Uh, uh - Obama
Barack Obama is like a small, shiny object. The easily fascinated can stare deeply into his blank sheen and see . . . their own reflections. He can be anything to anyone because he is nothing in particular. Yet listening to the left-stream media, one would have to conclude that the man is a multifaceted miracle.
He’s a moderate. He’s a third way. He’s demographic
fusion cuisine. He’s a floor wax. He’s a desert
topping. He’s everything you’d hoped for and whatever
you need. That’s the beauty of being unknown.
He’s like that girl way over there at the other end
of the bar—perfect, unknown, perfectly unknown,
and improved mightily by distance and pent-up
desire. Mentally, you’re in love and three weeks into
the relationship before you even make it halfway
over to meet her.
Then you notice her eyes and think, “Man, which
one do I look at when I speak, because they don’t
point in the same direction. And what’s with the
Adam’s apple?” But at that point it’s too late to turn
around, because one of those eyes has seen you
already. I think that’s the way a lot of folks are going
to feel about their Obamaphilia after a few months
of campaigning have removed the gauze filter from
his carefully blurred image.