Obama’s ability to govern, harkens me back to when I was a wee tot, probably around 5 years old, and I was visiting my great-grandparents in Waelder, TX. To paraphrase Forrest Gump, I learned that “Life is like a box of little chocolates.” I think my experience is a teachable moment for Barack Obama.
Pa-Pa and Big Mama lived not far from the freeway that ran through small Texas town. They owned a little two bedroom house that could not pass inspection by today’s standards. There were places in the floor of the house where the layers of lanolin had peeled away and the wood floor had rotted away long before, allowing you to see right down to the dirt just below the crawlspace. According to my older brother, this house was a step up from the previous house that had an actual dirt floor. This was the first house that my great grandparents owned that had indoor plumbing. All the others had outhouses.
My brother and I had been visiting for about a week, when Pa-Pa summoned us. In his hand he held what looked like chocolate, and he was breaking off a small piece, as he asked, “Have you boys had a bowel movement, since you been here?”
Did SCOTUS make the right decision on medical mandates for large businesses?
Not knowing what a bowel movement was and figuring it to be a bad thing, I answered proudly that I had not had a bowel movement. I was not admitting to the “mischief” of a bowel movement, figuring such an admission would negate me getting a piece of that chocolate.
Apparently I answered correctly, because just as I had predicted, Pa-Pa broke me off a very small piece of what I figured must have been expensive chocolate. My brother answered that he had had a bowel movement. HA HA, no chocolate for him! What a knucklehead he was!
The next day, I was in the garden with the neighbor kids—a boy slightly older than I, and his sister Cookie, a tall, pretty black girl about four years my senior. I had a small crush on Cookie, so when she invited me to pick vine-ripened tomatoes with her, I was excited.
There we were, Cookie and me, picking deep red tomatoes right off the vine, as sweet as home-grown watermelons, juice squirting us like little water cannons. Eating vine-ripened tomatoes with my secret older woman crush, and just being a kid. That was this little black kids definition of heaven at that time.
Then it happened. All of a sudden, I got an overwhelming urge to use the bathroom. But it was like no other “go to the bathroom” urge I had ever felt. This urge put the urge in urgency! My sphincter was quivering like the pursed lips of a first kiss.
Panicked, I looked at the back door of my great grandparents’ home. Though only a short distance away, I calculated that it was still too far. The neighbor’s houses were all in wide public view from all angles, and the only trees to be found provided inadequate cover. Dang it!
No time to think, as there was only one solution. Run for the back door!!
Quick for my age, I sprinted towards the back door, kicked open the gate, my salvation mere yards beyond that screen door. I got a few steps into the yard, only feet from pay dirt, when my sphincter relaxed in utter despair. Bowel began to slowly move down my legs, like lava oozing from a volcano, and for me, just as hot.
The time for running had ended. I just stood there, not really knowing what to do. As luck would have it, my older brother and biggest tormentor stood before me. It was as if he had been stalking me to see when the chocolate would kick in. He looked at my face, then my crap-covered legs, and with a demonic laugh exclaimed, “How’d you like that chocolate?!”
My great-grandmother ran me a bath, where I sobbed in my own excrement. I finally realized what a bowel movement was; moreover Ex-Lax is not candy. If only I had not been a pretender!
Like me, Obama is ruining running this country like an Ex-Lax eating five-year-old, playing in his great grandfather’s garden eating vine-ripened tomatoes with his favorite girl! You want a lavish vacation to Spain as the rest of the country struggles, no problem!
Meanwhile he keep eating those little chocolates, crapping programs like forced substandard government healthcare on us all. You’re not part of a union, well not for long! Don’t believe in the farces of global climate change, I don’t care, I ate the little chocolates!
Progressive regressive Liberals will be there to put him in a bath of his own excrement, as he sobs at his approval ratings. But he is not sobbing alone, as I did. Unfortunately America is left to sob with him.
That’s my rant!
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