The rumor is going around that Obama is becoming undone. Some of us here have spoken of this privately, analytically, and I think there is something to it. Fingers point to his narcissism, which I think is a contributing factor, as well as a fear of being revealed as a poseur, or worse, a Chauncy Gardiner, i.e., not quite as bright as he lets on.
This is only my take, but until more evidence comes around, I’m standing by it.
Awhile back I wrote that someone needed to slap the taste, and the arrogance, right out of Baraq Obama’s mouth. It was not my normal kind of writing, I was angry.
“And the taste for it needs to be slapped right out of his mouth…by someone in public authority. A governor. An RNC leader. A senator. Hell, maybe even a lonely, solitary representative might do…
Now I feel better. Someone very much in authority has done just that, for little did I know someone was always lurking in the White House, with the full force and authority of the American People…and History…to wipe that smarmy little grin off the grill of that human taxi-cab coming down the street with both doors wide open.
Going back to the beginning of our Nation rarely had that old fellow been ignored for very long in the White House without someone earning a taste of the back of his hand. Even Bill Clinton. He has been so pervasive in prior administrations everyone just naturally took his presence for granted. For the most part, just knowing he was there defined the way people acted, spoke, and dressed in the White House. He had an aura.
Then enter Obama One and wife, Obama Two, both of whom apparently have never been introduced to this man in all their adult lives. In fact, it’s rumored, and circumstantial evidence seems to bear out, that they had run from the mere mention of his name for many years. They brought a hatred, nay, even a fear of him into the White House, even though neither could recognize him without a flashing neon name tag. They despised him on reputation alone. It seems unfamiliarity also breeds contempt.
For some reason, perhaps out of naivete or self-absorption, they came to Washington not expecting to see this fellow in the White House at all. Still, there he stood, on Day One, at the ready, his arms filled with reams of anything but frankincense and myrrh.
Alas, upon being introduced to him, both Obamas attempted to banish him to the White House basement, each pledging to the other to spend as little time as possible in that awful place “he” called home. Indeed, their short tenure in the White House has been marked by their efforts to keep from being found in the same room as that old codger, averting their glances downward when he walked into the room.
He simply was not supposed to be a part of the personal contract the Obamas assumed they’d made with the American people. Still, there he was.
His name: Work.
To Baraq Obama “Labor” is a proper noun, not a verb. Little did he believe, or understand, that once he assumed the Office, that this fellow came with it. He was on duty 24/7, never slept, still, every day…not just some of the days…but every Mother-loving day…as sure as he’d show up to the office at 9:00 to grab a cuppa Joe (OK, cafe parfait), kick back, maybe light up a Marlboro (Extra Light), look over a speech, or travel itinerary, watch a vid of his last speech, Ol’ Work would jump out of that anteroom just off the Oval Office, clean shaven, bright-eyed and bushy tailed, looking as if he’d just come from the gym…holding another g-d ream of papers that needed to be sorted through, reviewed, signed…and a totally revised schedule of the day’s events, where neatly crossed out was the brunch on the yacht in the Potomac, the after-lunch golf game, the quick ride out to Chicago to shoot hoops, substituted by some silly meeting with the Cabinet, and a briefing on the nukes in Iran.
Gad! With no than 600 days of seeing this remorseless ogre of a man in the office, on the plane, always standing around with that damned stack of papers in his arms, at 7 AM, Noon, Tea Time, dinner time, even 3 AM (at least he was told)…and already on the playbill for another 850 days more, yes, I think Baraq Obama is about to become undone. And certainly may not even want to sign up for another 1460 day extension. This is not a play he wants to see Held Over.
When Baraq Obama came to the White House he had one skill, and many petty vices. This is high praise compared to the wife-in-chief, WOTUS, who I may start calling “B-26” or as it was known in the Mediterranean theater, “the Flying Prostitute”, for it had no visible means of support. He assumed, indeed, believed that his skill at making speeches and enthralling crowds was all the job required, or entailed.
I actually believe this now. The circumstantial evidence is overwhelming, but what I am saying here in no way conflicts with his deep affection for Marxism (of some sort) and “get-evenism” (of which I’m certain), about which I’ve speculated about since 2008, long before I came RedState. This also lays to the side any issue as to whether he is his own man, or a mere puppet. I am only speaking of what propels the man, and what disarms him…and work definitely disarms. It’s his personal preferences, his appetites. Unlike sincerity, you just can’t fake it.
My view is that he assumes being the pitchman, the carny-barker, call it what you like, and erstwhile national decision-maker is the four corners of his contract with America. Let others go out and actually create, to every degree short of cosmic, where he sits, all policies and then carry them out. It matters not to me whether he gained his ideas of executive management from academe, or just skated and has fooled even his puppet masters (if there are such things). This is how he sees things.
The record so far is replete with examples of where his decision and only his decision is required, or has been required, from the Gulf oil spill to filling judicial vacancies, and that nothing was or has been done…until a national cattle prod was laid upon his backside…by that same Work fellow always lurking around the office, and who he avoids like the plague. So you can understand the delay in these things.
These three postings, from a possibly fictitious White House insider…but with so many fleeing the White House ship, it seems entirely plausible, even probable. Make your own assessment, but read them, please. They are too true not to be true.
What they reveal is a man driven entirely by his appetites. I say “appetites” so as to make it common and understandable to all of us…so we can look around, perhaps in your own home to observe that 15-year old, 21-year old, etc., bright, clever, but just a little in love with him/herself, but who has still never earned that first dime, has never cut his first yard for twenty bucks, yet expects eight million dollars worth of video games every Christmas, then sells them, each for five bucks apiece on Amazon a year later, for gas money, and even asks you for the ten bucks to buy padded bags to ship them. It is my own son, at 14, sitting in the back seat with a Game Boy, pouting that he wanted to stay in the car while the rest of us toured Williamsburg (Virginia…it’s in all the old history books, at least..God I love that place), while his mother told him. “You’re going to get out of this car and learn some history or I’ll take that little game box and stomp it in the dirt.”
My wife won and my son learned. But Obama got to stay in the car, as many do. He was indulged. Over-indulged in fact. He was academia’s politically correct version of the 6’6 high school freshman basketball prodigy who was allowed to cheat, rape, steal, pillage from 8th grade on…just so long as he took them to the state finals. After that?…college, then onto the big leagues. When did reality set it? When does it in real America?
Well, for America, the time is now. In athletics this game has been played out many times, with some magnificent failures of our own public judgment, from Quentin Dailey to Ron Artest to perhaps a quarter of the NFL. (You can see I’m a fan.)
In politics, this occurs not so often, but why would you think an America hellbent on morphing all celebrity, from athletic, political and cinematic, wouldn’t someday find a way to confuse us between the secret identity of Lindsay Lohan and Baraq H Obama?
To Americans, i can only say watch and wait and pray, for we are about to see yet another asterisk in the presidential Hall of Fame…and there have been so many in the past 40 years…but at what cost?
…and to potential candidates (and you know who I like and don’t like), if you are already formulating games plans, you’ll be better served by having a game plan in which Baraq H Obama is not the candidate.