|Jan/Feb 2014 Humor/Satire|
Image courtesy of David Comfort
The Lord's second son, whom men called "The One," was born in the new Bethlehem, Honolulu. His white mother, Mary, known as Stanley, hailed from Kansas, the land of the Kushites. His black father, Joseph, known as Barack, hailed from Kenya, the land of the Kenites. So, in the child coursed the mixed blood of all men.
In the Kapi'olani Maternity, Stanley christened her only son, Obama—which, in Hebrew, meant "lightning on the mountain"—and laid him to rest in a manger. No wisemen came to adore him for, in those late days, the wise were crucified, or stupefied.
In the land of the Magi, the One was schooled in Allah, and in the Almighty at St. Francis of Assisi Academy. On return to his native land, he was stoned. "When I was a kid, I inhaled frequently. That was the point," he told the lawyers who later challenged him in the temple. Calling this his greatest moral failure, he confessed, "I wished to push questions of who I was out of my mind."1
Indeed, one brother called him black, another white, another an Oreo cookie. Some said he was Hawaiian, others Hammite, others Indonesian. Some swore he was a Christian, others a Muslim, others a godless idolater. Some testified he was a Cubs fan, others a White Sox, others a Red Sox.
In the Windy City, the One helped the Acorn and DCP church carpenters build affordable tents and temples. Along the banks of the Calumet he was christened by Jeremiah the Baptist. He then journeyed into the South Side wilderness. Here he was tried and tempted for 440 days and nights by the devils of the '08 campaign.
On Meet the Philistine, Face the Pharisee and many another show, adversaries cursed him on account of Jeremiah the Baptist who had damned America, saying its chickens had come home to roost, toppling the Trade Tower of Babel.
When Obama charged the Grand Old Pharisees with bitterness, "They cling to guns or religion or antipathy to people who aren't like them," the warriors brandished their Shooters' Bibles and banana clips, denying it.
When he told Joseph the Plumber that the hungry would be satisfied and that spreading around the gold was good for all, John the McCainaanite denounced him. He answered his rival: "Verily, he shall soon be accusing me of being a secret communist because I shared my toys in kindergarten. I shared my peanut butter and jelly sandwich."
Though his parables puzzled men, the One won over their hearts with the audacity of his hope and the dreams of his father. "Change you can believe in!" he exhorted them. "Yes, we can!"
Before Obama emerged from the wilderness, even Joe, son of Biden, his brother who competed against him for the divided kingdom, declared: "I mean, you got the first mainstream African-American who is articulate and bright and clean and a nice-looking guy. I mean, that's storybook, man."
So the One, after being anointed by the divine O herself, won the throne of America. Before all his kingdom's colors and creeds, he delivered his sermon on the mount from the Hill, by teleprompter.
He spoke of a new dawn. He urged his countrymen to love their neighbors—to reach across the aisle, to share a beer and pass a Hate Crime Prevention Act. He entreated them to love even their enemies, to talk with terrorists and to destroy the dungeon called Gitmo. Imploring them to turn the other cheek, he proposed gun and waterboard control. Preaching seek and ye shall find, knock and the door will be opened, he promised transparency and called the White House the People's House.
The new king journeyed to Lake Michigan to call his cabinet. Here he met his Israelite brother, Rahm, son of Emanuel. In Hebrew, Emanuel meant "God is with us." Rahm meant "lofty," though his height was scarcely five cubits.
The Israelite had inherited the fiery spirit of his Nazirite forefather, Samson, who had slain the Grand Old Philistines with the jawbone of a blue ass. So the GOP called him Rahmbo. The One called him The Son of Thunder,2 for he spoke of razing cities and collecting tax-cutters' heads. In his youth, while butchering firstlings for Arby, Rahm had beheaded his once mighty middle finger. Rendered briefly mute, he became a dancer, a tri-athlete, a moneychanger, and chief minister to Obama's predecessor, the Great Prevaricator himself. He fished on Fridays and sent his dead catch to Pisces pollsters who displeased him.
When the young king reached the lake, a downcast Son of Thunder was collecting his nets after a luckless morning. Wishing to escape the press of the paparazzi, Obama boarded his brother's ark and ordered him to row out.
No sooner had the lofty one dropped his net, than it was filled to bursting with bio-engineered bass, Bud empties, boots, and Black Sabbath tees. As his boat began to sink with the catch, Rahm fell to his knees at the stern. "Leave me, Lord, sinner that I am!" he begged.3
The One knew of his friend's sins, having heard the story of how he had called out his enemies' names at a feast, stabbing the dinner table with each, crying, "Dead! Dead! Dead!"
So, the king reached into the brimming net and handed him a frankenfish, saying: "Fear not. Now you shall be a fisher of men."4
Leaving the lake, Obama and his new chief-of-staff journeyed throughout the land and called the other eleven:
Hillary, Apostle of Foreign Spin, Smoke, and Mirrors;
Hilda, Apostle of Slaves and Overseers;
Tim, Apostle of Moneychangers and Usurers;
Tom, Apostle of Fruit and Vegetables;
Robert, Apostle of War and Conquest;
Ray, Apostle of Camels and Chariots;
Shaun, Apostle of Palaces and Section 8 Tents;
Steven, Apostle of the Black Gold;
Kathleen, Apostle of Plagues and Shamans;
Arne, Apostle of Schools and Prisons;
And Eric the Zealot, Apostle of Stonings and Crucifixions.
