Michelle Obama Consumes Milkshakes and Goes Off!

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courtesy of William Bontrager

CNN Newsroom, which now resembles a living room. There are no screens, no papers in front of the reporters, just two reporters sitting on a couch.

“Hello diverse Americans, and welcome to CNN, where our slogan is, “Whoa! What are the other news organizations doing now? Oh?! Then we are too.” I am a token African American individual wearing spectacles and here is a lovely white woman at my side, reflecting our tolerance and diversity.”

The white woman smiles blankly then twitches as if shocked. The black reporter smoothly continues.

“And as you see, we are taking a page out of Fox News, and have discarded our desks for these comfortable vellum couches. We have panned the cameras back so you get a lovely view of my assistant’s legs. They are very nice. Are they real?”

The woman responds automatically, “Of course they are not.”

The black reporter continues, unfazed.

“In other news, our queen, Michelle Obama, visited a high school in Topeka to celebrate Segregation Remembrance Day.  The students thought that it was going to be a typical graduation but instead was once again enlightened by our inspiring, and very charming First Lady.”

“Yes. She created such an atmosphere of love, warmth…well, just listen to it and feel the sunny vibes.”  The woman rambles a response before remembering to cross her legs.

The cameras take us to a High School in Topeka, Kansas. Michelle Obama stands at the podium. There are empty McDonalds and Arby’s containers littered at her feet, and all over the stage. She is sweating profusely, banging her fist in frenzy.

“And my ancestors were in chains, beaten and bloody, and crying, screaming, “why, White people?! Why did you take us from our family and homes, and why are your descendants doing the same thing in this day, in this state, in this school, in this very auditorium today? Why white people?!!”

Some teens are crying in the audience. The teachers nod in vapid agreement. The school counselor in the audience looks down at his feet ashamed of his actions, which he wasn’t aware that he committed until just then. Michelle continues, trembling and pounding her fists on the podium, cracking it.

“I see it everywhere! I see it in the soda machines in your cafeteria. I see the product Yoo-Hoo being consumed with no thought. Don’t you know that the brown in that drink is what makes it delicious, and something that would taste wonderful with a cheeseburger and French fries? Yet the white distributing company doesn’t call it by its ethnicity. He doesn’t name it “yo, whassup!” He names it,”yoo-hoo, and takes credit for the chocolate’s labor! Yoo-Hoo is a slave name!” The First Lady bellows.

A woman runs away screaming, and calls to some janitor to start pushing over the soda machines. Other teachers and students are stirring to action. Some listen as if hypnotized.

“And look at the white paper you students write notes on? Look at the lined paper you conduct research with, scribble love letters with! It is white paper! Look at the pages in your textbooks? White paper! Oh, you read the black letters, but look how those black letters are enslaved to their white environment around them?! Yes, that’s right. Brown vs the Board of Education did not go far enough!”

Michelle looks around. They are drawn to her words majestically.

“Now observe your beloved, Game of Thrones. All of those people of color, the Dothraki, and they are being led by a single white person! You have George R. R. Martin profiting off the sore brown backs of this fictional race!” She roars. Sweat streams down her forehead.

She is visibly trembling now…in full rage. All around her white people are crying, other races of children are confused, and the teachers are nodding with tears in their eyes, or hanging their heads in shame.

Trembling, she takes a McDonalds chocolate milk shake from her purse, tears off the lid, and slurps it down like the way Stone Cold the wrestler guzzles beers. Then she lets out a satisfied burp, crushes the cup and tosses it on the stage.

“Now act on what I just said!” She moans, feeling strange from her fifteenth consecutive milk shake today.

Chaos erupts all around her. Teens start fighting amongst each other. Teachers are sobbing in fetal positions. Some are smashing windows, tearing textbooks, and trying to angrily tweet George R. R. Martin. She looks at this satisfied, and feels herself calming from the artificial sugars and chemicals in her milkshake. She calls it a “shake stupor.”

“We are done here gentlemen. I need to gets me a McGriddle! Holla!”

Michelle Obama lazily strides off the stage. In the distance two teachers are clawing each other and ripping each other’s hair out.

Back to the CNN Newsroom

“What an inspiring speech by the first lady. My heart is breaking. What about you token black reporter wearing spectacles?

“I am moved beyond words, mindless white woman. By the way is your heart even real?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Thank you, diverse Americans, for making CNN your fourth, fifth, sixth, or eighth choice of where you get your news from. Good night,” he says.

