Baracksploitation

Barack Obama could be the next Ronald Reagan.

With his 18- to-49 demographic appeal, chiseled good looks, and roster of Hollywood supporters, it's a no-brainer that Barack Obama could pull a "reverse Schwarzenegger" and go into acting if this whole politics thing doesn't work out. Unbeknownst to many, he already has a few offers on the table.

Barack in the USSR: A political thriller set in the early '80s at the height of the Cold War, starring Obama as a US spy on a mission to pants Leonid Brezhnev in Red Square, symbolically revealing to the world the instability and anatomical inadequateness of Communism.

Roebama vs. Wade: A hard-hitting courtroom drama in which Obama plays a lawyer who defends a woman's right to choose because he's simultaneously sleeping with the female defense attorney, who's now pregnant and needs an abortion, stat!

Obama Baby Mama: A romantic comedy in which Obama plays a lifelong bachelor whose life is turned upside down when a woman claiming to carry his love child shows up on his doorstep. They go through wacky hijinks involving Lamaze classes, female hormone imbalances, and delivering the baby on a cherry picker. When the woman eventually reveals that Obama's not really the father, he rebuffs her, but his heart is won over when she shows up one night outside his window, the bastard child in her arms holding a tiny iPod boombox over its soft skull, playing George Michael's "Father Figure".

Barackatoa: A disaster film in which Obama and his family vacation on a volcanic Indonesian island. When the volcano threatens to erupt with an intensity that would cause a new ice age, Obama gathers a ragtag team of scientists, mechanics, and petty criminals to venture inside the mountain and blow it up. Tearjerker moment: Obama says goodbye to his wife using Oreos and a downtempo rendition of the theme song to The Jeffersons.

O'Nama: A searing war epic that finds Obama as a battle-hardened Marine on the front lines of the Viet Nam conflict trying to balance his desire to withdraw the troops from an unwinnable war with his duty to kick as much ass as humanly possible. For the most part, the ass-kicking wins.

Turok Obama: A sci-fi epic blockbuster in which Obama goes back in time to stop dinosaurs from evolving into Republicans.

Oh! Bomb! Aahh!: An action adventure in which Obama is a S.W.A.T. team member who must defuse a bomb on a bus wired to explode if it goes over 50 miles per hour or stops completely. Luckily, it's a gas-electric hybrid that combines great gas mileage with the mediocre performance required to maintain a low speed. To be shot simultaneously with Oh! Bomb! Aahh! 2: Bomb Appétit.

Hillary Clinton Might be a Redneck

...Or not.

For much of the past year, despite the bickering between the two major Democratic candidates for president, there's been little to differentiate the two -- aside from the fact that one of them has a penis and the other one is black. Zing! But I digress. Now, thanks to the backlash from Obama's "clinging to guns and religion" comment, Hillary has stumbled upon a goldmine of voters: the poor and the stupid.

It's a noble enough gesture -- after all, I've heard they're people too -- but by giving speeches from the beds of pickup trucks and throwing back brewskies in hillbilly dive bars, she's implying that somehow she's one of them. Apparently, you might be a redneck if you got your undergrad from Wellesley and went to Yale Law School, married a Rhodes Scholar, and wrote two New York Times #1 best-sellers.

Bill, with his "Aw shucks" Southern charm, could pull it off versus Bush Sr., but Hillary, for all her effort, has the down-hominess of a cucumber sandwich. Still, judging by her nearly 3-to-1 margin of victory in the Toothless Belt of West Virginia and Kentucky -- where race trumps sex every time -- her shtick seems to be working.

She needs to take care, though. Having lived in southwestern Virginia in a town where the first day of deer season was a legit day off from school, I know the type of electorate that Hillary is courting, and she may want to think twice before she continues down this path. Otherwise, if she's elected, she'll be deluged by lobbyists from the gun rack and banjo industries. Her leading corporate donors will be Skoal, Slim Jim, and Wild Turkey, and we'll have the Ku Klux Klan marching band performing Hank Williams, Jr. covers at her inaugural ball.

Sure, it's all cute and folksy right now, but you give these people an inch, and they'll take a mile. If only there was a way to segregate them in some sort of "separate but equal" framework...

Truth is, every politician is an elitist. Even Dubya went to Yale and owned the Texas Rangers. If we really wanted a man of the people, Jesse Ventura would be president, with Randy "Machoman" Savage as the Secretary of Whoopass.

Recession Forces U.S. Secretary of Homeland Security to Moonlight as Nosferatu Impersonator

Recently, I was forced into visiting the tragedy that is Universal Studios by some out-of-town friends. What would have typically been a terrible waste of my time became a life enhancing experience.

