EVERYONE IS WRONG.
Credible, confidential sources report that America’s 44th president, Barack Hussein Obama wasn’t born at all.
Here’s the skinny. In mid-July 1961, a pod of unidentifiable origin appeared in the bathtub of a second-floor walk-up rented to then college student Barack Obama Senior and his wife, Ann Dunham. Confused, the couple , both students at the East–West Center of the University of Hawaii at Manoa decided to keep it a secret.
But what to do? The “Cocoon” movies were far in the future. There was no “blueprint.” They researched. Being new to Hawaii and not knowing their neighbors, they simply concealed it.
Since the pod wasn’t large, they filled a large stock pot with room-temperature brine and kept it in the dark, under their sink. Both sought information that would help identify the pod, to no avail.
The pod grew daily. Within weeks, they moved it to a galvanized tub. It made noises, sounds similar to Marvin Gaye. They thought, “What’s Goin’ ON?”
Upon returning from class the afternoon of August 4, 1961, as the elder Obama climbed the first flight, his nostrils flared–enough for even a republican to notice. He inhaled a delightfully sweet fragrance. Was it Sweet Potato Pie? As he drew closer, it grew stronger. Entering his flat, the scent engulfing the room, he found the pod missing. Following a trail of brine, he found it split. A fully developed male child sat on the sofa, reading a back issue of “The New Yorker”. Looking up, the naked child greeted the elder, asking “What’s for dinner, my brother?” (His first words).
Taken aback, Obama senior said, “Moo Goo Gai Pain, (sic)” which seemed to please the boy. Fathobama fetched a shawl to cover the lad and set off to Hoy Hoy Joy’s, the nearest Chinese take-out. When the elder returned with dinner, his wife sat aghast on the floor with the boy, apparently lightning struck, flanked by a stack of periodicals. As poppabama plated the repast, soon to be Junior fanned through the magazines, occasionally asking questions neither adult could answer.
Eventually he asked, “Is this land America? Poppa said, “Technically…We’re in Hawaii.” I’ve come to be its leader,” declared the boy. The elder said, “but you’re…B-L-A-C-K!’ Looking at his arm, turning it slightly as he spoke, the boy disagreed, saying “…more of a beige or cinnamon, wouldn’t you say?,” to which the elders fell silent. They decided to name him after the father and a man they didn’t know and would never meet, Saddam Hussein.
The youth enjoyed supper. He grew rapidly. By bedtime, he could wear the elder’s clothes, so he dressed for bed. He awoke a grown man and set about creating himself a back-story. He adapted quickly. The rest of his life is pretty well documented, but that’s the thruth about how he came to be.
I can’t cite a source, since mine is confidential. That means, of course, that I can’t reveal his (or her) identity. Doing so would be well, Rovian. So you’ll just have to take my word for it. But I woudn’t lie to you, so I hope you’ll commit this to memory, since I’ll have to eat all of my notes as soon as I post this. (Mmmmmmm…NOTES!)