The Twelve were in that order, astride their asses outside Corpus Christi when their master, in the lead on his white colt, asked: "Who do men say that the Son of Man is?"5
Robert, his only GOP disciple, was the first to speak. "Jeremiah your Baptist."
Hillary, whom he had vanquished in the race, was next: "A thief, a megalomaniac, and a Marxist."
The Son of Man dismissed these answers for he had told the Twelve and the scribes, too: "I was not born in a manger. I was actually born on Krypton and sent here to save the Planet Earth. Barack is actually Swahili for 'That One.'"
So Rahm kissed his feet. "Behold, thou are That One, the Savior from Krypton."
Turning in the saddle, the One weighed his chief with a stern eye, thinking he was blowing smoke up his ass. But, seeing that Emmanuel was in earnest, he told him: "Son of Benjamin, you are blessed indeed. You did not learn that from the GOP. So I say this to you: You are Rahm the Rock, and on this rock I will build my administration."6
Transfigured, the One's face shined like a sun, and his Armani cloak burned white. No less radiant, Moses and Elijah appeared at his side, and he chatted with his colleagues briefly.
After the prophets departed, he told his disciples that he had to go to the capital where he would suffer much from the elders, the lawyers, and the T'baggers. "Take up your cross and follow me," he ordered.
All the apostles already hung the sacred T save one. Rahm the Rock wore the Star of David. So, Eric the Zealot handed over his spare T to the Zionist.
Reining his ass for the Beltway, the son of man put his Twelve to the final test: "You must become eunuchs for my heavenly administration. Let those among you accept it who can."7
Hillary, Hilda, and Kathleen bowed for they were now barren. Though the others had grown kids too, Rahm, Robert, Ray Tim, Tom, Shaun, Steve, Arne, and Eric hesitated.
At last the Rock wept, "So be it, Mr. President!"
He nodded to his brothers, they all slipped on their cups and followed the One's ass to Washington.
After the Transfiguration, the Thirteen camped beside the Sea of Galilee which, in the reborn days, was called the Gulf. Its people were in famine since their foodstamps were gone and a black gold spill had killed all fish, save two. So the One took the two fish, plus five loaves of Ezekiel 4:9 whole wheat, broke them and fed his four thousand followers, including the press corps.8
Then he went up to the hills to pray, while Steve, the Apostle of Spills, took a boat to survey BP's disaster with Rahm. Between three and six in the morning, seeing them straining at the oars in the head winds, the One walked across the black water. Thinking him a ghost, they cried out in terror.
"Take heart! It is I; do not be afraid," Obama called.9
Continuing north, he was mobbed by the blind, the deaf, the lame, the crippled, as well as lepers, demoniacs, and countless hypochondriacs.
The One had promised universal health care with the publican option even for pre-existing conditions. But the GOP railed against it, fearing death panels, placebo potions, and a plague of malpractice suits against their shamans and barbers. So, the One undertook a sole practitioner fishes-and-loaves house-call program.
He first healed the Son of Paterson so he could see clearly enough to quit the governor's office. He then cured Barney, the son of Frank's, speech impediment so he could be understood by Fox. And, reaching across the aisle, he cleansed Boehner's bilious liver and smoker's lung.
As he entered Washington to the chorus of glorious hosannas, he worked his greatest miracle of all. At the gates of the city stood an old soldier so fierce that no man dared pass by. "What is thy name?" inquired the One.
"My name is Legion, for we are many," said the man, eyes rolling. One moment he called himself John, another Maverick, another Rogue. Even his friends called him Legion on account of his flipflops and his 1,173 pages of doctor charts.
When Obama lay his magic hand on the demoniac, Legion's unclean spirits leapt into 2,000 congressional pigs which stampeded off the Hill to oblivion.10
But this was the greatest wonder of all: though the McCainaanite was freed of his devils, he and his brethren pledged to overturn the One's Universal Health Care and to make him a one-term Messiah.
Distraught, the Son of Man, like his Father in the troubled days of Exodus, began to smoke. But His son rationed menthols on Capital Hill, since the skies were already poisoned and he preached Cap and Trade for unclean vapors.
In the Tribulation of the Second Coming, America was now in decline due to the greed of moneylenders and speculators. Merchants, traders, farmers, and servants alike had lost their livelihoods, their tents were in foreclosure, their chariots reclaimed.
No sooner had the One arrived in the capital of his divided kingdom, than he swept down on the Wailing Wall Street. Storming the brokerages, he overturned the tables of the dealers in derivatives, scattering their Franklins, Madisons, and McKinleys.
"By what authority do you do this?" they cried, for all their gold bore the inscription In God We Trust11 with the graven images of eagles, arrows, and dead kings.
The current king scolded them, "Tax gatherers, publicans and prostitutes are entering the kingdom of God ahead of you!"12
"The big government taxman cometh!" they mocked, stoning him with teabags and trickle-down voodoo.
The Lamb was not quick to anger, but now his belly did burn. "Hypocrites! You are like tombs covered with whitewash, inside filled with dead man's bones."13
Soon it came to pass that the red Sadducees of Goldman Sachs and even the blue Pharisees of Freddie and Fannie damned the savior's runaway deficit spending—his stamps for fishes and loaves, his cash for clunkers, his extended benefits for Jobs without jobs. "And what of your own feasts and junkets—to the Big Apple with your Magdalene, to the Vineyard of Martha, to the Indian Taj Mahal suites with 3,000—on our shekels?" they demanded.
