Fiction

How ironic is this?

And what do you mean by “appear?” Is he going to emerge from a mythical, magical cloud of smoke? Since they’ve already announced it, they kind of blew that surprise though, don’t you think?

But I guess it is an option.

Via the Christian Science Monitor comes the headline:

“Obama on ‘MythBusters’: Will he get to blow something up?”

I would have edited that to read “Will he get to blow something else up?” especially after the last year and a half with  he, Pelosi, Reid and the whole Hee-Haw gang of Democrats having presided over the destruction of what remained of our Constitution.

Never mind the facts though. The CSM staff is giddy, giddy with excitement.

We can’t wait – will Obama wear a toga? Will he hold up a big magnifying glass and light fire to a sheet of poll numbers to show the gang how it’s done?

Sheesh. I bet given the chance, he’d light The Bill of Rights with that magnifying glass and use it to light a cigarette.

OOPS! Look what I did! Tee Hee Hee. Oh well, time for a smoke break.

Here’s an idea that will never happen: Howsabout we take that magnifying glass and examine that mythical birth certificate? Hmmm? Let’s put those years of mythbusting to some actual use. But alas, that ain’t gonna happen. I wouldn’t believe anything that came out of their leftie little mouths anyway.

Still, there are endless possibilities and mysteries to be explored. They could hook him up to one of their lie detectors, but then again, I’m quite sure the polygraph machine couldn’t take so much abuse. There just isn’t that much room on those graphs for the required squiggling needle movement.

Bzzzzt. flappt. Ping!

Where did YOUR campaign contributions come from Mr. Obummer, sir? hmm?

Uhhh, Uhhh…

Is it true that you are secretly a Muslim?

Umm, er Uhh…

How many hospitals have you claimed to be born in? Hmmm?

Uhhh. Uhhmm. Well.

Which one was it really? Was it Kenya perhaps?

Uhh. I er um.

How about those communist connections with Frank Marshall Davis and Harry Bridges in Hawaii or Bill Ayers in Chicago?

Michelle, help!

Yes, these mysteries and more could be explored and the myths surrounding the man could be busted, but it isn’t going to happen.

One thing is sure. I won’t be watching.

I’m busy.

Barack Hussein Obama, Known aliases: Barry Soetero, Barry Obama, Barack Dunham and Barry Dunham

Image found at “The Betrayal Of Mystery Babylon”

UPDATE: Steve of Motor City Times laments on the ruination.

“Honestly,” Maggie said. “Who’s going to clean up all of this trash? These Congressmen and Senators sure made a mess in the streets when they shredded those old papers, didn’t they?”

The two were sitting on a bench across New Jersey Avenue from the Capitol Building, watching remnants of the founding documents float and flitter, tossed by a blustery wind.

They were old enough to know they weren’t welcome in that area, but still too young to give a flying fig if anyone cared. Besides, who’s going to arrest them? After the riots, the police had either quit or joined one side or the other. The patrols those days consisted of United Nations troops who wore their body armor and carried full autos. Two old homeless geezers posed no threat. The threat had come from within and now that everyone had picked sides and the civil war was on full scale, if you didn’t carry anything worth stealing, almost everyone left you alone. It’s funny how anarchy works if you don’t play a part.

The crusty pair knew they were in danger, but they somehow pushed those thoughts to the recesses of their minds. Or mayhap they knew full well, but entertained the danger like some 65 year old bungee jumpers.

“Yup, You’ve gotta hand it to ‘em. They sure know how to throw a party.” Then Maggie added, ‘You wanna head over to the park? I hear there’s a card game and I wouldn’t mind going to Andy’s Place to see some Flopping Aces by fire light.”

The old man, who had been quiet to this point, finally spoke up. “Nah, I’m tired and you know, I’m not in the mood to hear Gorges’ Grouse tonight. That guy’s always moanin’ about something.”

Hey, do you remember when I worked for Goomba News Network as a paper boy? We used to run halfway across town to have lunch at Grandpa John’s with that girl, who was it? I’ll never forget old what’s-her-name. Ha! Oh yea, Nice Deb. Anyway, we used to eat lunch at that diner, The Sundries Shack and then run over to Fishersville. Mike always loved going over there, remember? We would play that game YankeePhil made up; Track-A-‘Crat I think he called it, never made any sense, that game.”

“Yea” she said. “It was fun though. One time, I was chasing a ball and I jumped the fence into that little Backyard. Conservative couple lived there. I remember the lady yelling at me, ‘Woman Honor Thyself’ she said. Maybe I should have listened to her. Look at me now. Ah well, I never was The Thinker that you are, Harold.”

“Then how come it’s you that keeps a journal?” he asked. “You remember when we crashed the car into The Foundry? I would have given a thousand dollar bill for Paps Thoughts after we nursed that heap home that night with the busted radiator.”

“Ha! You don’t remember too well do ya?” Maggie corrected. “Pap was drunk and passed out in Carol’s Closet! He was sure pissed the next day though, ‘Not one dollar. NOT ONE RED CENT am I giving you to fix that jalopy you call an automobile!’ he said, and he meant it.”

Harold gave a couple of Sharp Elbows to the side.  “Har! *cough* Quit it. You’ll make me hack up a lung with talk like that. Heh heh.”

