Writings Off The Wall

Rodomontades, Balderdash, and Inwits

The Obamas Made Me Do It

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The way our new President has blitzed all forms of media with his message is an action unrivaled in scope by anything, except perhaps the p@rn industry on the Internet. He has been omnipresent like Rick Ross in MTV Jams videos, and as such, none have had to fill in knowledge gaps when it comes to what direction Obama is attempting to move the country. You turn on YouTube? Obama. You turn on your TV to catch your favorite primetime sitcom? Obama in an evening press conference. You go on Facebook? Message from Obama n’em. Hell, even my cell phone was getting hit up with text messages from the Obama. He’s working off the old tried and true adage that if you say it enough times, people will believe it.

My quandary is that the media blitz has hit overdrive with nitrous oxide boosters like an Asian kid’s car in a Fast & Furious remake. And since reaching these heights, not only am I prone to support stimuli packages and death-defying deficits, it’s starting to affect my personal life. Not only has the President got his Newark, New Jersey on and carjacked my political support, but the Obamas are now changing my habits, my likes and dislikes, my goals and aims.

First there was Michelle and that organic garden she’s planting on the White House lawns. Being a good Southern boy, I have always been Snoop Dogg’n my landscape – that is, I have quite the affinity for the plush greenness of grass. And while Snoop’s genus of choice is a psychoactive variant of hemp, mine has been of the bluegrass-fescue variety. Nothing to me says manhood and insane debt to failing banks than a mortgage payment made more tolerable by a nice green lawn. I currently have a small plot in my yard that the previous owners decided was an ideal spot to grow raspberries. Now, after being beat about the head with Washington Post reports on Michelle’s green thumb, I’m flirting with the idea of maybe planting some tomatoes and fresh herbs there. WTF?? My thumb has always been the same shade of brown, but now the Obamas got me thinking that perhaps I’m colorblind and it’s green after all. And from everything I’ve heard, it’s not particularly easy being green.

Then there was this issue of the new First Pet aka the ObamaDog. I am not a fan of pets. In fact, I’m not a fan of anything with “pet” in it… muppets, Pet Shop Boys, PETA, petroleum, Petersburg, saltpeter, strumpets… nothing. Wellll… Petra is kinda cool, but it’s the exception. Yet, here I am, after seeing the reputable news outlets contorting themselves unduly to get a shot of a freakin’ Portuguese Water Dog, I’m now surfing the web trying to determine if I’d want a Samoyed or an English Mastiff. Despite my fraternal alliance, dogs get on my dayum nerves. And in concert with my fraternal alliance, cats suck more than that girl in my freshman orientation with low self-esteem…. dayum strumpet.

But the ultimate was when, out of nowhere, I said to my lady that she should look into shopping at J. Crew more since Michelle Obama seems to work wonders with their wardrobe. If there is one truism when a man addresses a woman’s wardrobe, it is that he is not to encourage her to wear something because he thought it looked hot on another woman. After a bevy of questions about Michelle’s “hotness” and “what else do you want me to adopt of Michelle’s?” and whether or not I was interested in patrolling the suburbs of Chicago for Black Princeton grads, she hit me with the ultimate comeback: “Well, Obama looks good with his mocha skin and wavy hair, perhaps you should look into getting some of that.


I tried to explain that it wasn’t of my own doing that I suggested such rubbish. The Obamas made me do it. If Milli Vanilli can blame it on the rain, and Jamie Foxx can blame it on the alcohol, then I most certainly can blame it on the O-o-o-o-o-bah-ah-mas.


Written by offdwall

April 14, 2009 at 6:43 am

Posted in Uncategorized

One Response

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  1. Not touching the “J Crew incident”, lol. I’m certain you would find gardening rewarding and cathartic. Ask anyone who gardens. I don’t believe you’ll be sorry.


    April 14, 2009 at 1:27 pm

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