"Can you make the bridegroom's friends fast while the bridegroom is with them?" the One demanded.14
"You, a brother, claim to be a god?" challenged the Pharisees.15
"No, just a bridegroom," he reminded them.
The moneychangers proceeded to wail about the One's taxes. The king felt their pain since he too was a millionaire, and his disciples even richer from stock options, IPOs, national orations, and memoirs. The Twelve stood behind him now but, as was their custom, did not have his back.
So, again reaching across the aisle as he had promised in his inaugural Sermon on the Mount, he ordered his Apostle Tim, the wily tax dodger, to right the Sachs' of Gold tables and share with its traders his own loopholes, and his favor with Caesar who was called Uncle Samuel.
The two sides, each with its economic clairvoyants, negotiated a Solomon brothers' compromise. But, no sooner was it sealed, than the GOP demanded more gold for foreign blood.
After the Lamb had entreated his countrymen to put their troubled hearts at rest and banish their fears, the hawks had chastised him for being soft of terrorism and apologizing to the holy warriors of Persia. So now, he doubled down on the hornet's nest in the godforsaken land of Afghanistan, sending its king and his ministers, Ali Baba and the Seven Thieves, tenfold of what he allocated to his own plagued people.
With these concessions the king prayed that his nation would at last be reconciled. But as he left the bargaining table, his chief minister, Joe of Arimethea from Delaware, whispered: "Verily, O Bright and Clean One, even if we doeth everything right, if we doeth it with absolute certainty, there's still a thirty percent chance we're going to get it f...king wrong."
And so it was.
When the One extended the olive branch to the Right, their whip, Mitch, pledged that he would be a one-termer. So Obama called the prince and his ministers together for a drink and asked: "Why are you trying to kill me?"
"You are possessed! Who is trying to kill you?" they demanded.16
He reminded them that their chairman from the land of milk and cheese had thrice decreed, "Obama should be executed."
The ministers scoffed, saying he twisted their words. Then they called for his head, charging that he was a liar, a racist, an elitist and, worst of all—aloof. The king retired and sought council with the Son of Thunder himself.
"Verily, never let a crisis go to waste!" Rahmbo advised, driving his izmel into the conservatives' new Covenant with America. "Groweth some balls!"
"Bring these enemies of mine here and slaughter them in my presence!" demanded the Lamb.17
"That is the spirit!" cried the lofty one, already wrapping frankenfish for a bulk TGIF mailing to the red lands.
The mid-term elections were fast approaching, so Obama dispatched throughout his kingdom the Twelve, plus 72 others among his faithful. "I send you out like lambs among the wolves," he charged them. "Carry no piece, body armor, or Watchtower, and spread the word of hope and peace, even among the NRA Nazirites."18
Leading the effort, the One flew his mighty Air Force One chariot from coast to coast, urging his people to hold firm for the New Dawn. But, in every city, the Fox Pharisees stoned him, crying:
"Jesus saves. Obama spends."
"Bend thy ass over, here comes the change!"
"Finally, a face for the foodstamp!"
"Keep thy hand out of my pocket, I shalt stimulate myself!"
As the campaigns drew to a close, his own Democratic flock lost faith. So only a few came to the polls and the Grand Old Philistines triumphed.
The shellacked One returned to the capital to find that even his chief-of-staff, Rahm, had forsaken him though, as the cock crowed, he had three times denied that he would ever do so even for the throne of the wicked Windy City.
Downcast, the king retreated to the Oval Office. "What an unbelieving and perverse generation! How much longer must I endure?"19 he wept.
He peered out over Jackie's winter beds, now without a single flower, and marked three picket signs out at the guarded gates.
One Big Ass Mistake, America.
Somewhere in Bethlehem a Village is Missing a Birth Certificate.
BAMAGEDDON IS AT HAND!
By the Sabbath before the 2012 election, Fox astrologers announced that Obama was indeed doomed to one term, as the prince of Kentucky had prophesied.
Mitt, son of Ramses Romney, the American Chariot Motors king, sought to unseat the Lamb. A Latter Day Saint, Mitt was Noah, yet he did not drink; He was Shadrack, Mishack, and Abednego, but he did not smoke; he was David, but he did not cheat; and he was Solomon, but he did not stable 12,000 horses and 1,400 chariots—only a dressage Arabian, a Mustang, a Ram, and a couple Cadillacs.
The Mormonator, as he was called by men, had baptized 200 live Frenchmen in his youth while his brothers christened 380,000 dead Israelites, winning them (despite their protests) eternal life. Returning home to save his own nation, the evangelist resurrected the SportsAuthority and the Olympics, then cleansed the corrupt state of Massachusetts itself.
On the eve of the election, the Grand Old Pharisees arrived in the Sunshine State on the winds of Hurricane Isaac to coronate Mitt and his apostle, Paul. Like Samson, Paul bench-pressed temples. Like Elisha fleeing the Baal, he ran a three-hour marathon. Like Nehemiah, he was good with Medicare Numbers and proposed voucherizing health care and resurrection. "We live in a land where everything is free but us," he proclaimed. "Our rights come not from government, but from God!"
Following his prophet to the teleprompter on the mount, the saint raised his voice above Isaac pouring down upon the Tampa Bay Storm Baal coliseum: "President Obama promised to begin to slow the rise of the oceans. And to heal the planet. My promise is to help you and your family."