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Ditsy State Department Decree, Jane Psaki vs Common Sense

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courtesy of William Bontrager

Explanation:

I wrote this after watching a press conference from the U.S. State department spokeswoman, Jane Psaki. She spent the whole hour and a half dodging questions as usual and once again proves that this is the least transparent administration despite our president’s claims. When you read this I encourage you to go to CSPAN and watch. Notice that this parody is very close to the actual events. They use semantics to dodge questions like a pro. I also poke fun at Chris Matthews. He has spent his career sucking up to the Clintons and the Obamas,  and defends this administration like a man with a gun to his temple. Enjoy.

“Hello. I am Chris Matthews for MSNBC, and I am really mad for no apparent reason! The conservatives have done it again! The tea party, Clint Eastwood, and sexist light bulbs…” Chris Matthew bellows.
A cow Taser comes out and prods Matthews. He foams at his desk..
“Thank you. I needed that. The latest news brings us to the State Department where spokeswoman, the lovely and completely honorable, Jane Psaki is fielding questions concerning… Whoa!! Wow! Did you guys feel that? Did someone just touch my leg under the table? No? Oh I see. I was thinking about sipping champagne with the president in a paddle boat on the Italian Peninsula!”
“We are taking you live right now where Matt Lee is interrogating the beautiful and innocent radish. Doesn’t she look like the girl from Frozen? What a sweetheart.”

Location: Washington D.C. Press Conference: State Department Room. It is a stale little place, with flies buzzing incessantly around a dead dog rotting in the aisle.

Jane Psaki is standing at her podium smiling vacantly.
“Our position as the State Department in accordance to the White House is this; we should stand by our position in the region of Ukraine.”

“And what is that position?” asks Matt Lee, a burly reporter leaning over his desk with a notebook.
“Our position is remaining in a  position that states we are not making a designation at this time.” The spokeswoman replies cheerily.
“But you just said before this press conference that you have a position. In fact, that is the title of this conference. The State Department’s Position on the Ukraine, you said.”
“That is right Matt. It is a position that we are not making a designation at this time Matt. As if!” She tosses her hair back and giggles.
“Well, you do know that a position means, you take a side, or you are taking a stance, or making a determination.”
“Those are just words Matt. Ok Mr. “Use-words.” I can use words too. Look at Matt’s dumb tie everyone. See Matt. Words are words. We use words too. Words, words, blah blah…,” she laughs and blushes. Her eyes cross then go back to normal.”
“Well are you aware of the effect we project to other nations when we allow Hunter Biden, the vice president’s son, on the board of a gas and oil company in the Ukraine? You do realize how bad that looks right?”
“He is a private citizen that was raised by Siberian mercenaries on request of Mrs. Biden. She felt her husband was not not ready to be a father at the time. The son and father have hardly met. That is all I know of Hunter Biden.”
“Yes, only the first part of that is true but nonetheless, “Matt continues, “Hunter Biden is going to sit as a chairman in a company in a nation which we are supporting against Russia. Doesn’t that smell of cronyism?
“Why thank you Joe! That is my new perfume. It is called “Crony Lips” by Beyoncé. And speaking of which I think there is an emergency and I simply have to take this call!” She shrieks.
“You aren’t holding your phone,” Matt plainly states.
“Yes. I hear you and I’m on my way. Please avoid that dead hound on your way out! We are in no position to move the dog to a further position at this time.”
Back to the MSNBC Newsroom
“And that is that ladies and gentlemen. This is Chris Matthews again, and now you realize that we have nothing to worry about from the peaceful, gentle soul that is Jane Psaki. Nothing to worry about at all. Right, John Kerry?” Chris Matthews blurts.
The television screen splits and John Kerry is shown drinking blood from a skull. He looks up, furrows his eye brows, and smacks his lips before dashing off in a hiss.
Chris continues, “More news. Obama …whoa-ohh! Just saying his name is sweet ecstasy… addresses the American tragedy of Jay-Z assaulted on an elevator. We are going to be playing that for the remainder of the evening, as we see if race was the factor behind Jay-Z’s attack, and if it was indeed the reporter Matt Lee behind those nefarious acts.”
“Be sure to check out the charity, “Clinton for Kittens”, where the madam will breast feed nine sickly alley cats back to health. Go Hillary.This is Chris Matthews, going back to the asylum.”

(end Broadcast)

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Obama Eats Poodle Droppings at Spielberg Event

obama

courtesy of William Bontrager

  MSNBC NEWSROOM

“Hello. I’m Rachel Maddow, and my face always looks scrunched up like an anus because my views are so powerful, they have permanently twisted my face. Our story brings us to sunny L.A., where the president is about to enter the Holocaust museum courtesy of Mr. Spielberg. We see the president arriving now. Michelle, the first lady is following him. She is fussing at her assistant. Oh! It looks like she has a McGriddle in her hand, and she is unwilling to let it go. Now,…ok. She released it. Whew! That could have been bad.”

