Posted on 01/01/2014 2:06:45 PM PST by RepRivFarm
Mrs. RepRivFarm humbly submits for your entertainment
story so real it could be torn from today’s headlines:
A heart-burning story of one man hiding from
Truth
Justice
And
The American Way!
The Hill is Alive, and It’s Kind of Frightening
Starring (in order of appearance)
President Obama……………………………………Himself
The DNC…………………………………………………Themselves
Sycophants…………………………..Volunteers from MSNBC
President Potcrack Whosayin’ Yomama……..Hisselfie
Michelle Yomama………………………………….…Herselfish
The Daughters Yomama ………………..Stunt Doubles from
Girls Just Wanna Have Fun Studios
Valerie………………..…………………………………D-pac Oprah
With
Ross Perot playing the accordion (yes, he really does),
Bill Clinton on saxophone,
Mike Huckabee groovin’ the bass guitar, and
Phil Robertson blowing his duck call all the way to the bank.
Written, composed, scored, directed, produced,
folded, spindled, mutilated, rumored, and verified by
Dodgers N. Yammerscheme
Scene I: The President has donned his red flannel jammies and is enjoying his cocoa. He can hear a storm brewing – a storm of constitutional proportion, getting closer with each sip. Suddenly the door bursts open and in rushes the DNC. They’re frightened and confused.
Obama: Now, now, little people. What’s this all about? You’re not all wee-weed up over a little ol’ T.E.A.-storm, are you?
DNC: Yes! And the NSA, Fast and Furious, falling poll numbers, Ben
Obama: Ah, ah, ah! We don’t say that word.
DNC: Well, what about 2014, and rumors of impeachment and maybe treason!?
Obama (chuckling): Well, just do what I do. When I get afraid, I sing a little song…..
Hawaiian vacays and outings with Reggie,
Foot-longs and French fries, with nary a veggie.
Dreamin’ of Sunny and Bo in a stew;
These are a few of the things that I do.
Golfing with Boehner, and schmoozing with Christie,
Cocktails and scheming with Reid and Pelosi,
Playing the RINOes like puppets on string;
These are the perks of a Democrat Kiiiing!
When the Cruz bites; when the Lee Stings; when Michelle is mad,
I simply let Carney do his song and dance,
And then I feel oh, so GLAAD.
Putting down state’s rights, and printing up dollars,
Lasering jobs for both blue and white collars,
Dining on wagyu, while you eat Ragu;
These are some more things that I like to do.
Selfies at funerals, and handshakes with Castro,
Deals under tables with UN and Mus-Bro,
Leaving our allies to flap in the breeze,
Red lines and spyin’ – I’m Preezy McPreeze!
When Putin scares me; when lies ensnare me, and Michelle’s still mad
I simply bow down, wearing asbestos pants,
And then I feel oooooooooh, so GLAAAAAAAAAAAAD.
Scene II: But the storm continues to gather, and Obama feels its pressure. A twister of truth about his signature fabrication has snaked its way to the ground, swelling the patriotic stirrings of the stony hearts of some of the Hill Democrats.
So, the President has packed his empty suite and teleprompter and gone campaigning. No, he’s not up for re-election, but when the tough turn out to be fluff, the fluff get blowing. From very main stream news outlet to every back alley dumpster behind an abortion clinic, Obama gathers his socialized medicine sycophants under his wing.
Obama: Come, little people; I’ll sing you a song about funding the ACA.
Sycophants: That’s the same thing as Obamacare, right?
Obama (rubbing left eye with middle finger): Even better! Now first I need some volunteers. Tell me your names and ages, and let’s show some diversity out there!
Female sycophant caressing her birth control pills: My name is L’Easy, and I’m 16. This is my boy toy, ROFLOL, and he’s 17. Ain’t he a knockout?
Male sycophant sporting a plaid suit and bowler hat: I’m Max Dealwheeler, and I’m a man for all ages.
Well-coiffed male sycophant wearing a tad too much lipstick and eyeliner: I’m Twerk; I’m 14, and this is my boyfriend, Fronzie. He’s a 51-year-old buttler and we met online at Gay/org.com (wrinkle noses at each other).
Three female sycophants of various ages in various stages of pregnancy: We’re Sister Margie, Sister Bertie, and Sister Sophie. Well, we’re not really sisters, but our husband says we’re just all one, big, happy family. Not Happy, Happy, Happy, mind you, but happy enough.
Obama: Fine! Twerk, you’re the youngest, so you come over here and sit on my lap. Fronzie, you stand right up close behind me, and the rest of you gather round. Everybody ready?
Obama: Now, when you begin to redistribute wealth, you being with…
Twerk: 1 million, 2 hundred thousand, 3.
Obama: But when I begin to redistribute wealth, I begin with Dough re Me!
Dough! Need dough! Need lots of dough…
…Re my O’care spending spreeee.
Me, myself, and I will fling….
….Far my grandiose strategy.
So?! I signed what I’d not read.