While these friends relished in what they considered legitimate Hollywood experiences I took a ton of painkillers with the intention of enjoying myself. While vegging out I noticed Max Schreck’s doppelganger out of the corner of my eye. Could it be, the sunken in eyes, the pekid skin, the bald head? Upon further inspection I realized it wasn’t just your regular, run of the mill, Nosferatu impersonator, but Michael Chertoff, Secretary of Homeland Security for the good old U.S. of A.

“Don’t I know you?” I asked him my breasts gushed with excitement.

“Uh, maybe. I do the 6 p.m. meet and greet. Want me to autograph something for you?”

I presented him with the only thing handy, a magic marker and my breasts, and on them with his creepily long fingers he penned the name Nosferatu.

“Wait a second,” I found myself saying. “Aren’t you also Michael Chertoff, Secretary of Homeland Security?”

He looked at me curiously and began gushing, “You actually know who I am!”

It turned out Chertoff had hit hard times just like everyone else and picked up the gig at Universal to help make ends meet. When my friends showed back up they wanted to know why I was hanging out with, “that vampire dude,” and why I allowed him to sign my tits.

Both questions I didn’t have answers for. Before I left he handed me his government issued business card, but on the back in creepy serial killer handwriting he’d written:

Michael Chertoff

Nosferatu Impersonator

Available: Nights & Weekends for Personal Appearances.

I guess next time I need to hire someone to scare the shit out of everyone I know I am going to give Mike a call cause it turns out he’s in the market for a new gig and some fast cash.

Hillary Clinton: The Psycho Ex-Girlfriend of the Democratic Party

Despite all the math counting her out, Hillary Clinton fervently remains in the race to become the Democratic nominee for president in 2008. She has become the Democratic Party's psycho ex-girlfriend, and she's not going away without a restraining order.

It's 2:31 AM. The Democratic Party is sleeping peacefully when it hears its phone buzz on the night stand. It rolls over and sees "Hillary" on the caller ID. It pauses briefly, considering pushing "END" and not dealing with this shit tonight. The thought is appealing but the Democratic Party knows that if it doesn't take this call, another one is only minutes away.

DEMS: ...Hello?

Hillary: Hey baby.

DEMS: C'mon Hillary. Enough with this.

Hillary: Don't you get it? You NEED me.

DEMS: No, I don't. It was fun while it lasted but I'm with Barack now. I made my choice, it's done.

Hillary: You can't really mean that. How can you say that after all the good times we had?

DEMS: To be honest, I started hanging out with you because Bill's pretty awesome.

Hillary: But I'm just like Bill!

DEMS: No, you're not. Bill is charismatic, inspiring, and gets me really good weed.

Hillary: Fuck you. You're elitist!

DEMS: I'm going back to sleep.

Hillary: No, no, wait. I'm sorry, I didn't mean that. Listen... there's still got to be a chance. Remember when people told George W it was all over. When the numbers were against him?

DEMS: Yeah but...

Hillary: Remember?! And remember how everyone said America didn't really want to be with George W? But they stuck it out anyway?

DEMS: Yeah and they're really fucked up now, Hillary.

Hillary: But WE'LL make it work. Forget Barack, baby. Just take me back and we can forget this ever happened.

DEMS: Look, I think you're a really good Senator... let's just keep it that way, OK?

Hillary: ...I'll see you at the convention.

DEMS: No! Hillary I told you...

CLICK

DEMS: Dammit. Crazy bitch.

Blackness Tips for Barack Obama

Let's face it, Obama could be blacker...

Barack Obama is winning about 90% of the African-American vote, which sounds impressive until you realize that historically, black support doesn't require a high standard from black politicians (Am I right, Marion Barry?). Ninety percent on the black scale is actually about a D-plus.

The reason for Obama's disturbingly low "Black Belt" numbers is pretty clear: he's just not black enough. And I don't mean the whole mulatto thing; he just hasn't connected with the entire populace the way that he needs to in order to sweep the African-American vote.

So, I put my ear to the streets to find out what the peeps had to say (feel free to steal lingo like that, B.O.) about keeping ol' Barry from Gumbeling up the Democratic nomination.

Give yourself a title.

Make it something "rappy," like Lil' or O.G. On special occasions, carry a scepter and a tastefully bedazzled pimp cup.

Sleep with Hillary.

This might be a bit tricky, with both of you being married and all, but that hasn't stopped generations of NBA players from bedding white women.

Cornrows.