Accompanied by Kool and the Gang's "Celebration," the Party of No waved BELIEVE placards and sang glorious hosannas as Mitt and Paul, their concubines, their kids, and their eunuchs embraced on stage, showered by red, white, and blue confetti.
Seeking to blunt the Pharisee offensive, the Democrats assembled in the Time Warner Arena, home of the Bobcats and the Nascar Chariot races.
After the benedictions of their black ministers, their gay bishops, and their union overseers, the Party of Yes broadcast its own platform, but uttered not a word about the Lord or Jerusalem. The GOP picketers outside cursed them for this, and for challenging Genesis creation with monkey business, blocking the Hispanic Exodus, and outlawing Leviticus from being posted in public places.
The silver-tongued son of Clinton challenged their arithmetic. "The Right has doubled up on Deuteronomy and trickle-down talk, but their Numbers still don't add up!"
Joe of Arimathea was the next to the stage. "Bin-Laden is dead and General Motors is alive," he reminded the nation. Then he defended his lord against those who called him a coward who led from behind. "This man has courage in his soul, compassion in his heart and steel in his spine!"
Following Joe, Obama's wife, Michelle, reminded the poor that her husband, like them, had driven a used chariot with holes in the floorboards. "He was a guy whose proudest possession was a coffee table he'd found in the dumpster," she added.
When his own turn came, the One spoke of his growth of jobs for Jobs, his mercy for immigrants, his care for the sick which his foes said cost too much.
"Have a surplus?" he said. "Try a tax cut.... Deficit too high? Try another.... Feel a cold coming on? Take two tax cuts, roll back some regulations, and call us in the morning!"
Finally, challenging the GOP's claim that he cancelled National Prayer Day and worshipped only himself, he swore: "I have fallen to my knees with great regularity."
His flock cheered, waving their FORWARD signs.
"God bless you. And God bless these United States!" he proclaimed.
Then, under a rain of red, white, and blue, he embraced his wife and his two virgin daughters, Malia and Sasha.
No sooner did the final battle for the soul of God's nation begin in earnest, than the One was stricken by one misfortune after another, and brought low by the mighty Mitt in their debates. On the election eve, as the GOP soothsayers celebrated, the Son of Man solemnly convened his disciples in the Situation Room.
The cavern was deep in the bowels below the West Wing. Neither cannons nor comets could pierce its walls. Seeing on the monitors the Pharisee forces massing at the East Gates, the king told his cabinet, "The hour is upon us."
Around the table sat the Twelve: Hillary, Hilda, Tim, Tom, Ray, Rebecca, Steven, Ken, Kathleen, Janet, Chuck, and Eric the Zealot. Before each was an empty plate, a wine goblet, and a fingerbowl.
Obama rolled up his sleeves, tied a towel around him, and began to wash his disciples' feet, beginning with his Apostle of Moneychangers and Usurers.20
Tim said: "You Lord, washing my feet? What about thy servant's hands and head too?"21
"Bring it up with Bernanke," the One told him.
He removed the economist's wingtips and reached up his pantleg, pulling out a bug. "Verily, it is not unclean, Lord, but only for quality control," Tim wept.
The other eleven slipped wires from their own loins because each hoped for a book deal on the Passion and needed a good recording for the publishing Philistines after returning to the private sector to spend more time with their families.
The Son of Man now stooped down beside Hillary and slipped off her Ferragamo.
"Sorry for Benghazi," she told him. "Don't hate me."
"Verily, you're likeable enough, Hillary," he replied while working her sole. "Even Steve said so when he was asking for back-up."
The Lamb did his lawyer last, with Desenex. "Sorry about Fast and Furious," Eric told his master.
Finished with everybody's feet, the One placed a crust on each plate and poured Cab in every glass. The bread was Wonder and the wine Maneshevitz for the foodstamp president wished not to be stoned again for deficit spending. The supper was not on Uncle Sam's shekel, but his own Audacity of Hope dime.
"This is my body," he told his disciples. "And this is my blood."22
Everyone cleaned their plate and emptied their glass except for Joe who, though Catholic, had lost his appetite.
The One turned back to the monitors which showed the GOP soldiers at the palace gates, brandishing their grievances and demands. "This text in their Law has come true: 'They hated me without reason,'" he told the Twelve.23
Then he ordered his Apostle of Defense, "Open the gates."
"Lord," protested Chuck, "we have Skyspears,24 Javelins, Stingers, Scapegoats, Vipers, and even Hellfires."
"Enough!" said Obama. "Love one another. Go in peace."25
The GOP led the king to the Hill where a multitude ten times Moses' million man march to the Promised Land had congregated. The Supreme justices and Congress elders, both red and blue, crowded the Capital steps. Behind them stood rabbis, bishops, ministers, mayors. And behind them a crowd stretched all the way from the Mall's graven images to the Beltway.
As the One was escorted up the steps to the portico of the congressional palace, the scribes of Fox, CNN, ABC, and the rest reported that the defendant had waved his Mirandas. The redeemer would represent his pro bono work pro se.
A hush fell over the nation as the One took the stand and Issa, the firebrand and chariot thief, read the criminal charges against him.
"Loaves and Fishes SNAP. Code 347.32, Section § 222.9 violation—No clearance from the Health Department or FDA."
"Shoal of Fish. Without license, and over the limit."
"Driving out the moneylenders. Assault and battery, libel, malicious property destruction—with class warfare class action suits pending."
