April 17, 2008 Issue                                       

©2007 The Chestnut Hill Local

An ‘Obami-nation’ you’ll only read in the Local
Obama accepts glazed donuts from oil companies!
by JIM HARRIS

The 2008 Democratic primary has just about finished its run through our fair state, and thanks to a terrific bunch of writers, choreographers, stage hands and makeup artists, it’s been a swell show.

The campaign opened as usual with bombardment from the air: “I’m Barack Obama and I approve this message.” Well, it’s only him talking, so why wouldn’t he approve the message? Would he say something that he didn’t approve of? Wouldn’t that just be counterproductive, not to mention a waste of advertising money? Does he really need to approve of himself saying that he approves of himself saying whatever it is that he’s saying?

As far as I can tell. Obama is fighting for the low-to-mid-middle class, and Hillary’s fighting for the mid-middle-to-low-upper class. So far no one has come out as fighting for the lower class, mainly because no one wants to be called lower class. Both Hillary and Obama are for eliminating tax breaks for the rich. The rich are not worried.

One ubiquitous Hillary ad shows her perkily answering the phone in full executive attire at 3 a.m. Not shown is her snoring like a sailor an hour later. Also not shown is her running from sniper fire at a Yugoslavian airport. “I figured out that that was actually a dream I had while sleeping at my desk,” explained the candidate, “but it was nonetheless a character-building experience.”

While the public was still trying to figure out what was real, the media hit us with polls covering every possible contingency: Clinton vs. McCain, McCain vs. McCain, Clinton’s-head-grafted-onto-Obama’s-body vs. McCain-in-a-coma. 

And the numbers, always the numbers: Of the 20 percent of Pennsylvania voters who identify themselves as “white,” “non-white,” or “off-white,” 33 percent of the women over 45 gave Obama a 52 percent negative approval rating, while 30 percent of those men who identified themselves as “men” said they would be 50 percent more inclined to vote if the candidate were a “hot chick.” This poll has a margin of error of plus or minus 5 percent, but that statement in itself (of which I approve) has a margin of error of plus or minus (or plus) 20 percent divided by the square root of two.

The poll assault was then quickly followed by the ground invasion. As everyone knows, Pennsylvania is “Philadelphia and Pittsburgh with Alabama in between,” and frankly folks, Philadelphia and Pittsburgh are not exactly centers of urbane sophistication either, so a lot of political footsie was required to cajole the voters into accepting Barack and Hillary as pals. More so for Barack, because, while women voters are exactly the same everywhere, the men come in many different varieties.

It was therefore necessary to trundle Senator Obama off to the hinterlands to eat scrapple and otherwise connect with stockyard animals. He looked about as comfortable as someone who had just mistaken Bengay for Preparation H. To his credit, he drew the line at getting drunk and beating his wife. Unfortunately, though, he did allow himself to get talked into bowling. He scored a 37. Helen Keller could have done better. Personally, I don’t need to know that my president can bowl, and I don’t want a president who’s just like me; I’d rather have someone smart.

To prove that she is indeed smart, Hillary read excerpts from her bestseller, It Takes a Book, and then recited the U.S. Constitution in Pig Latin. Not to be outdone, Obama demonstrated his command of the alphabet by pointing out that the name “Hillary Clinton” contains the phrase “chilly liar.” Clinton aides quickly pointed out that it also contains “non-chilly liar,” and called for Obama to drop out of the race.

On the Republican side, John McCain’s workers have been using their free time to manufacture more than seven million American flags to place behind McCain at his rallies. They’ve also been out scouring the countryside for well-known Republicans to endorse their candidate. Watching McCain leading a wobbly Nancy Reagan to the microphone, it looked to me like she didn’t quite know what she was doing, or that perhaps she was being coerced: “Sorry ma’am, but you can’t have lunch until you read this statement to the press.” One good thing — she actually made McCain look young by comparison.

I suspect that, unless he picks Barack Obama as his running mate, this campaign may well be John McCain’s farewell tour, much the same as the 1992 race was for Bob Dole. After the election, he’ll just do a couple of Viagra commercials and retire to the ranch for a well-deserved rest.

Back in the less-than-heated Democratic race, it seemed like the two candidates were having trouble coming up with enough negative things to say about each other. After Hillary pointed out that Obama was not an astronaut nor had he ever saved a baby from a burning building, Obama countered by saying that Hillary’s yellow pants suits made her look like an “overgrown Teletubby.”

On the integrity front, Obama said he would not accept money from oil companies, but that he would accept IOU’s, glazed donuts and Hummel figurines. Hillary insisted that she would never accept scented candles from neo-Nazis, or foot rubs from evil robots. For a complete list of what the candidates will or will not accept, you can visit their websites, where you can also view videos of them in heavily-rehearsed “candid” moments, pretending to be normal.

And make no mistake, even if candidates start out normal, the political process quickly turns them into giant inflated parade-balloon caricatures of themselves. The cold hard truth is that once they get what they want from us, they’ll disappear, and we’ll be left in the lurch like jilted lovers, waiting by the phone at 3 a.m., with only bittersweet memories of laughing, talking and bowling with our very important pals. Maybe we should have gotten a prenuptial agreement.

Jim Harris is a Germantown resident, musician and animal activist who says that if your car is stopped on the road by a police officer, there are two things you should never say to him: “Officer, I can’t reach my license unless you hold my beer” and “Officer, you’re not gonna check the trunk; are you?” You can check Jim’s trunk — and get an Obama or Hillary bumper sticker — at jimbob@jimbobsjournal.com.