Though last week I said I didn't care if Beyonce lip synced her way through the National Anthem, by Saturday I had come to realize that that incident was emblematic of the whole Obama mess--phony beyond belief.
The Obamabots and cultists did indeed jump the shark into permanently attaching their lips to his butt no matter what he's doing. (He likes me! He really likes me!) (Of course, "jumping the shark" is a wistful term on my part.)
The Obamabots and cultists did indeed jump the shark into permanently attaching their lips to his butt no matter what he's doing. (He likes me! He really likes me!) (Of course, "jumping the shark" is a wistful term on my part.)
I caught a quick excerpt of the following musical clip and wondered, "Wow. Obama on fire? How does that make sense?" It sounded like a plot from one of those really prolific and distasteful crime dramas that are whizzing 24/7 on the telly.
And it was yet another beautiful wealthy thin wo/man waxing eloquent about the Beloved One, an eloquence that is often and usually preceded by some lament about how tough the world is...for the singer and how Obama's presence in that very tough world somehow ameliorates the singer's agony.
And it was yet another beautiful wealthy thin wo/man waxing eloquent about the Beloved One, an eloquence that is often and usually preceded by some lament about how tough the world is...for the singer and how Obama's presence in that very tough world somehow ameliorates the singer's agony.
I'm happy to say that someone over at the Spectator actually took the time to translate Alicia Keys's rewritten "lyrics" into English which, alarmingly, don't seem to make any sense, considering they were sung to an influential fawning group of the 1% glitterati. (Oh, wait. I forgot. You can only be considered one of the despicable 1% if you're Republican or conservative.)
Anyway here's the lovely young woman swooning and crooning over the Beloved One. Let me issue a mixed metaphor alert before you watch this:
It's a new day! We can cerebra-a-a-a-a-ate! (Cute smile to audience!)
Got that? The world's on fi-reh! Filled with catastro--phe---
But Obama knows he can fly away! OOOOOOO-
But he's got both feet on the gro-ound!
And he's burnin' it down!
Got his head in the clouds!!
He's not backin' down! (Smug cutesy smile to audience, hand on hip!)
Obama's on fi-reh!
Everybody knows Michelle is his gir-ul!
And together they RUN THE WORLD!
And we gonna let it burn, baby! Burn, baby! Obama's on fir-eh!
Now let's just not worry about the fact that these people perceive Obama & his partner as running the world.
Why the heck are we celebrating catastrophes? The world burning down?
And do we really think that skinny dude is tall enough to both stand on the ground and have his head in the clouds?
Anyway, over at the Spectator you can read a priceless takedown of the celebrities who smarmed all over Obama last week. Here's the conclusion:
It’s Orwellian that entertainers insist that we refer to them as “artists”; more so that we go along. The demand by performers to call them “artists” becomes more strident as their relationship to the actual word becomes more distant. The insecurity complex is something akin to the nouveau riche camouflaging their cockney accents with exaggerated Aristocratese. Draw attention from your true self at the risk of exposing it.
It’s a little like a rhetorician averse to governance transforming a typically staid second inauguration into a gauche coronation.Take a look at this Freudian--or rather, Orwellian-- headline:
US Pays Tribute to King as Obama Begins New TermHuh. Was that accidental or intentional? What do you think?
But back to those precious Alicia Keys's lyrics.
I agree.
Obama is on fire.
His pants are.
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