Chapter 1 of Splitting Sides Across Party Lines

chapter 1

  Dreams of His Father: Joe Biden Gets Caught In a Tree  

Explanation:  I wrote this segment after studying Barack Obama’s history. He definitely has been influenced by his muslim father and it has an effect on his politics. Although the mainstream media barely comments about this, or his lack of quick wit when he is not in front of a teleprompter, I will. I also portray Joe Biden as the lovable adorable liberal pet that just does stupid things and gets away with it. He is like a puppy piddling on the rug. Enjoy this segment, as Obama still dreams of his father.  

“He did it again Mr. President.”

The voice comes from an intercom, buzzing electronically. A small mocha hand, fingernails meticulously trim and shining, smacks at the buzzer system.

He thought it was an alarm clock. He comes out of his fog, the hazy glaze of sleep, and it takes him more than a half an hour to respond. He sits in his chair in the oval office, with a blank expression, and then finally shows a sign that he didn’t fall asleep again.

“Look!” he says.

When there is no response from the intercom, he says it again.

“Look!”

Then the intercom replies back.

“Umm, you aren’t giving your weekly address Mr. President. I’m Phil, your intern. Sorry to bother you.” The voice in the intercom seems uncertain, and wavers.

Obama frowns, then he notices there is no podium, or cameras, or teleprompter, or reporters with thin ropes of saliva forming under their lips.

“Ah yes…Phil the intern. I was…working. Consulting ah, some associates about economic policy.” Obama concluded. He spoke some words fast, then in the middle of the sentence he seemed to have lost momentum, then recovered it again, placing some nice political keywords snugly at the end of his sentence.

Phil worked with him long enough to know that meant Obama was taking his daily four hour nap under the desk of the oval office. From the unusually long response, even for this slow processing president, Phil knew that he had dreamt of his father again.

“I just wanted to inform you..Joe is up in the tree again.” Phil says.

Obama frowned, stood up on his tall lanky frame, walks to the window. He slides the American flag to the side with his delicate hands. The sun shines through the oval office window but he sees his security forces around a tree in the distance.

His thoughts are far away though. He dreams. Obama dreams of his father. The current dream is distracting him from his daily routine.

“Dreams of my father,” Obama replies to the haunting empty space circulating in the oval office. Actually he said it to a seven foot cardboard cutout posing in a corner, a smiling Shaquille O Neal from his role in Shazam. Shazam goes with Obama at all times, like a child with his favorite teddy bear.

Obama stares into space, and he is whisked away to his dream as the security team stands on the lawn with their hands casually on their hips.

What Obama writes later in his new book..”I Guess I’ll Keep Dreaming of My Father, is what composes his deep ruminations as he stands valiantly with his hands behind his back.

My father…in a vast space, floating like a little tea leaf in…the air, and he beckons to me. I am standing on..the edge of a mountain. As I see him come close, he reaches out to me. I float towards him in a brilliant light. My father looks at me, a look of complete bliss on his face, wrapped in a shining robe, fluttering musically in the charged air.”

“I am so happy, looking up to my father. He, in his heavenly robes, and me, in my dapper suit, advancing to our celestial reunion in the sky. However, as I draw nearer, and our hands touch, my father’s arms weaken, and he falls to the earth. We hit, with a resounding thud, and I scamper to my feet.

“I yell, what is wrong? No, that’s not right. I yell..Look..then ask him what it is wrong. I turn him over, and he looks at me with wider eyes, accusing eyes, eyes that burn in to me as I shave my chest hair in the mornings. Those eyes say it all. He is..not pleased with me. Unharmed from the fall, more frustrated  than anything, he stands to his feet dusting himself off furiously.

He screamed then up to the sky. “Oh, this is maddening! First I get shafted with the seventy-two virgins promise, and now it seems I can’t float properly like a ghostly vision from the afterlife should.

And like a comforting son, I complimented my father.

“Its Ok, Dad. But what is this about the promised young virgins? They are not there?”

