Still “too young to know that I needed a race,” as he describes himself in Dreams, Obama was sent back from Indonesia in 1969 or ’70. Gramps Stanley Dunham began a bizarre project which involved introducing Obama to Frank Marshall Davis and making secret visits to Chinatown’s disreputable Smith Street bars – located one block away from Oka’s Corner Liquor Store. Obama describes the “excitement” of these visits in Dreams, page 77-78:
“Don’t tell your grandmother,” he would say with a wink, and we’d walk past hard-faced, soft-bodied streetwalkers into a small, dark bar with a jukebox and a couple of pool tables. Nobody seemed to mind that Gramps was the only white man in the place, or that I was the only eleven-or twelve year old. Some of the men leaning across the bar would wave at us, and the bartender, a big, light skinned woman with bare, fleshy arms, would bring a Scotch for Gramps and a Coke for me. If nobody else was playing at the tables, Gramps would spot me a few balls and teach me the game, but usually I would sit at the bar, my legs dangling from the high stool, blowing bubbles into my drink and looking at the pornographic art on the walls — the phosphorescent women on animal skins, the Disney characters in compromising positions. If he was around, a man named Rodney with a wide-brimmed hat would stop by to say hello. …”
Frank Marshall Davis too, described adventures on Smith Street at “The Green Goose,” a bar “operated by one of my friends.” Group sex and voyeurism at the Green Goose fill two pages in his pseudonymous porno book, Sex Rebel: Black (Memoirs of a Gash Gourmet), published just before Obama returned from Indonesia.
Still “too young to know that I needed a race,” as he describes himself in Dreams, Obama was sent back from Indonesia in 1969 or ’70. Gramps Stanley Dunham began a bizarre project which involved introducing Obama to Frank Marshall Davis and making secret visits to Chinatown’s disreputable Smith Street bars – located one block away from Oka’s Corner Liquor Store. Obama describes the “excitement” of these visits in Dreams, page 77-78:
“Don’t tell your grandmother,” he would say with a wink, and we’d walk past hard-faced, soft-bodied streetwalkers into a small, dark bar with a jukebox and a couple of pool tables. Nobody seemed to mind that Gramps was the only white man in the place, or that I was the only eleven-or twelve year old. Some of the men leaning across the bar would wave at us, and the bartender, a big, light skinned woman with bare, fleshy arms, would bring a Scotch for Gramps and a Coke for me. If nobody else was playing at the tables, Gramps would spot me a few balls and teach me the game, but usually I would sit at the bar, my legs dangling from the high stool, blowing bubbles into my drink and looking at the pornographic art on the walls — the phosphorescent women on animal skins, the Disney characters in compromising positions. If he was around, a man named Rodney with a wide-brimmed hat would stop by to say hello. …”
Frank Marshall Davis too, described adventures on Smith Street at “The Green Goose,” a bar “operated by one of my friends.” Group sex and voyeurism at the Green Goose fill two pages in his pseudonymous porno book, Sex Rebel: Black (Memoirs of a Gash Gourmet), published just before Obama returned from Indonesia.
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Have you read the entire book? That man a role model? I wouldn’t have let my kids within 20 miles of him. His books is one of the most degenerate, disgusting things I’ve ever read. He was sick.
That passage from Dreams, along with other things here and there, are what lead me to my theory on who and what O really is.