"Leper, lunatic, deaf, dumb, blind health care. Practicing without a license or malpractice insurance."
"Crucify him!"26 cried the T'baggers, the NRA Nazirites, and the crucifix-in-the-cleavage sisterhood.
Driving them on, Issa read the defendant's civil offenses: his false prophesy on the jobless rate, foreign trade agreements, the World Series; his misdemeanors in apologizing to foreign autocrats, in throwing gutter balls, in pitching like a woman to the Sox.
"How do you plead?" the prosecutor demanded.
The One spread his arms wide, "The Fox has his cable, the Byrd of the air had his Homeland Security, but the Son of Man has nowhere to lay his head."27
The Sanhedrin retired and the Supreme Court judges took their places on the bench. Only seven were on hand. The GOP had forced Obama's appointments to recuse themselves: Sonia the Latina for being wise, Elana the Orthodox for being orthodox. The Democrats had begged Anthony, the son of Scalia, to follow suit because he was God, but he had refused to recuse because he was God.
Four D.C. Horsemen flanked the Seven: the first astride a white steed, the second red, the third black, the fourth pale-green. The evangelists in the gallery knew them to be the angels of conquest, war, famine, and death; but the secular humanists dismissed them as the high court's muscle.
Chief Justice John put the first question to the defendant: "Are you, Barack Hussein, son of Obama, king of the Commies?"
"The words are yours," replied the One.28
The fiery son of Scalia challenged: "Would his lordship prefer another word? Marxist? Bolshevik? Pinko?"
"On my mother, Your Honor: Pink I am not," swore Obama.
The 700 Club demoniacs whom the Reverend Pat had taken on a field trip from the Walter Reed asylum cried out: "He is the Lamb! The son of God!"29
The Chief Justice gaveled, restored order, and pressed the defendant: "Be transparent as thou hast pledged, O One. What have you to say to your nation of your sorceries and sermons?"
Seeing now that his axelrod and staff would not protect him, the humbled king addressed his people, without teleprompter.
"My fellow Americans: I never did lay claim to wonders. The Move-on scribes wrote that I walked on water: but the Gulf oil was thick, my soles are 13, and I did jitterbug. The Times' scribes wrote of my Loaves and Fishes: but the manna was an airdrop from my soup kitchens. The MSNBC scribes reported my miraculous health care with demoniacs, lepers, and cripples: but, is it not written that audacious faith shall move mountains? And are not hypochondriacs now as many as our snake oil salesmen?"
"Ecce homo," declared the son of Roberts. "Don't ask, don't tell."
"Behold, I am not a homo, but just a man. With feet of clay. From Chicago," confessed Barack Hussein Obama.
"Beirut by the Lake!" cried a patriot.
"Hell!" yet another.
When order was restored with pepper spray from the Horsemen, the Chief Supreme announced his verdict. "I find no case against this man."
"He is no savior, but Barabbas, thief of our nation!" the Fox chorus protested.
"Split the difference: grand theft nation," allowed the wise son of Solomon. "I shall let him off with one-term, community service, and counseling."30
The Amorites no longer allowed stonings, but only waterboarding. In its mercy, God's right-to-lifers no longer allowed beheading either, but only justice by gas, poison, lighting, noose, or flying lead.
"I wash my hands of it," pronounced Judge Roberts.31
The T'Baggers, whose neck T's outnumbered even their phylacteries, threw the Aloof One on their shoulders and carried him for the National Cathedral.
On the way to Calvary, past the Department of the Treasury, Obama picked up the $16 Trillion cross waiting for him on layaway.
FOX led the Passion peloton, ABC, NBC, and CNN close behind. Fox's field slave, Geraldo, who had secured position just off the left crossbar, spoke into a ram's horn mic.
"We're closing in on the Via Dolorosa now just south of Wisconsin, Sean. This president can go OT rebounding the boards, but he's already gone down twice on this cross!"
"Any chance he'll 86 a few entitlements to cut down on the weight, Geraldo?" asked Fox's anchor, the son of Hannity, from the studio palace.
"Seems to be pleading the Fifth on that one, Sean. Not even leaking to MSNBC now."
Passing the Islamic Center on Embassy Row, Obama fell under the lumber. The son of Huckabee, Macabee Mike, picked him up.
"Guess that shows who's ready to reach across the aisle," declared Hannity. "The president's bowing to Allah, and Mike's giving him a hand. Any word from him yet not in Aramaic, Geraldo?"
The scribe put his sheep horn to the president's parched mouth. "Seems to be 'Bush... Bush... Bush,'" he reported. "And something about twelve."
"Criminy, this guy's a broken record," sighed Fox's chief eunuch. "Twelve Trillion—W's bar tab and piece of the cross. Instead of facing the music, this president blames his predecessor. Did Jesus Judas the Baptist for his expense account on the river? Not a peep."
When the procession reached the National Cathedral, the GOP cast lots for the President's hoody and wingtips. As they raised him on the front lawn, Geraldo took up position below beside Michelle, Janet, Kathleen, and the other weeping Marys.
"His lips seem to be moving!" observed Sean on his studio monitors. "Can we pull in a little closer and get a mic up there, Geraldo? Any idea what he's saying now—last words to Mohammad or Saul Alinsky?"
"Still hard to make out, Sean. Sounds like he did in the first debate. But I'm not hearing any 'pass this cup from me,' 'unto thy hands,' or 'forgive them for they know not' baloney."