Law? Laws don’t apply me!
T.E.A. tried jammin’ up my bread,
And that brings me back to Dough. Oh. Oh. Oh.
(Repeat until all sycophants are singing and dancing.)
Scene III: Somewhere in a parallel universe, it’s time for R&R. Seventeen glorious days of fun in the sun. Time to get away from it all, or at least from each other. Michelle Yomama has dictated all the arrangements: some enchanting evenings on the small SOUTH SPECIFIC island of Bally Hoo, a swanky hotel, a suite for her, and suite for the girls. At a separate hotel, a single queen for Potcrack. When J. C. informed her that his toe shoes were wearing out, and he couldn’t possible spin any faster, she relented and booked Potcrack a suite at the swanky hotel. On a different floor. In a different wing. Because, well, he’s just…. Different.
In Michelle’s suite, her Lady of Firstness steeps in a bubble bath, sipping Champaign, washing her hair, and preparing for a big night on the town. Feeling all bubbly within and without, she breaks into song:
I’m livin’ posh and gonna let down my hair,
Eat caviar, and prawns, and Kobe beef, rare,
An’ tell the tax pay-ers how much I don’t care,
Cuz’ this be my vacaaaaay!
Get the picture?
I’d love to squash my marriage into thin air,
An’ ol’ Potcrack could just kiss my derriere,
I’d move to Chi-Town or perhaps to Bellaire,
An’ let that jackass braaaay!
Meanwhile, in President Potcrack Whosayin’ Yomama’s suite, the Big Guy steeps in a bubble bath, tossing down Bloody Marys, pouting in boredom since Michelle refuses to be seen with him. Before long, he has an idea, dials the phone, and hears, “Room Service, C.B. Billus speaking.” Stammering with excitement, Yomama, too, bursts into song:
Send me up one Honeybuns,
Coconut bra and make him well-hung.
Gotta load for Honeybuns, tonight!
We’ll need his pj’s and cocoa for two.
Get ‘im checked out for tropical sprue.
Gotta load for Honeybuns, tonight.
Be sure he’s dark and curly, and all his cheeks are girly.
He won’t need his pants, just a grass skirt to dance
Whirly and twirly.
Yes, I am the Won, second to none!
Tell him I promise him bundles of fun!
Gotta load for Honeybuns, tonight!
Last but not least, in the girls’ suite, the First Daughters (worn out from a day of hula lessons, surfing, scuba diving, attending a secret Bally Hoo Boar Tusk Ceremony, and flirting under the watchful eyes of the Secret Service) contemplate their sometimes confusing home life. Out of the mouths of babes…..
The Younger: Tell me why, oh why The Older: Welcome to......the commu......nist partaay
Mom screams and bellows.
Tell me why, oh why
Dad is so gay;
Why ambition makes
Such strange bed-fellows.
Scene IV: Meanwhile back on The Hill, Obama’s personal advisor and dear friend has donned her red flannel nightgown and is enjoying her cocoa. Suddenly her door bursts open and Obama rushes in, sobbing like a well-tanned Speaker of the House.
PA/DF: Barry, Barry, whatever is the matter?
Obama: My, my, (sniff & nose pinch) signature fabrication is doin’ a great job distractin’ folks from Ben
PA/DF: Ah, ah, ah! We don’t say that word, remember?
Yo’mamma: Well, let me be clear. It’s been doin’ a great job of (sniff, nose pinch, sob) distractin’ folks from the NSA, the Fast and Furious gun thingy (sob, sniff), the shutdown, the Frown and Furious Michelle thingy (nose pinch, maniacal laughter), and my falling poll numbers, but, but, (sob) the House won’t fund my “Dough re Me,” and now my singin,’ dancin’ sycophants are jumping (nose pinch) ship, and (boo-hoo, boo-hoo, booooooo-hoo)…
PA/DF: That’s enough, Barry! You’ve got to suck it up like a line of snow. Now you get right back out there and…
Squeeze every lobbyist,
Name every judge,
Jump through every loop-hole,
Act on every grudge.
Blame Rush and “W”,
Shame the GOP,
Gut the military,
Just rely on meee!
Yes, me, Valerie! I’m the one with the brain
That will work when yours won’t
‘Cause you choom Mary Jane.
Kiss up to Billy
Don’t diss his Crone,
Never say “Benxxxxx,”
Wink at every drone.
Use executive priv’ledge,
Push gun control,
Buy off every voter,
I’ll get you to our goooal!
Yes, me, Valerie, I’m the one with the brain
That will work when yours won’t
Because you snort cocaaaaaaine.
Open the borders,
Praise Common Core,
Foooollow eeevery dollaaaar,
‘Til. You’re. Dic. Ta. Tooooooooor!!
(Scene ends with Valerie and Mussolini-posed Obama looking out window at the sunrise.)
