. Anyone else? Anyone suddenly grow a personality?”

DULL SILENCE NOISE

“Didn’t think so, but I had to ask. Okay, nu, what should we do about this Trump? He’s a gonif! We know this, but how do we get it through to the yokels? Joe Manchin?”

“I was thinking long and hard about this, Chuck. How about we do everything President Trump says, and also make abortion illegal?”

“Why do we let you sit with us?”

MAN ENTERING ROOM NOISE

“Sorry I’m late, everyone. I was on a hot date with my girlfriend.”

“Just stop it, Senator Booker.”

“She has big breasts that I like to touch with my hands and face.”

“You’re just embarrassing yourself, Cory.”

“I’m such a fan of her vagina.”

“Okay, sure. Whatever. Ladies and gentlemen, what are we going to do? The polls show our lead in the generic match-up dropping and it’s because we don’t have a message. What is our message?”

ROOMFUL OF HANDS GOING UP NOISE

“Besides ‘Trump is bad.'”

ROOMFUL OF HANDS GOING DOWN NOISE

“What are we for?”

“Senator Schumer, I demand the right to speak on behalf of the young people!”

“Bernie, what are you doing here? You’re not a Democrat.”

“No, but I am going to eat your bagels, fuck up your meeting, and then leave more popular than I was when I came in.”

“Sounds right.”

“I have one word for everyone.”

“What?”

“Collectivization of the farms.”

“That’s four words.”

“Not in the original Russian.”

“Get out! Out!”

“This meeting is rigged against me.”

“It’s our meeting! We make the rules!”

“First up against the wall, comrade.”

“What?”

“Nothing, nothing.”

“Chuck?”

“Yes, Tim Kaine?”

“Oh, thank you for remembering my name.”

“Jesus, just get on with it.”

“Literally everyone has forgotten I existed. My Wikipedia page is a stub.”

“Did you have any suggestions?”

“Yes. I brought my harmonica.”

“No. No more harmonica.”

“Senator Schumer, I rise to speak. As the first African-American woman to run for president, I have a unique perspective on the current situation that no one else in this room does.”

“And you’ve been dead since 2005, Shirley Chisholm. Get out of here.”

“This is racism.”

“It’s not racist because you’re a ghost.”

“That’s not a rule!”

“Senator Schumer, I would like to, uhhhh, make a statement now. If I may.”

GLORIOUS FANFARE NOISE

“Oh, God, President Obama! Thank you! Are you here to help us?”

“No. I’m, uhhhhh, a Hollywood big shot now. Big deal with Netflix. I’m here to laugh at all of you and, uhhhh, remind you that without me, you’re nothing.”

“That is so petty.”

“And grab a couple bagels.”

“Help yourself.”

Yokohama ‘Bama

You’re just living your best life, aren’t you?

“Much more fun being The Big O now than, uhhhh, two years ago. For example, I’m drunk.”

You always did like your beer.

“I’m way past beer now. Been starting the day with margaritas. I’m a Hawaiian shirt away from being a Jimmy Buffet song.”

Retirement suits you.

“Not even wearing underwear.”

Didn’t need to know.

“C’mon. I was, uhhhh, the sexiest President. Hands down.”

Kennedy.

“Pssh. One-pump chump. Not even close to my steez.”

Who is?

“Hayes.”

Rutherford B. Hayes?

“Gorgeous. Not alluring and exotic like The Big O, but still very doable.”

I don’t know about that. Lemme look.

Ay, chihuahua.

“Told you.”

He looks like the lost Wilson brother.

“Pouty.”

What exactly did Hayes do?

“Not much. First President to lose the popular vote, but win the Electoral College.”

We gotta get rid of that thing.

“Not my problem anymore. Barry’s got himself a shorty, and he’s got himself a forty. And some sort of Japanese sex-car.”

Is that what that is?

“You, uhhhh, control it with your boner or something. Between you and me?”

Sure.

“I do not understand the Japanese.”

No one does.

“Lovely people, but they invent new ways of being weird.”

True.

“So, uhhhh, how come you didn’t rope Dr. King into one of your little make-’em-ups for the 50th anniversary of his death?”

I thought that would be disrespectful.

“You’re not as dumb as you look.”

Yes, I am.

“I was being nice.”

Please come back.

“Nope.”

Get Barack To Where You Once Belonged

Hey, President Obama. Whatcha doing?

“Living my best life. You see this smile? I, uhhhh, thought I lost this smile. Turns out it was just hiding for eight years.”

You look happy.

“Y’know, every day I wake up, face Mecca, say my prayers, and then I realize I’m not the President any more, and I just start smiling. Seriously, look at this sucker. Can’t even see my eyes. I’m thrilled from morning to night to be rid of you ungrateful bastards. And Hillary.”

Uh-huh.

“When Gore got hosed, he had the dignity to go away for a few years and grow a beard.”

You think Hillary should grow a beard?

“Sure, why not, who gives a shit? Barry’s on his world tour and your problems are your own.”