Of course, this would require some time to grow your hair out, not to mention that awkward in-between "halfro" phase. A weave might save time -- maybe some Rick James braids or a retro Jheri curl.

Cling to guns and religion.

Contrary to media types, these aren't the sole property of white rural Pennsylvanians. Black folks can be just as clingy -- just more rhythmic with their religion and more illicit with their guns.

Star in a Tyler Perry movie.

He's all the rage, and it would help procure those religion-clingers.

Downplay the African connection.

Black people are just as xenophobic as whites, so try a more all-American name, like Denzel or Tiger. Or maybe just add a prefix like "La" or "Da" or "Ja" to your name. DaBama would be both a name and a clever pun.

Start beef with 50 Cent.

Not only would you improve your street cred, but your linguistic skills would come in handy, as verbal barbs like "miscreant" would no doubt go over Fiddy's head.

An Open Letter to China

Dear China,

I see you’re having some PR “issues” over the whole Tibet debacle. Although your attempts to avert this potential image crisis are admirable, in reality they are futile. Back in the Golden Age of citizen control (anytime before 1995), all you had to do was arrest the most outspoken protesters (most likely a poor person that no one would miss) and pay off a few high power network executives and you’d stave off a veritable countrywide riot.

But now, within the digital age, there are far too many facets and cracks for people to gather and information to trickle from for you to control. And even if you do manage to somehow plug all those leaks one day, there will be at least twice as many the next. Take, for example, your complete block of YouTube. The next day there was 100 more sites to replace it and you were caught red-handed trying to cover your tracks, making the problem exponentially worse. You’re using pen and paper tactics on a paperless society.


It’s understandable considering you’re still a fledgling capitalist society, but you’re going about this all wrong. It takes time and money to sedate the masses. And most of all, it takes Coke (ke kou ke le). And Levi’s (li wai sz). And Cadillac (kai di la ke). Well, You get the point. Open your lungs and let the corporate crawl in. Soon enough they’ll be flowing through your streets, much like the blood of Tibetan monks. It’ll start slow and obvious, making blatant connections like “buy this and you’ll be more beautiful/smart/happy.” And that’ll work for a while until your infrastructure expands and even the most common of people become educated. Consumers will soon realize that these companies are mostly making false claims, completely legal claims of course, but still false.

The companies will start to ask themselves “How are we going to get people to buy our cars if people are smart enough to realize we’re lying?” The next logical step is branding and image based marketing. Brand ‘A’ car will be for “Manly” men, age 34 - 50 who like drinking beer, watching (insert whatever contact sport you play in China), and makes below ¥50,000 a year. Brand ‘B’ will be for bleeding-heart liberal women, aged 18 – 34 who like dogs, political blogging and make anywhere between ¥75,000 – ¥100,000. And so on until every demographic feels like if they buy a specific product, they’ll somehow further convey an image that an ad agency probably created in the first place. “If I buy Brand M deodorant spray, I’ll become more of an individual,” they’ll all say to themselves.



But then the most educated consumers will soon realize your underhanded schemes and they’ll not only stop buying, they’ll also feel slighted. Naturally they’ll take an anti-corporate stance. Little do they know, these radicals will actually be playing right into your hands. The companies will make a subsidiary company or covertly buy a smaller company to appeal to the counter-culture / rebellion demographic just like it was any other demo. These products will subconsciously and ironically scream, “buy me and you’ll be promoting your anti-consumer ideals.” They will also be substantially more expensive.

Marketers will bombard this culture with ads and pseudo-causes that even the most intelligent people won’t be able to decipher what news is important and what news is just an elaborate front to sell them shampoo. The masses will become so confused, jaded, and numb that they’ll give up on actually thinking they can actually cause a revolution. In fact, they’ll probably stop thinking altogether! Exactly the kind of populous you want. I know it’ll be painful considering the timing with the Olympics, but you’re going to have to weather this storm and by the time you host the next Olympics, the High Jump will be sponsored by wo er ma and the 100 Yard-Dash will be called the “nai ke presents the 100 Yard-Dash.”

Unless you want to just kill everyone that opposes you.

XOXO United States of America

The Audacity of Obama Volunteers

I’ve been a Barack Obama supporter for more than a year, ever since he was rumored to be running for President. I’ve given money to his campaign. I’ve also volunteered for him. These were fairly pleasant experiences with only one major drawback: the other volunteers.

The first thing I noticed was the cheering. Between the incessant “FIRE IT UP! READY TO GO!” and the perfectly inane “YES WE CAN! YES WE CAN!” Barack Obama rallies often feel like attending summer camp in Maoist China.

