King Showbama

It won’t be long now until we crown the prince: King Showbama. Even if the coronation won’t take place until January, next Tuesday the national zeitgeist will install him on the throne (you know, the one they take with Dubya on his foreign trips, so they can dispose of his…um…leavings…to prevent some dummy from using his DNA to create a president who speaks in complete sentences).

It’s as much Showbama’s right, as it is his time. At least that’s what his many-million dollar infomercial told me the other night. (The New York Times called it a “closing argument to everyman,” as in, “I’m the second coming, man, and I can save you all.” You know, it’s a good thing I’m Catholic and can get absolution for that one in confession this weekend.)

Yes, I learned that Showbama is a kind, warm, generous, honest, loving, caring, helpful, intelligent, riveting, loquacious, and slick man who helps old ladies cross Times Square during Friday rush hour in his sleep. He will also fix global warming, national healthcare, the economy, and alien abduction, while getting Keith Richards into rehab and Sasquatch to shave.

Oh, and he always has time for his children (which really matters when the Russian president is about to launch intercontinental tactical nukes at the White House and Manhattan).

My immediate reaction was, do I have to wait until Tuesday?! Then I watched the Phillies win the World Series – the Phillies? They never win the Series! – and realized I was witnessing even more hope and change. Hope and change. You’re eyelids are getting heavy. Hope and change. You will drift off to sleep now. Hope and change. And when you awake, you will cast your vote for….

Man, that Showbama (half) hour was some show. (I hear even old McLame was gritting his teeth as he watched.) Showbama looked all stately and Kennedyesque (please, I’m not going to be the 200 millionth American to wax on about his puanteur du JFK … I’ll let the news jockeys do that for me). I was convinced on the spot to change my vote from Bob Barr to Showbama, just like the other 3% of American adults who were leaning toward picking someone other than Showbama.

You gotta jump on the bandwagon when you see it.

Yes, we Americans are about to revolt against King George, much like we did in 1776 against the other King George (Who, you say? We revolted? Didn’t, like, the Roman Emperor, what’s his name, the Shah, give us freedom ‘cause, like, he was a cool dude and thought, like, we could get along with the Indians and get us all better customer service?).

TJ said the tree of liberty needs watering with a little blood every now and then, and we sure are about to bleed – from our eyes. Showbama’s so damned kingly, we’ll be smote down in ruin if we even gaze upon his shadow.

Not that I’m putting the man down. If the SS troops, I mean secret service, knocked on the door of a man who hung Sarah Palin in effigy for Halloween, imagine what they’ll do to me if I even whisper one mild pejorative.

And, at this point, after all of the hoopla, and bling, and pundit anointments (and lubricants), he’d better damn well win. Imagine if the Comeback Kid, monotone, old, crusty, with chickenwinged arms and Hanoi Hilton flashbacks, manages miraculously to sneak up on Showbama Tuesday, pull the red carpet from under him, and steal his show! Think of what Prince Showbama would do. Why, he might just become an ostrich.

But that won’t happen. Even the Brits (the Brits!) know Showbama has hoodwinked us all.

"You have to pinch yourself. A Marxist radical who all his life has been mentored by, sat at the feet of, worshiped with, befriended, endorsed the philosophy of, funded and been in turn funded, politically promoted and supported by a nexus comprising black power anti-white racists, Jew-haters, revolutionary Marxists, unrepentant former terrorists and Chicago mobsters, is on the verge of becoming President of the United States. And apparently it's considered impolite to say so."

--Melanie Phillips, The Spectator (UK ) 10/14/08

Oops. I'd better go. I hear the government helicopters hovering over my house.

“Honey?! Where’d we put the Showbama yard signs…just in case?”