Just then a heavenly voice was heard on the cross, inside Obama's loincloth.
"Nina Simone—'Sinnerman,'" reported Geraldo. "The president's Blackberry ringtone."
"Murdock's got him taped," said Sean. "Let's listen in. Hold on... It's from Romney! 'I FORGIVE U 4 GOING NEGATIVE ON ME.' Wow, who said civility was dead? What a prince!... Where's Mitt calling from, Geraldo?"
"White House. Ann's measuring for curtains, he's changing the locks."
"Does he know we're broadcasting live here from Golgatha just around the corner?"
"Governor's glued to his Android, Sean. Promises he'll show up for the Deposition and Lamentation—doesn't want to try to baptize the president till then."
A battalion of Hebrews with briefcases stormed through the GOP centurions and threw a ladder up against the cross. Fox's embedded slave warded off their furious blows while shouting into his horn.
"The Dream Team—Dershewitz, Scheck, and Abramson with a stay, Sean! And here comes the ACLU, plus Prudential legal. The Dreamers filed an injunction, but the Supremes are playing golf. Prudential carries the Lamb's life insurance: they're not banking on resurrection and don't want a Wrongful Death pay-out."
"This is a freakin Act of God!" thundered Hannity.
"Legally, a can of worms," the learned lawyer, Geraldo, interjected. "Does ObamaCare cover crucifixion? Is being the messiah a pre-existing condition? Would righteous infliction of emotional distress warrant punitive damages? That's just the tip of the iceberg."
As the Fox coverage continued, the Pharisees toppled the ladder, macing the lawyers, driving them to the Woodley Park wilderness.
Michelle and the Marys continued to weep and send up the sponge. His time at hand, Obama nodded off. The sky grew darker. The wind kicked up. A single silver raindrop struck his downcast face.
Fox cut away for a weather update. Their oracles were following two mighty storms converging from the north and south, now making landfall.
With a peal of thunder above, the One came to with a start. A dove lit on his crossbar. The news cameramen zoomed in for another close-up.
"What the dickens is that, Geraldo?" stammered Hannity from the Fox Babel Tower. "A carrier pigeon from Soros?"
Rumor had it that the Dems were now using birds because the Postal Service was dead, and the foxes were hacking their emails, texts, and tweets.
"Can't see an airmail on his leg," reported Geraldo. "But damned if he doesn't have his beak right at Obama's ear. And look at that little chicken dance he's doing on the bar now!"
Suddenly, though it was only 3 in the afternoon, the sky turned black with the end of Daylight Savings.
"Put some spots up there!" cried Hannity. But hardly had the anchor uttered the command than a mighty wind blew all the torches out, toppled the news teams, and crashed the cross to the ground.
Ringing throughout the Capital's firmament, the One's voice could now be heard by all in the darkness above.
"How deep I find thy thoughts, O God, how inexhaustible their themes. They outnumber the grains of Sandy!"32
The Seven classified Seals burst, the Seven trumpets sounded, and the heavens roared as if with a thousand hurricanes. The Four Horsemen flew over the capital rotunda into the roiling clouds, and the rains burst from them as if unleashed from all the oceans of the universe.
Carried on the wings of Sandy, Obama flew off the cross and into a white Bronco idling at the foot of the Washington monument.
Pulling his king in to shotgun, Joseph of Delaware cried in Babylonian, "Jesus F..k, I thought you were a goner. Buckle up, man!"
Above the tempest, the One shouted, "Shit! You couldn't do better than a goddamn Bronco?"
"Your ass was in impound!" cried Arimethea.
He put their steed's pedal to the metal and they flew off in a furious gale. As the leaders of the free world sped east of Eden along Independence, in the rearview mirrors they spied Mitt hot on their heels in his Mustang with his apostle Paul. By the time the Bronco reached the Delaware Memorial Bridge, the waters of heaven were swallowing it up.
Joe crossed himself though he still had his VIP E-ZPass, "Christ Almighty, what now?"
"Have faith!" commanded the One.
"Ow-f..king-dacious!" cried Joe.
"Pay the toll—lose your gold!"
"It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of the storm, than for an American Express to enter into the blessed Garden State," his master reminded him.33
The king and his vice threw all their stimulus gold and platinum cards into the maw of the Almighty's October Surprise.
The Delaware parted as it had not deigned to do even for Washington.
The Bronco sped onto the Jersey Turnpike as Sandy swallowed the Grand Old Pharisee forces and SuperPac princes.
"There IS a goddamn God!" sang Arimethea, high-fiving the One.
Now at that time, the governor of the Garden State was Christ Christie. Half the height, twice the girth and more excitable than Goliath, the governor had led the GOP convention outcry against Obama, calling him a weakling, a bystander, a spendthrift. Showing his own mettle, Christie had lain himself down before Sandy in Cape May, but the Flood had crested his great belly, bursting his dike even so.
As Jersey's cup runneth over, the governor rent his slicker and wept: "I'm waiting for the locusts and pestilence next!" Then he kissed his St. Christopher's, fell to his knees, and prayed. When he opened his eyes, the One was standing before him.
"Fear not, brother: FEMA is on the way," Obama said, embracing his foe.
"Hosanna in the highest!" rejoiced Chris, praying they wouldn't storm his blockaded George Washington Bridge to save the godless Fort Lee.
