January 2009, Washington DC: The State of the Union Address

“My fellow Americans,”

Barack Obama briefly pauses, hands gripping the sides of a podium bearing the seal of the President of the United States of America.  He thoughtfully considers the expansive audience before him – the United States Congress, invited dignitaries, and dozens of cameras streaming live multimedia to hundreds of millions of viewers spanning the entire globe.  Fully cognizant of this historic moment, the new American leader looks over his shoulder to acknowledge Vice President Joe Biden and Speaker of the House Nancy Pelosi.  Appearing to stifle a guffaw, Obama’s narrow shoulders begin to shake, eventually giving surrender and rearing his head back with raucous laughter.  He turns back to again face the broader audience, slouches to the side, and grabs the microphone in hand.

“GOTCHA!” Barack grins, pointing to the camera, “Man, I didn’t know how long I’d keep y’all peeps fooled.”  The president poses for the press corps, throws his arms up in the air, hands forming the letter ‘C.’  “I’m straight gangsta, from the Chicago hood.  Cut that ‘Hail to the Chief’ noise off, play something that’s got some bass to it.”

The congressional gallery becomes completely hush as M.I.A’s lyrics repeats over the loudspeakers, “No one on the corner has swagger like us, swagger swagger like us”  As Kanye West’s synthesized voice relays to a worldwide audience, Obama shifts in a dance from side to side, bopping his head to the beat, lip-synching to “Swagger Like Us”.  The president rolls up one cuff of his perfectly cut Italian suit to reveal a gaudy-diamond studded wristwatch, then removes a pair of oversized sunglasses from his inner pocket to slip over his face.  Barack points to his face and rhetorically questions the bewildered gallery below, “These stunna shades look dope don’t they?  And when I say ‘dope’, I don’t mean that it’s like ‘cool’, I mean drugs mothafuckas.”  

The American president draws a line of cocaine on the podium, leans over and snorts loudly before resuming his diatribe.  “You ever notice my middle name?” Barack brags.  “It’s Hussein.  That means I’m Arab, which means I’m a mothafuckin’ terrorist.  That’s right!  Saddam was a third cousin removed on my daddy’s side and I loved that man.  I’m down with Hamas, Hezbollah, Al Queda, not to mention Yo Mommmmmmmma.  And hey, I got Osama Bin Laden on speed-dial, we like this son.” Obama displays two intertwined fingers as a sign of solidarity.  “Going to church was a front, I pray to Allah ten times a day for the demise of the United States!”

Barack Obama stops briefly to search the room, then cups his hands over his mouth, yelling, “Rev Wright?  REV WRIGHT!  WHERE ARE YOU MOTHAFUCKA?  Get yo black ass on down here!”

Reverend Jeremiah Wright, the retired pastor of Chicago’s Trinity United Church of Christ, shuffles towards the front of the gallery.  Upon meeting each other at the podium, Wright and Obama open their arms and howl with delirious laughter.  The two apparent former friends slap fives, give each other a pound and a bear hug.  

“Boy we had them fooled,” Obama grins with an arm draped over Wright.

The reverend exclaims, “I can’t wait to give these white devils what they’ve had coming for centuries!  I’m proud of you, boy.”

President Obama grabbed the microphone, “I’m nominating this old fool the Supreme Court and there ain’t nothin’ you can do about it!  With all the Democrats that just got elected, I can do what I want!  I got the entire Congress on lockdown, baby!  Ain’t that right, y’all?”

The entire Democratic side of the gallery yells in unison, “SHO’NUFF!”

“Is Barack the man?

“SHO’NUFF!”

The American leader whirls around, searching for his wife.  “Where’s my main bitch?  Get up on here, shorty.”

Michelle Obama happily shimmies up to the podium.  Her husband grabs her hand, twirls her around in his arms, then playfully smacks the First Lady on her rump.

“Wifey’s got a fine ass too,” Obama brags.”You know who got one too?  Condeleeza Rice.  He looks up towards the upper balcony to blow a kiss to the former Secretary of State.  “Whadup baby!  I’ll be seeing you at the after-party.”

Barack turns again to point his forefinger towards the camera.  “Sarah Palin, I realize you at home because you lost, but I want to personally invite you to the State of the Union official after-party.  Look, you said some foul things about me and we’ve got differences about how we want to run this country, but one thing we can agree on is that you and I gots the skills to drill baby drill in Lincoln’s bedroom tonight.”  Obama performs gyrating thrusting motions against the podium and then flashes a huge wink at the camera.

Stunned viewers watching television could see Barack look offscreen.  “Where’s McCain’s tired old ass?”

Senator John McCain of Arizona rolls up to the podium in a wheelchair.  Obama bends his bony frame to stare his former presidential adversary in the eye.  “What’s going on McCain?”

With hesitation, McCain mutters, “Hello Mr. President.”

Obama whispers, “So who’s yo daddy?”

The senator fell silent.

“I said who’s yo daddy?”

McCain finally replies, “You are Barack.”

“That’s right, and don’t you forget it old man.” Obama grips the wheelchair handles and pushes the Republican Senator crashing down a flight of steps.

Obama turns towards the camera and flexes.  “Barack Hussein don’t front boy, so don’t think I can’t step correct. We gonna withdraw from Iraq like I said and bring our troops home.  Then we’re going to invade Canada.  That’s right, we gonna invade those Eskimo punks up north and jack the healthcare system I promised you.”

“It’s my time and I can do what I want!  It’s payback time for the black man, bitches.”  The crowd in the gallery shrieks as President Obama grabs a hand-grenade from behind the podium, removes the pin with his teeth, and tosses it towards the camera.

Panic and vocal disarray can be heard in the background as Obama screams, “Bill Ayers raised me since I was suckin’ on my momma’s titty and now I’m the H.N.I.C. OF THE WORLD, MOTHAFUC-“

A loud explosion is heard and television stations broadcasting the State of the Union display a blinding white flash before falling quiet.


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“And that,” an assertive female voice concludes, “Is what I think our next television ad should be.”

The dark room slowly illuminates to reveal several Republican campaign advisers huddled closely around a well-dressed brunette woman with fashionable eyewear.

Uncomfortable silence prevails before one of the advisers remarks, “You’re out of your damn mind, Sarah.”