Where are you, sir?

“New Zealand. Never got a chance to get here when I was in the White House.”

Why not?

“It’s, uhhhh, completely irrelevant in a geopolitical sense. The President goes to important countries.”

Like Saudi Arabia?

“Very important place. Without Saudi Arabia, we wouldn’t have the Freedom Tower.”

Jesus. That was a little dark.

“Yeah, I’ve stopped monitoring my sense of humor so closely in the past year. The Big O says what’s on his mind.”

The Big O?

“And, uhhhh, I’m calling myself The Big O.”

Sure. How is New Zealand?

“Like Australia, but not.”

Sounds right.

“I’ll give this to New Zealand, though: when you go to Australia, they make you hold their vile little creatures. You get off the plane: boom, someone chucks a wombat at you. Every time you turn around: ‘Mr. President, hold this quokka.’ Goddammit, I don’t wanna hold your pouch-rat. Now, New Zealand? Here, they just do scary dancing at you. Big muscle guys give you the gasface for a minute or two, and then you’re free to enjoy yourself.”

That does sound better.

“You can’t go ten minutes. ‘Here’s a wallaby.’ Get it away from me. Weird people.”

Yes, sir. Mr. President?

“Yeah?”

Please come back.

“Not gonna happen.”

Hope, Pope

“Your Holiness.”

“Hey, Signore Presidente. How you doing?”

“Good, good. You, uhhhh, don’t need to do the handshake.”

“Is-a da soul brother handshake.”

“I recognized it. Unnecessary.”

“You give-a da dap?”

“Just a regular handshake is fine.”

“Okay. Up-a to you. Is-a nice place you got-a here.”

“The White House belongs to the people, Your Holiness. And, besides, it’s not much compared to where you live.”

“Si, si. Vatican make-a dis joint look like-a da dump. Where-a da frescoes?”

“No frescoes, Your Holiness.”

“Is-a da waste of-a da good ceiling! Put-a some naked bambinos with-a da wings up there!”

“I’ll look into it, Your Holiness.”

“Call-a me Jorge.”

“I, uhhhh, can’t do that.”

“Bueno. Was-a da trick. You call-a da Pope by-a his first name, you go straight-a to Hell.”

“Well, there’s no strictures against using a President’s first name. Please call me Barack.”

“Si, si. Barack.”

“That’s great.”

“Barack?”

“Yes, Your Holiness?”

“Why you no love-a da Jesus?”

“Oh, not you, too.”

“Benedict says you a secret Muslim.”

“Former Pope Benedict says a lot of things.”

“Si, si. And he say you murder someone named-a Ben Gozzy.”

“Is the former Pope just watching Fox News all day?”

“You betcha. And he don’t-a speak English so good, so he gets-a da stories confused.”

“I’m sorry you have to put up with that.”

“Is-a no picnic with that guy.”

“Now, Your Holiness, I just need to warn you: Joe Biden is going to come in here in a minute, and he’s liable to do just about anything.”

“People freak out when I hit-a da spot.”

“He’s just Catholic as all-get-out, Your Holiness. Probably gonna cry a little. Might, uhhhh, be a bear hug. Just stay on the balls of your feet.”

“Si, si. Barack?”

“Your Holiness?”

“As-Salaam-Alaikum.”

“Wa-Alaikum-SalaamDAMMIT.”

“I got you. You-a da secret Muslim.”

“Don’t tell anyone.”

“Si, si. Popes can keep-a da secrets.”

Commander-In-Leaf

What the fuck are you supposed to be?

“It’s, uhhh, art. Wouldn’t expect you to understand.”

You look like a woodland sprite.

“It’s symbolic.”

You’re like Tom Bombadil. You’re Obambadil.

“All right, settle down. Listen, we talking here just you and me?”

Yes, sir.

“I got no fucking idea what this is.”

Maybe it’s the outfield at Wrigley?

“I root for the Sox. Anyway, I got no clue. Rebirth, growth, life, something like that.”

You could’ve smiled.

“You are aware that this is not a photograph, right? I wasn’t actually present when it was created.”

Oh.

“You thought I sat there in front of the easel for a couple days?”

A little.

“You’re not bright.”

No, sir. What are you up to lately?

“Interviewing lawyers. Apparently, I’m about to be indicted.”

I read that, too.

“Deep State, brother.”

So, are you still in charge of the Deep State?

“No, no, no. There’s layers upon layers on top of me. Queen Elizabeth I.”

I think you mean Elizabeth II, sir.

“I didn’t. Elizabeth the First. They put her brain in a robot.”

Wow.

“There’s a coma patient in Plattsburgh, NY, whose bodily metrics perfectly mirror the stock market.”

Of course.

“The streetlights of Marseilles. Kind of a collective consciousness.”

Sure.

“And, uhhh, George Soros.”

I was waiting for him.

“Deep State is everywhere. Look behind you.”

Shit! Leaves!

“See?”

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