“Oh, they are there alright.  The fact is Junior, I cannot pass to the parts of Jannah that are particularly nice. There is a sparkling river of pure milk, but what the Koran did not say, is that there has to be someone milking those cows on the other side. Namely, me. Yes, there are pretty women for each man, lovely houris, but what the holy book failed to say, is you have to prove your worthiness of them, with “training wives.”

They are large, belligerent women, some who have been guests on, The View.  Oh, it is most vile my boy”, my father said.

“I am sorry father,” I then told him.

And before I was snatched, from my dream, I knew that my first three years was an abject failure, that I was the reason that my father was on his knees, milking cows in Jannah, and why he couldn’t advance. And, I knew..what I had to do, from, that…point onward.

It was just that look in his eyes..that dug into my soul, before I awoke in a fetal position under my desk..”

The security team stands at the White house Lawn. They stand casually, as if this is an ongoing routine. The president emerges, smiling, eyes shining with new purpose/ He would carry on his father’s legacy.

He stops at the tall tree, talks to the security team. The man in charge shrugs his shoulders. Up above there is a high pitched whimpering coming from a trembling branch. The branch bends at the weight of the object on it.

Obama looks up and sees a scared Joe Biden, with arms and legs curled up on a tall branch. Joe’s face is red and flushed, and his eyes are strained from crying. Obama, arms are crossed to his chest and he looks up with a wry grin.

“Now Joe, I told you about climbing that tree. Once you get up there you can..never find your way down. “

Joe Biden whimpers and hugs the branch he is balanced on even tighter.

Obama tells his security team to leave him up there for a few more hours as punishment and then to call the fire department. He shakes his head because his vice president is completely adorable. He leaves the White House lawn recharged to lead America to paradise.

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Blog Forward to Splitting Sides Across Party Lines

 
Obama

Obama

Foreword by the, Author Behind Splitting Sides Across Party Lines

So there is plenty of parody media out there. When Bush was president, both of them, they were portrayed as squinty eyes inbred idealists that sort of blundered around on the stage of Saturday Night Live.  Dana Carvy would impersonate George Bush senior, and his little white hands would shake and he would mumble, “naht-gonnadooit,” and,” wouldn’t be proo-dent.”

As the real Bush declared to America, telling a sucker populace that he would not implement, “no new taxes.” The hilarious skits captured the nuances of the president perfectly and it went into the archives of great political comedy along with Phil Hartman’s, Bill Clinton.

Then Bush’s son took over. The Big W. He became cannon fodder for every comedian, winy, political group, and YouTube video directors alike. He was funnier than his father. He bumped his head on airplanes, had a shoe flung at him, stuttered with our larger words, an even  took liberties to make up his own words by forming them between a deep southern drawl he developed in the heartland of Texas.

His war outraged people, and incited a huge emotional response, and because he was a white male cowboy type, he was up for grabs to be made fun of.

And so he got it in spades. Will Ferrell was hilarious as the big “W.” Saturday Night Live, like the good liberal show that it had become, led the way in the parody. Suddenly everyone imitated George W, and he became the hated, and funniest, of our presidents and should have paved the way for freedom of speech for comedy, and a new era of parody in our country. After all, although Bush Jr. was bad, at least he gave his enemies the right to jeer at him.

But that all changed. The face of our country has altered. It is because a black liberal has been elected in to office. Barack came in and the air of swirling humor has been sucked up and silenced like a media gestapo looks on. We are afraid, and tremble about what to say. Saturday Night Live led the silence by only portraying Obama as a confident, self-assured guy that has blunderers all around him.

As boring as this president is, and as many long, empty, vain, remarks he makes without the help of his teleprompter, we are afraid to say anything lest we appear to look like a racist, or intolerant in some way or another.

Yet he deserves the criticism, the mockery, the jeers, and the other forms of verbal abuse that all of the other presidents in our free nation have received, and he will get it. This administration has as many blunders, moronic quotes, and scandals as any other presidency yet it has been given a golden ticket, and a pass by the mainstream media.

That is why I am starting this parody blog, because that is our right as a free people. There is just too much comedy in this liberal administration to ignore. If I can inform and entertain with these truths and say the things that people fear saying, then, so be it. Enjoy, laugh and learn with, Splitting Sides Across Party Lines.

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