The Audacity of Hype

"Hey, President Oprah, nice belly-flop ... "

Of course, nobody's allowed to heckle Our New Version of HIS MAJESTY on this holy, albeit frigid, In Awkward Nation Day.

Yet, with the way that he butchered the opening lines of the oath of office (when it came to putting his hand on "the good book"), it makes ya wonder if those college football playoffs that he supported on Election Eve will get off the ground -- or, if at his first few Ceremonial First Pitch occasions, he's going to short-hop the throw to the ceremonial catcher.

He is, after all, Mr. Smoooooth.

Kinda makes ya feel like he should be wearin' Ray-Bans and playin' upright bass in a jazz quartet in an ad for Camel Filters ... sorta like that previous coooool prez we had who liked to blow his sax before he got blown during sex by somebody who wasn't his wife ("shhhhhhh ... don't be dissin' our groovy ex-Prez Clinton ...").

Anyway, in the re-enactment of the Million Man March, the voice of every black person (and many Whiteys) in these United States rose up as one during the dawning of a new era as the new Kenyan-Caucasian prez achieved knighthood (soul-brutha handshake sold separately).

We were informed that this day marked a greater triumph that what happened a few years ago when Sylvester Croom became the first head coach in the SEC and this will open doors for black men and (ooops. Croom resigned amid zero fanfare two months ago ... with no tangible proof that he'd changed anything one iota in the Heart of Dixie).

Speaking of tangibility, you could actually sense the whole wide world offering a big sigh of relief and powering up a North Pole-to-South Pole smile.

Everybody everywhere was feelin' the Prez. Oprah, good-time vibe ... from the rebel soldiers in the Congo, who set down their automatic weapons and stopped gang-raping that 14-year-old ... to the Palestinian girl with explosives strapped to herself waiting an hour before climbing onto that bus filled with Israelis ... to that loser in Alabama who usually spends the morning punching the mother of his kids (who is not his wife) in the face.

This was definitely almost as exciting as the day when Orenthal was initially acquitted of decapitating his ex-wife and her Jewish buddy -- although, it's reminiscent of when Sen. Gracchus looked out over the throng and said, with voice dripping with skepticism, to Sen. Falco, "He enters Rome like a conquering hero" before asking rhetorically, "But, what has he conquered?"

It does seem weird, doesn't it? Today's a day when we should be hailing pilot Chesley Sullenberger for saving those 155 lives by landing that jumbo jet neatly atop the water of the Hudson River (and not under it).

Alas, this is U-S-A! U-S-A! and we're so much better at "parades for potential" than we are at hailing actual accomplishment.

We salute "promise" as though we're getting out of 3rd-period algebra to join hands during the rally in the gym.

The bandwagon is racing through town, but we're supposed to climb aboard not because we respect his voting record in the Illinois legislature, but simply because he's some black dude.

We were supposed to vote for him because he ISN'T the anti-Christ named Dubya, but, if Hillary wins confirmation as Sec. of State, we just elected a 2-headed Clinton anti-Christ to high office.

(NOTE: The reason some of us never vote is because Hillary spent x-number of mos. badmouthing Barack Hussein ... then, we he's elected, he tabs her as a key Cabinet member. Since it's fruitless to grasp as logical that which is illogical, let's all get together with our ex-girlfriends tonight for some quality spooning).

In addition to that which is anti-Christian, there's the matter of that which is anti-MLK.

Dr. King reasoned that we should judge people by the content of their character and not the colour of their skin.

Democrats flip-flopping sounds so un-American, does it not?

As it was, our newly-crowned President Pepsodent began Day One of the Rhetoric Regime with bold pronouncements of the remaking of America.

The "remaking of America"?

Unless he means that we need to buy more presents for Kwanzaa or that we need to learn how to do the broom dance at weddings, the only way that this "remaking" can go into the books as something "official" is if The Bruthuz and Whitey team up and fork over more $$$, as restitution, to the great-grandchildren of Geronimo and Crazy Horse for the land which we raped in return for firewater, casinos and colossal football stadiums which we built on the land which we raped.

That might prove problematic down the road -- Remade America gettin' itself all confused over which side of President Oprah's brain is on duty that day: the Kenyan absentee-father half or the white-mama half.

On the plus side, there'll be the creepy white folks (Joe Biden, Hillary Clinton) ridin' shotgun for President Oprah -- which means that, in Remade Amerca, there'll be no more foolishness, such as NFL RBs like Travis Henry banging nine different women and ending up with nine kids (who Prez. Oprah will shield with loose welfare guidelines, 'cuz one of dem babies might be presidentin' one day ... while his baby-daddy be in prison).

In Remade America, we ain't gonna be havin' no more black-on-black crime where big-city black mayors in Detroit (Kwame Kilpatrick) and Baltimore (Sheila Dixon) be sellin' out their brothers and sisters.

Thanks to President Oprah (and The R.B.I. Initiative -- y'know, Reviving Baseball in the Inner-city), there'll be no more black junkies gunning down the black guy behind the counter of the 7-Eleven ... because being President of the Remade United States of America is a much more-viable option.

That is, if the black junkie can win the run-off election vs. that kid in the Sudan right now who's thinkin', "Fuck workin' in the diamond mines just so some white bitch in Laguna Beach has a bigger rock than her girlfriend in Redondo! If a Kenyan can become President of the United States of America, then so can a Sudanista!"

Unless U-S-A! U-S-A! votes for the next Zimbabwean on the ballot.

Or unless Cleveland Indians outfielder Shin-Soo Choo throws his Cleveland Indians' cap "into the ring," as they say.

Perhaps powerful political figures such as Eldrick Woods (he with the first name "Tiger" and the Thai mama) or Muhammad Ali (he of the Muslim persuasion and the Parkinson's which developed long after he made those classic TV commercials for D-Con roach killer) are tellin' everybody that U-S-A! U-S-A! is not ready for a Buddhist president.

Try again in 2028 ...

If Oprah sez it's OK ...

It's depressing to some of us that America was misinformed that a Republican named J.C. Watts was deemed too white to be our first black president, even if he is three shades more chocolate-skinned than Kenyan-fathered, Caucasian-mothered Barack Hussein.

No love for the former Sooner QB.

Speakin' of which, memories of J.C. Watts really take a fella back to the first two years of the '80s, doesn't it?

More specifically, 1981 ... when President Reagan was shot two months after he was sworn in ...

Before we all gathered 'round to watch the maiden voyage of something called "a space shuttle" ...

Before the MLB went on strike ...

Before Diana married Charles in the royal wedding (in what was THE premier global event before today) ...

Just before MTV was born ...

Now, look at us: Reagan's dead, two Space Shuttles have exploded, Lady Di's dead ... but The MLB and MTV have never been stronger!!!

We who are about to die salute you!

Long live our 45th President of the Remade USA -- Lauren Conrad!

(Unless it's Audrina. She is, like, such a bitch. And, she probably can't give us a college football-playoff package, so what the ... )

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