Finis
Dodgers N. Yammerscheme, MA of BS, wishes to extend special thanks to the good folks of FreeRepublic.com, Rush Limbaugh, and the truth-is-stranger-than-fiction life we live in for all the inspiration and fodder they’ve provided her muses, and to her husband who puts up with her and does all her html.
She wishes to make it plain that she has no knowledge of what goes on the hotel suites of any real or fictitious families, first or otherwise. She does, however, want to make it plain she thinks that, no matter who the family is, self-centeredness is the antithesis of marriage, the homosexual lifestyle is one of perversion and disease, and children who have to deal with either have a life of hell.
She also wishes to profoundly apologize to the brilliance and talent of Rodgers and Hammerstein, as well as all the stages and studios, singers and performers who have ever had a hand in bringing these two’s delightful musicals to the ears and eyes of this purveyor of parody. (Big Liesl ping to Conservaliberty)
******************************
Lastly, one more thank you to the musicians of The Hill is Alive, And It’s Kind of Frightening, who also served as our Guest Commissariats:
Ross Perot, for serving up Bumble Pie
Bill Clinton, demonstrating a pairing of cigars and cupcakes
Mike Huckabee, offering his famous Red Plate Special, and finally
Phil Robertson, who knows what and how the majority of Americans like to eat and laid out a buffet of crab cakes, seafood gumbo, crawfish etoufee’, turtue sauce piquant, shrimp creole, bayou courtbouillon, stuffed flounder, scalloped oysters, raw oysters, chicken jambalaya, ducks in wine, French wild ducks, duck l’orange, fried frog legs, rabbit fricassee, roast venison, squirrel stew, beef brisket, red beans & rice (slow simmered with ham and sausage), dirty rice, hush puppies, corn bread, sour cream bacon biscuits, green beans with bacon and onion, green beans almandine, fried okra, stewed okra, tomatoes and okra, pickled okra, yam souffle’, cherries jubilee, crepe suzettes, peach pie, pecan pie, pecan pralines, bourbon-soaked pound cake, lemon bars, and snickerdoodles.
It is reported that Michelle snuck away from her on-location, local public school salad bar promotion and came in through the back door of the Commissary.
~DNY
ping!
This is hugh!
my gosh even when I hold down on my “page down” button this thing is STILL long.
Where’s my snickerdoodles?
Then I clicked on this thread.
So much for good intentions . . .
Something else to fill up your leisure hours...:o)
Happy New Year, Mrs. RepRivFarm!
Brilliant!
LOLOL Excellent!
Bump
Mrs. RepRivFarm:
I think I just now realized how severely twisted you are.
Also, how could you send me a Liesl ping without a version of 16 going on 17? Could have been something like, “Messed up one term, going on two terms...”
Mr. RepRivFarm:
Whatever keeps her off the streets and out of the bars.
Also, now I want courtbullion.
I have an idea for an “Edelweiss” parody, but I’m almost certain it’d get the ZOT.
This. Is. Awesome!
We enjoyed trying to figure out each of the songs.
It’s too bad it’s so true...
Thank you one and all, and Happy New Year! Cicero, I’m afraid Michelle ate your snickerdoodles. Conservaliberty, you’ll just have to settle for the hat tip to Liesl in the sycophant line-up. And tomkat, I’m sorry you’re not a fan of Yammerscheme. Perhaps you prefer Filbert and Minivan. Their productions are shorter and often livelier. I was given a sneak preview of their next, as yet-unfinished project: The Tyrant’s in Advance.
I am the very model of a premier US Dictator.
My teleprompting skills exceed those of a phony translator.
I always tell the truth no matter what, if it’s convenient.
This works quite well as long as main stream media’s obedient.
I claim my faith’s important, but its practice I keep secretly,
‘Cause if the public knew for sure, they’d respond ra-dio-actively.
I know a lot ‘bout ordering vindictive reciprocity,
(Spoken) hmmm.. reciprocity, reciprocity… Ahhhh!
And I can strike a pose that best reflects my great pomposity!
(Chorus) And he can strike a pose that best reflects his great pomposity,
And he can strike a pose that best reflects his great pomposity,
And he can strike a pose that best reflects his great pomposi-osity
The talent of my leadership’s as vast as my hugh intellect.
My level of humility is mega, ultra, pluperfect.
In short, in all things R & R,
like always keeping under par,
And tracking B-ball playoff scores,
Collecting shells on island shores,
and biking through the great outdoors,
and, uh, cov’ring up gay paramours,
While wearing, uh, red, plaid under-drawers, (Mr. Filbert interrupts, “Mr. President?”)
And drinking cocoa with, uh, uh, Putin’s horse, (Mr. Minivan does a face palm)
And, uh, quoting Karl, uh, Marx with, uh, no remorse,
Who Reed, uh, (nose pinch) uh, and Plosi both, uh, endorse, (Mr. Filbert shouts, “Just read the teleprompter!)
I am the very model of a premier US Dictator!
Mrs. RepRivFarm (Dictionaries are my toy boxes and the words therein my playthings)
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