The president might have stilled the waters and shown the Garden State the rainbow sign, but the Pharisees had made him pay dearly for his miracles and he preferred not to re-up on the Cross. So, as soon as he excruciated, he called the Flood Emergency Ministry of the Almighty.
"The president and FEMA hath given us all we asked for," Chris announced to the nation after their meeting. "He has been all over this. Outstanding!"
Hearing such praise from the implacable prince, the unpurged poor and needy in the battleground states flooded the polls to cast their ballots, while the rich stayed home in their palaces to batten down the hatches against the Frankenstorm.
Meantime, flying state to state in his red, white, and blue chariot, The Comforter-in-Chief assured his people: "I will not leave you comfortless: I will come to you."34
Losing his lead in the polls, Mitt called his former ally on the horn. Mitt was in Florida; Christie was in the ruins of Atlantic City, sharing take-out wings and a brew with the president.
"Why hast thou forsaken me for Chrissake, Chris?" wailed the GOP nominee.
"Have a drink, Mitt—or at least smell the coffee," retorted the governor. "If you think I giveth a damn about the election, you knoweth me not."
"Verily, Judas, you giveth a damn about 30 pieces of FEMA silver from the antiChris!"
"30 billion," corrected Jersey's prince, high-fiving the president who handed him another ten.
Mitt, Bain's BP Deepwater advisor, had battled funding for the Almighty's Flood Emergency Ministry, plus His Environmental Protection Agency entrusted to Adam in the garden. "I'm bleeding here!" he wept over the phone.
"Who just got crucified?" Chris demanded. "I got a magic Negro here whistling through his palms and he's not blubbering for a band-aide."
The One, who had always been generous with other people's money, laid another wad of Clevelands on his new brother.
"I'm Fed-Exing some canned goods for the Red Cross now," Mitt cried. "And free Bain Domino's for you, Mary and the kids—the ExtravaganZZa feast, for life!"
"Hold your manna with MSG and soy extenders," mocked Chris who was on a no-fatted- calf diet. "I'm good with my homie's bread."
Obama gave the governor one of Michelle's low-fat fruit bars, another billion, and a monogrammed Sandy tee.
Thanks to these supernatural gifts to the imperiled nation, the One ascended the throne and was glorified.
Early the next morning, Mitt arrived on the Mohave Sinai in his Mustang. Ruth Ann followed on her horse, Rafalca, left over from the Apocolypse. Awaiting them on the desert runway thundered Virgin Atlantic's mothership, Eve.
Joining the couple were their five sons, their sons' sons, a breeding pair of Latinos, two jackals (Sean and Karl), five Foxes (Jane, Julie, Juliet, Lauren, Courtney), two meteorologists (Maria and Megyn) and one dog (GretaVan Susteren) whom Mitt strapped to the rocket's roof-rack.
In the cockpit, the fallen Pharisee king, Dubya the Decider, manned Eve's controls. In his youth, when not crashing grounded garbage cans, he had flown National Guard Daggers and Darts.
As Dubya taxied for the horizon, Mitt spied another caravan of travelers on the tarmac, their thumbs out: Rush the Hypothalamus, Newt the Speaker, Rick the Zealot, McCain the Demoniac, Sarah Queen of the North– each with their spouse, their slaves, and their carry-ons.
Though wary of hitchers, Mitt welcomed all aboard, giving each a pair of magic underpants and, for in-flight reading, his master Joseph's Book of Abraham about the red star, Kolob, at the right hand of God's throne.
Wings flaming like Elijah's chariot, Mothership Eve took to the heavens with the seceding frequent fliers, each praying while pulling God's dizzying G's.
As Eve pierced the firmament, the Decider cried from the cockpit. "Hells Bells, behold: the earth IS blue!"
All aboard confirmed it for themselves: even though they were in Red Shift, creation was blue as the liberals had always said.
"Let the takers inherit the earth then, without the makers!" proclaimed Rick the Zealot.
"To the 47 percent go the spoils," mocked Newt the Speaker. "Thorns, thistles, and Obamacare!"
"The end is upon them," prophesied McCain, calculating the Mayan calendar Long Count and recording the Rapture Index at 186.
The pilgrims celebrated with a Rapture feast. Sarah and Ann served animal crackers and sang; the Foxes poured Rush's Tea4Two and danced.
The Tribulation party was interrupted when Eve stalled in orbit, swarmed by satellites and space debris. Mitt ordered all excess baggage to be sacrificed. With lamentations, Rush surrendered his Viagra, Rick his Opus Dei chastity belt, McCain his Purple Heart, his Bronze Star, his Silver Star, his Order of the Stars, and his Flying Cross... and the others their own valuables. But the craft was still too heavy to go on.
"Lose your Tiffanies, Newt," commanded Mitt.
The Speaker's robes overflowed with gold and gems, as did the skirts of Callista. But the couple denied having a single shekel. So Mitt cast them out to the moon. Though Newt had pledged to found cities of gold there by his second term, the visionary could be heard wailing all the way down to the Ocean of Storms, his wife accompanying in her Sunday soprano.
Unburdened, Eve sped on to the Red Planet. Men called it Mars, after the Latino god of war, first discovered by the ancient Mariner. Mitt called it Kolob, the Mormon planet closest to heaven, first discovered by Methuselah and Abraham. On sight of it, he rejoiced for it looked like Utah, his people's New Jerusalem.
Just missing the Oyama crater, Eve came to rest in the Romny. Beyond its rim were the Spirit, the Opportunity, and the Curiosity rovers.