In Los Angeles, Barack Obama got a big bump from the hipster community. These volunteers were the least obnoxious I encountered. Hipsters have emotional detachment down to an exact science.

Sadly, these were the exception. Most Obamanauts are inflicted with hypersensitive emotions. They love to cry, or talk about how they cried when they heard some Obama speech. They love to claim the moral high ground- except when they lose. I’ve personally witnessed three Primary/Caucus losses (California, Nevada, and Texas). Every single one of them was followed by accusations of voter fraud on the part of the HRC campaign.

We were pretty sad after our loss in Nevada. We all made our way back to headquarters, are heads hung low in defeat. In a vain attempt to pick up our spirits, the district head made a little speech. He fought back tears as he thanked us for our hard work, and took some shots at the Hillary campaign for “playing dirty.”

And then the volunteers started to speak. One by one, their mindless drivel was living proof that democracy is indeed a flawed mechanism. Then, a woman raised her hand. I couldn’t see her face, but she had the voice of a crazy person.

“At the caucus I attended, the vote went 150 to 50 for Hillary.” She said. “But afterwards, when it came time to clean up, about 70 percent were Obama supporters. I think that says a lot.”

This lunatic was claiming moral superiority as a result of winning the popular vote of the caucus clean-up team. A small part of my Obama enthusiasm died that very second, because I knew that in some way, that psychotic woman and I had a lot in common.

So Your Husband’s Been Caught in a Sex Scandal

So, your politician husband’s been caught fucking somebody else. Hopefully, you haven’t cut his dick off yet.

Maybe you knew all along, maybe you’re just finding out. Either way, you’ve got to start thinking about your future. Here are a few tips to make it through this awful experience and come out on top:

1) Stand by Your Man

I’m sure the last thing you want to do is to stand there sheepishly at your cheating husband’s press conference while he admits to being a man-whore. But if you want to get to that silver lining, it’s a must. Feminists will give you a ton of shit for this. They’ll say you’re whipped, that you’re a gold-digger. At best, everyone will talk about how much they pity you. But if you leave him now, in a few months, they’ll call you much worse: frigid, bitchy, cold. They’ll blame you. Plus, you miss your chance at a headline. This is what seasoned political professionals call “owning the news cycle.” You’ve got to be patient. Remember, even the first lady of New Jersey waited two months before leaving her husband- and he was..."cock friendly."

2) Keep a Journal

For why, skip to #3.

3) Write a Book

Don’t worry, it’s a figure of speech, you don’t actually have to write it yourself. That’s why we said to keep a journal. You give that journal to a ghost writer, and five to eight months later, presto, you got a book. You might be embarrassed to have someone else write a book for you. Don’t be, no one’s going to read it anyway. The point is to appear on a bunch of TV shows and get your name in the press. #1 and #3 make a perfect fake-out combo for those feminists. First, they think you’re a doormat. But feminists have pretty low standards- all it takes is one book that you don’t even have to write, and you’ll be hailed as the next Gloria Gaynor.

4) The World is Your Oyster

Now that you’re somewhat famous, you can pretty much sit back and wait for the job offers to roll in. You’ll be invited to sit on the board of all sorts of crazy companies, which is basically like getting money for doing nothing. You might choose to “write” another book. Or co-host The View.

Barack Obama has Made me Kind of Racist

I never had a problem with Mexicans until the elections made me realize how much they really don't want a black president. Who knew?

Barack Obama has won Utah, Alaska, Idaho, North Dakota and Wyoming, which combined have fewer black residents than my living room. And yet, along the Mexican border -- Texas, California, Arizona, New Mexico, Nevada, Oklahoma (wait, let me check my atlas...close enough) -- he's gone down in defeat. Now, I find myself rooting for the border patrol.

This animosity has really caught me off guard. I always thought of myself as "brown-friendly." I watched Selena. I buy the occasional off-ramp orange or stop-light bouquet, and if I owned a house, I'm sure I'd swing by the Home Depot parking lot every now and then to get a tree stump removed. But to think that all this time, I, as a black man, have been viewed with such contempt? It's almost enough to make me boycott Jose Luis Sin Censura. Almost.

That whole fence thing isn't sounding so bad now. Can we make it electrified? If the Minutemen allowed coloreds, I'd seriously consider enlisting. Somebody's got to stop this flow before our chances of a black president become slimmer than...well, they were before Barack Obama. At the rate things are going, the only possibility of a black president after this year will be Chelsea Clinton with a deep tan.

I guess it doesn't have to be a race thing, though. Who knows, maybe Mexicans just love the Clintons. After all, I'm sure Bill has fathered a few along the way.