Men And Their Balls

The “progressive” community, liberals, people who lean left on the American political spectrum, are deeply concerned about Barrack Obama. OK, that’s an understatement. Ticked off, disappointed, angry, worried, incensed, furious and depressed is more like it.

Obama says the right things with eloquence rarely matched in American politics, but when the last perfect note fades away, he does little if anything to make his soaring rhetoric reality. When faced with opposition from the whack jobs of the dying GOP, the tea baggers, Limbaugh, Hannity and Coulter, he folds his tent and slinks into the shadows.

We expected so much more. There was no direction to go but up. George and Dick were finally leaving the stage. Hope was in the air when Obama swore his oath on that chilly January day almost one year ago. The hoopla, the crowds, the music, the excitement, the flags and banners and posters – how remote it all feels now. The economy’s feeble, the titans of Wall Street are laughing as they fuck their mistresses on mattresses stuffed with $100 bills, the insurance lobby is licking its chops over health care “reform,” and we’re upping the ante in Afghanistan. What’s changed?

Not much. Obama the commodity was sold with a slogan, like toothpaste or hemorrhoid ointment. “Change We Can Believe In.” Sure. And Chevron really cares about the environment. And the Easter bunny is real. And there’s a leprechaun sitting on a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.

We’re knee deep in the politics of fear and failure, knee deep in limp-dicked efforts to turn the ship of state, knee deep in preening and posturing on the White House lawn. Obama the intelligent incrementalist -- two steps up, one back, one to the side, throw in a little Ali shuffle for good measure -- can’t catch me, I’m the gingerbread man; slippery when wet, like Bill Clinton and his maddening triangulation strategies.

George W. Bush had an undersized brain and oversized balls. Bush was a faux cowboy from Yale who shot first and questioned later. When the overgrown frat boy wasn’t mooning the world or deferring the tough decisions to Uncle Dick, he was playing Christian crusader, bombing the shit out of innocent Muslims.

Barrack Hussein Obama possesses a large, capable brain and a silver tongue, but his balls are no larger than BB’s -- teeny-weeny things swinging in the presidential scrotum sack. The man can think, the man can speak, the man cuts a fine figure but he can’t get shit done for the folks even with a friendly Congress. Obama has surrounded himself with corporate-friendly types and Clinton-era recycles, and he nuances every damn thing until it’s unrecognizable – like Bill Clinton describing what constitutes the sex act to a federal judge.

Like tired whores we hoped for more. We hoped, for once, that the pimp would take his money and forgo the beating. No such luck. Back on our knees, bowing down before the moneyed class, the political elites, the corporate lawyers and lobbyists, the fixers and the cheats, the charlatans and the untouchable criminals. This is America, this is the dream, this is the one nation under God, better than all the others.

After Bush and Cheney, we needed to believe again, but we elected a man with tiny balls. Guess the joke’s on us and our children and their children. This is what betrayal feels like.