Spoof Space
BY STEELE CODDINGTON | MAY 9, 2012
Obama chasing the rabbit
There is a wonderful joke that beyond any other observation epitomizes the frantic efforts of the Obama, Harry Reid election campaign to paint their fraudulent claims of political successes as great accomplishments. Their entire reelection charade consists of a substitution of cheap political tricks and phony rhetoric to hide substantive failures of their inexcusable ideologically inspired leftist agenda. Everything they blow out as fact is crafted fiction, like Joe Biden’s speeches, described recently by Jonah Goldberg in National Review as “festooned with (the word) ‘literally’ like hundreds of the tethers to the hot air balloon that is his head.”
The joke, a political story, is tailored to portray how differently each branch of government goes about its work to complete a simple mission. In this case, the job of each branch is to find a rabbit that has been released in the dense woods near Washington, DC and bring him out.
First, Harry Reid and his Democrat majority team go into the woods. Fifteen minutes later, Reid comes out and says, “We caught the rabbit. He agreed to vote for free contraceptives everyone else will pay for and was badly needed among rabbits, increased taxes on everything that moves or makes a profit and support for any Obamacare mandate.” As a reward they let him stay in the woods where the rabbit promised to keep running around looking for carrots as solutions that taste good and smell bad.
John Boehner and the Republican House team entered the woods and after fifteen minutes came out and said, “The Senate team apparently caught a weasel. We got the rabbit, but he’s afraid to come out with no chance of finding a job, obscene government spending and the certainty of discriminatory tax increases. So we left him digging a hole bigger than Obama’s deficit.”
Lastly, the Obama team goes into the woods. Twenty minutes later a large bear, badly beaten up, comes staggering out of the woods with his paws raised in surrender saying, “OK, OK, I’m a rabbit! I’m a rabbit!” Well he’s not really a rabbit, but like Obama, he resorts to distortion to avoid a truth that might be unfavorable. Unfortunately, every situation has some ridiculous scintilla of evidence that can fool the ignorant – “Hell, the bear has fur and four legs, so it could be a rabbit.”
It’s becoming increasingly clear that the explanations of accomplishments contain distortions and untruths and are having a detrimental effect on the public’s opinion of his character. In a recent Wall Street Journal Peggy Noonan wrote a scathing article that questioned Obama’s believability. She said people are starting to get the impression that he’s an operator who’s not operating in good faith.”
And cites examples why. The so-called “accommo-dation” to the Catholic Church on birth-control came across as “devious.” His questionable whispers to Russia’s Medvedev pleading for more time until after his reelection so he can be more “flexible” on giving in to Russia on missile defenses he’s already caved in on with no quid pro quo? Of course that’s the patently false impression he sought to create with the, “Under my administration America is producing more oil today than any other time in the last right years.” But that’s worth a future column to clear the smoke and mirrors. The list of bloviations goes on and on leaving the public wondering what will come out of the woods next. Is he changing his name to Ronald Reagan or Hugo Chavez?
I love mustard
As ham sandwiches go, it was perfection: a thick slab of ham on a fresh bun with crisp lettuce and plenty of expensive, gourmet mustard. The corners of my jaw aching in anticipation, I carried it to the table in our backyard, picked it up with both hands but was stopped by my wife suddenly at my side.
“Here, hold the baby while I get my sandwich,” she said.
I had him balanced between my left elbow and shoulder and was reaching for the ham sandwich when I noticed a streak of mustard on my fingers.
I love mustard. I had no napkin. I licked it off.
It was not mustard.
No man ever put a baby down faster. It was the first and only time I have sprinted with my tongue protruding.
With a washcloth in each hand, I did the sort of routine shoeshine boys do; only I did it on my tongue.
Later, after she stopped crying from laughing so hard, my wife said, "Now you know why they call that fancy mustard, 'Poupon.'"
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