Once upon a time there was a very nice biracial man named Barack Obama who thought it would be a exceeding good thing if the half of his racial makeup that had never been elected to the preeminent political office of his country were to be elected to the preeminent political office of his country, as that half of his racial makeup that had never been elected to the preeminent political office of his country was steadfast and loyal to the political party he presumed to lead was one consideration - having for forty years cheered and flocked to the polls whilst men of the other half of his biracial makeup ascended on high in between the electoral victories of Crackerz who wished fervently that they wouldn't so cheer and flock - and as that his occupying the office would serve as a role model to all the children of his disenfranchised half and a source of pride to their elders of the same, this would be a good thing, he determined to pack a fine basket and bring all of his powers of oratorical and organizational skill to bear so to speak and with his lovely family in tow ventured into the dark forest of American electoral adventure in an age of war and empire, soon to be but as of then unbeknownst calamitous recession, terror and the dawning battle of inherent internet omniscience vs. total internet omniscience.
In the ever deepening forest young Barack encountered and overcame, with the help of The BlackEyed Peas, a fine female opponent who shared many of his ambitions for her gender and a lawyer with nice hair. His ultimate opponent was a wizened old Crackerz airman with a propensity to fly aircraft into water and campaigns into terra firma that hardly anyone wanted to be President and so Barack achieved happily his prize.
Or was it Happily?
For on that fine November night of his victory, when balmy Indian Summer stubbornly held off frosty Illini Autumn and a hundred thousands assembled in Mr. Lincoln's park with the striking neon profile of the Smurfit-Stone Building adistant and above a tentative and sobered young Obama ventured out to the adoring throng and with none of the rhetorical bombast of campaign said softly (and I paraphrase, thus the lack of inverted commas) -
Thanks for your votes and all, but give me sometime to turn this motha around; I got a conservative bureaucracy to contend with up here as well as some Generals that make Smedley Butler look like General Halftrack in charge of the NSA and intel services that were given the keys to the torture machine by that idiot Bush just waiting for me to fuck up so they can coup my freakin' deville. I gotta honorable opposition that would rather see breadlines and GM Headquarters afire than pass a recovery plan. I got every crazy ass hillbilly crackerz from Cumberland to Midland so red-assed up that you couldn't squeeze the skinny part of a Ring metal shield between their hemorrhoids and their Copenhagen Long Cut Straight. So bear with me now, this is gonna be a sumbitch.
In the ensuing months the economy shed jobs and Wall street hemorrhaged money but unlike 1929 the auto stabilizers kicked in and no felonious stockbroker painted Wall Street Swan-dive red and few deserving layoffees (including me) went without a crust or cupboard and the CPUSA was absent from the streets and no fascist dictators arose in Europe and so the President spoke calmly at his inaugural... (this time with inverted commas)...
"Now, there are some who question the scale of our ambitions, who suggest that our system cannot tolerate too many big plans. Their memories are short, for they have forgotten what this country has already done, what free men and women can achieve when imagination is joined to common purpose and necessity to courage."
And so the battle was enjoined, between a black President with great ambition for the nation standing before it's capitol and a smarmy group of white Crackerz legislators with minuscule man glands stuffing their faces with $24 Steak Frites at the Caucus Room Brasserie and Steakhouse.
And soon enough Rick Santelli had shouted the rallying cry of Socialsmz!!! and every peckerwood Crackerz who ever opened a Budlight with a seat belt latch came crawling from behind the baseboards with their tres chic Heath Ledger/Joker/Obama wifebeaters and Gadsden flag unfurled.
So much for the right Crackerz.
We'll get to the left Crackerz in Part duh, I gotta get some dinner...