“There you go again, trying to bring out My Bossier side. I’m not here to coddle you mister. I’m in survival mode, don’ cha know. Now git yer ass up an’ let’s go. We’ve still got to Discover the Networks around here if we gonna stay alive in this new world. If we were still working for Paco Enterprises, the old man would be havin’ none of your sloth and I don’t mean to either. It’s going to be dark soon and we need some shelter. You know it ain’t safe in that there Capitol Building now that all o’ them Obama flies moved in.”

“Files,” He said.

“What?”

“Not flies, files. The Oh, bama FILES” He slowed it down for her. “They moved those files in there for storage. Don’t you member? That’s why come they got all them extra military types around here.”

“Yea, I remember” She mumbled. “Well what do you want to do then?”

“There’s always the Jefferson Memorial. No-one goes there anymore and I stashed a pry bar over there to open one of the lower sashes with.”

“Well, ain’t you just The Live Wyer! When were you planning on letting me in on this particular Volokh Conspiracy?” She admonished him with a not-so playful slap to the back of his head.

“Owww! Take ‘er easy there Mama, I told you didn’t I? Now let’s mosey. Those camos over there ain’t looking too friendly.”

They both got up slowly, exaggerating their age with the charade of pain that comes with practice. Act like you’re feeble and hurting and you’re not a threat. At least, that was the theory. Problem was it wasn’t far from the truth.

Harold stooped to pick up Maggie’s Notebook from the bench and they turned south toward Independence Avenue. “We’d better get moving” he said. It’ll be getting dark in a couple of hours and I don’t wanna see any o’ them Moonbatterys tonight.

The Conservative Lady began walking beside him and they picked up speed. Neither one turned to look at the guards pacing about the Capitol steps, hoping they wouldn’t follow.

“Do you remember when we had the internet Harold?”

“Yea, we were some blogging fools weren’t we?”

“That we were honey; that we were.”

“Once there were people who advanced the cause of freedom wasn’t there? Right Klik, IMAO, John Lott’s Website, Fausta’s Blog, pamibe, The Anchoress.”

“Can’t forget those excellent writers,” she said.

“Da Techguy, WyBlog, thelotusblog, Liberalguy, blonde sagacity, theblogprof,” he remembered aloud.

“Yea, and the newcomers like Libertarian Buddha and Lilac Sunday showed so much promise.”

“I know babe.”

“It’s a shame all of that is gone now.”

“Yup,” he said. “So it Goes.  In Shreveport, they’ve still got electricity, I hear,” changing the subject.

“Maybe they’ve got the internet there too,” she said.

“Heh, Who are they going to email, each other? No-one else has power.”

“You got a point there.”

They turned west onto Independence Avenue and began the mile and a half trek to the Memorial. The once scenic surroundings, majestic trees and marble facades of the historic buildings had taken on a new meaning, as if to mark the past greatness of America with some cryptic Signal.  94 blocks away, Jefferson waited for them, as patient and secretive, as he was in life. Harold and Maggie walked on astride, knowing they needed shelter before dark. The ones who roamed the night weren’t as friendly as the camos. It was best not to be seen at all after dark.

Just off the street, Maggie caught a glimpse of movement. She tugged at Harold’s arm to stop. They both looked on as a little field rabbit foraged in one of the parks along the way. Maggie wondered what the little bunni made of its new surroundings.  An Amusing Bunni’s Musings of the brave new world, she thought. No doubt the bunni was able to find more humor than they.

The pair moved on, amazingly un-accosted, finally turning left onto Raoul Wallenberg, then Maine Ave, and then right onto East Basin.

There was old Thomas, laid on his side by the rioters or some unknown force of explosion. The once mighty pillars that held his bronze likeness in a cage now lay strewn about and broken like so many logs in a forester’s harvest. Thomas was free and yet remained. It was as if he couldn’t bear to leave the home he’d become accustomed to, much like the people of the country he had a hand in founding. When it came time for them to rise to the challenge he issued 200 years ago, they forgot what price freedom demands.

Lain off to one side, an engraving remained. Words of the great American Thinker, philosopher, Architect, statesman and President:

“We hold these truths to be self-evident that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain inalienable rights, among these are life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness, that to secure these rights governments are instituted among men. We…solemnly publish and declare, that these colonies are and of right ought to be free and independent states…And for the support of this declaration, with a firm reliance on the protection of divine providence, we mutually pledge our lives, our fortunes, and our sacred honour.”

Harold remembered once more the last time he saw the memorial intact and shuddered. “How could we lose our sacred honor?” He wondered

Another dusty panel still remained as well. Harold brushed off the debris.

“Almighty God hath created the mind free…All attempts to influence it by temporal punishments or burthens…are a departure from the plan of the Holy Author of our religion…No man shall be compelled to frequent or support any religious worship or ministry or shall otherwise suffer on account of his religious opinions or belief, but all men shall be free to profess and by argument to maintain, their opinions in matters of religion. I know but one code of morality for men whether acting singly or collectively.”

“Maybe one day those words will again hold meaning, Maggie.”

They crawled over and under the pillars and stones around to the side of the memorial. Harold rummaged around beneath some brush and produced the pry bar he had promised. They each looked around to make sure no-one was looking on and Harold began working on the means of entrance to their new shelter.

[Note: this is the third and last in a series of experiments in linking (Rule 2). The first two are Robo-Love Experiment #1 and Robo-Love Experiment #2. Please excuse the use of poetic license. No resemblance was meant to any real persons, Maggie especially, it just served as a convenient way to work in your blog title. I hope you don’t mind.

And my apologies for being so dark lately. It’s just my attempt to wake some folks up.]

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