Emerging from the mothership solo, Mitt laid an oxblood wingtip upon the ruby sands. "One small step for a Morman, one giant stride for Mormankind!" he rejoiced.
The weightless prophet bound across Romny in flying leaps. He stripped the rovers' flags, erased the blue stripes, left the red, and planted his new nation's colors around Eve.
Then he took out his Bible and inaugurated himself before Curiosity's eye.
Back on the Blue Planet, a NASA chief, still searching for signs of life on the Red, blinked at his screen. "Christ on a f..king crutch," he stammered in Floridian, "it's goddamn Romney!"
NASA got on the horn to the Pentagon. The Pentagon got on the horn to Panetta. Panetta got on the horn to the president.
"Romney just inaugurated himself on Mars, changed out the flags, and jacked the Opportunity," the defense chief told the commander-in-chief. "Shall we shut the crazy sonuvabitch down?"
There was now an APB out, for Mitt had made off with his SuperPAC treasury, commandeered Eve from Virgin, and had kidnapped 7 Foxes.
"Negative," said Obama, "just keep an eye on him." The president was relieved that his foe was on another planet, but didn't want to give the self-starter so much slack that earth might be looking at a War of the Worlds down the road. And the One had one other concern: "How's he breathing out there without a helmet?"
"Christ if I know!" replied the war chief.
"Contact the networks," ordered Obama, still fighting the fiscal cliff and on the look-out for stimulus from the private sector. "Podcast—Pay-per-View."
In the blink of an eye, mankind was watching Romney touring his new Promised Land on the Opportunity. Guided by the seer stones, Urim and Thummim, inside his hat, he first claimed the gold-rich Freedom, Philadelphia, and Playfair craters, then the Hebrew valleys of Eilat and Elath.
He returned to Eve after forty days and forty nights. His people, having given him up for dead, were dancing around a Gipper golden calf that the Decider had made by melting down everybody's fillings. Mitt forgave them for they had run out of Rush's Tea and Eve's oxygen. He gave everybody CPR and put a Romny Rock of Horeb on tap.
"A little history: I was born and raised here," he told his flock. "I love this planet! I hate lakes. Just something very special about no lakes." He took two collapsible Walmart Christmas trees from his baggage. "Behold the trees—Knowledge and Life—just the right height. And no snakes!"
"We're dying here!" wept Rush without his Ocy-C.
"Don't be silly," said Mitt, laying out a crèche with a baby Jesus at the foot of the second tree. "Our seed shall be many as the stars."
He withdrew from his trunk a bushel of magic seed which he had rescued from Bain's Fresenius stem cell stock and from which his own grandsons had sprung in vitro. "From Heritage, AFA, and FRC virgins only!"
Shedding their girdles and opening their wombs, Ann, Sarah, and the Foxes sang glorious hosannas.
But Rush's countenance fell as it had after his battle with the FemiNazis. While Mitt had staked out the new Promised Land in the Opportunity, without Viagra the radio prophet had been unable to sport with the seven Foxes.
"Be not heavy-hearted, my friend," Mitt told him. "Your rod and your staff may be smaller than a mustard seed, but thou art still our mightiest 'hypothalamite on loan from God'. So, you shall be the eunuch of my kingdom—Press Secretary!"
The President of Mars went on to announce the rest of his administration: the Decider, his Vice; McCain, Secretary of Star Wars; Sarah, Queen of Fertility; and Rick, Minister of the Martian ChurchState.
"Arise now, all of you, be fruitful and multiply, fill Mars and subdue it,"35 the self-deporter exhorted his brethren. "As Moses led the 600,000 secessionists to Paradise, so we shall soon welcome our 600,000 from the tribes of Texas, Tennessee, and forty more!"
So Sarah and the Foxes gathered up Mitt's stem cells and retired to Eve to multiply. McCain mined Mars iron for swords. Rick gathered meteorites upon which to build his church. Rush belched hot air for all to breathe. Dubya founded a Baal Club. Mitt spawned a Sports Authority, opened a Marriot, and dug a NEWater Evian Well.
The new red world was completed on the Sixth day. Marveling at everything he and his had made, Mitt declared: "Behold, it is very good."36
Finally, holding a news conference before the cameras of the Curiosity on the Seventh Day, the righteous king of the Second Creation told the lost souls of the First:
"There will be signs in the stars. Keep watch, O ye sinners and slackers: We shall be back!"37
1 Historically documented quotations are italicized
2 Luke 9: 55
3 Luke 5: 8
4 Luke 5: 11
5 Matthew 16:13
6 Matthew 16:18
7 Matthew 19:12
8 Mark 6:44
9 John 6: 20
10 Mark 5: 14
11 Matthew 21:23
12 Matthew 21:32
13 Matthew: 23: 24
14 Luke 5:35
15 John 10:34
16 John 7: 19
17 Luke 19:27
18 Luke 10:4
19 Mark 9:20
20 John 13: 4-9
21 John 13:9
22 Mark 14: 23
23 John 15:25
24 Luke 22:38
25 John 13: 35
26 Mark 15: 15
26 Matthew 8:20
28 Luke 23:3
29 Mark 3:11
30 Luke 22: 23
31 Matthew 27:25
32 Psalms 139: 17-18
33 Mark 10:25
34 John 14:18
35 Genesis 1: 28
36 Genesis 1: 31
37 Luke 21:25