“Attending this prestigious and well- deserved event for the president, are media moguls, David Geffen, Rupert Murdoch, Disney Chairman, Alan Horn and Moloch the Owl God..OOPs, I didn’t say that on air did I?”

“No. You must not utter the dark lord’s name!” screams a voice off air.

“We will blame it on the Tea Party. They hijacked the set”, Maddow titters.

 

LOS ANGELES

         “Mr. President. Thank you so much for coming here,” Steven Spielberg approaches.

“Well…I…can’t pass something like this up. There isn’t much happening..in D.C. Joe Biden is having a sleepover.  LOOK!”

“Isn’t that sensational?! I hope you didn’t get offended by the signs out there. They don’t reflect our views.”

“What signs? Oh yes…those offensive signs. Eric Holder is on the job. We can’t have racism like that.  He is taking care of it”.

“Uh..what do you mean Mr. President?”

“Never-mind that. Is that caviar?”

The president takes a finger and swirls it in a black puddle on the table, brings it to his lips, and slurps it up. He chews thoughtfully.

“No…Mr. President! Those are droppings from Barbara Streisand’s toy poodle. The dog is always in her purse and must have went number two on the table. We’ll get someone to clean it up.  Boy!Oh, Boy!” Spielberg calls out.

A fresh faced youth emerges and starts to clean up the mess. Actually it is Kevin Hart, dressed as a sailor, wearing a halter top and a pair of really short shorts. There is a look of quivering fear on his face.

“Kevin. Clean this mess up quickly. And Kevin, please do it on your hands and knees,” Speilberg says with a wolfish grin.

“Mr. Spielberg, sir, uh. It is on the table. It don’t require me to be in that position, uh sir. I would rather..,” Hart begins to mutter and weakly protest.

“You know. I hear that Sinbad is making a comeback. Maybe I will call him up for that cop role with Justin Timberlake.”

“Hands and knees, it is. Thank you sir.”

“Look. I don’t know what you put in that caviar…but ..I want more of it delivered to my table!” Obama cheers.

“Yes. Dog feces delivered to your table, very good. Anyway, thank you Mr. President. We have your instructions here. It simply states that you will  mention that we are not benefiting in any way financially from this event. We in Hollywood, are doing our part to maintain a moral outlook while delivering high quality and original programming and cinema that encourages independent thought.

With that everyone around them laughs uproariously.

“I should go. I think Nancy Pelosi has drowned herself in the punch bowl,” replies Speilberg, and exits hastily.

Soon everyone is in their seating area.  Two armed men are carrying Nancy Pelosi, who staggers, hears the ceremonial  music, and then starts dancing like the lady in Pulp Fiction.

“Come on Travolta,” she slurs.

The object she grabs and tries to embrace is not John Travolta. It is a house plant.

“How many drugs did you give her this time?” an assistant asks Harry Reid.

“Her normal suitcase,”  Harry Reid flippantly responds.

Obama stands up and waves to the crowd from the podium. Valerie Jarrett is in his ear piece and in an underground area and shouting orders to the president. The president gets frightened and a puddle forms around his hips. Kevin Hart is quickly there with a mop. He grins to the audience, and half the directors in the crowd smack their lips and run their tongues across their mouths. A single bead of sweat drips off Hart’s temple and he retreats.

“Distinguished guests, celebrities…ahh …Look…affirmative action…hard working Americans….let me be clear…can’t wait for Congress to act…have to move…Look…Bush did it…thank you,” Obama says, holds his award in his hand, and walks off.

“What an orator!” the crowd exclaims in intoxicated and drugged awe.

“He tells the bare-bones truth!” yells Bruce Springsteen playing the air guitar.

Meanwhile Eric Holder and Al Sharpton are roaming the streets of California  fixing offensive street signs.

“Santa Monica, Beverly Hills, Hollywood…all white people names! I aint watching that show Friends!” Al Sharpton bellows, drooling over himself and sniffing incessantly. There is some white powder on his nose.

“For now on, Hollywood will be called Haywood, Santa Monica will be called Church Girl Monique, and Beverly Hills will be called, Black Folks Be UP IN HERE NOW. I enjoy my job!” Eric Holder exclaims.

“And we just getting started!” Sharpton rejoices. The wire he is wearing springs from his suit jacket and he tucks it in again, sniffing…

 

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