For the benefit of students of voodoo and practitioners of switchcraft, I came across an intriguing essay in The New York Times once again blessing, without restraint, America’s First Nonworking President and America’s Most Unexamined President.
The subject was the latest of the 33 fundraising dinners Swish (Lawdy, How I Love Spending and Traveling and Avoiding) Obama.
Swish was shoehorned into office 2½ years ago on a ski slope of, err, donations from the same rich people whom he feels obliged to demonize these days to feed the beast, to mollify his hard left base. “Boo rich people,” liberals say every morning, “and pass it on.”
But even an abused spouse has limits.
And so last week Swishy reluctantly ignored his White Housely duties for the 910th consecutive day. In a fit of blushing modesty, he corporate jetted to New York for a modest $35,800-a-plate dinner honoring His Arrogance at an elegant Upper East Side eatery.
The point of the story, grudgingly acknowledged essayist Andrew Ross Sorkin (of the Lower East Side Sorkins), was the moneymen who were not there. He identified Jamie Dimon of JP Morgan Chase, Swishy’s “favorite banker,” Richard Parsons of Citigroup and Lloyd Blankfein of Goldman Sachs.
They Were There In…What?
Despite the absence of these three sets of muscles, Mr. Sorkin argues that the conventional wisdom that Wall Street has rejected Swish because of his hourly, cuckoo clock-like antibusiness zingers is false.
How do we know this?
Picky, picky.
We don’t.
Without evidence, we are forced to take Mr. Sorkin’s intensely partisan word.
The Wall Street vacancies, he glibly claims, “may be more about optics, the way things appear, than reality.”
I guess this means they may look like they are not there, and they are not there, but really, sweetheart, they are there.
Yes, there are glittering holes in the crowd, but, mumble, mumble, it just looks that way.
“Behind the scenes,” Mr. Sorkin writes, “it seems many bankers are not running away from the President as some might suspect.”
Enough already, pal, with the word games. Show me evidence.
After clearing his throat with a deep, resonating and repetitious gargle, Mr. Sorkin diverts his eyes and confesses that, well, shucks, the bankers can’t openly support Swishy through public donations, as they did in ’08, because, blush, blush, “it would be bad for business.”
This Will Not Do, Truthseekers
As a dyed-in-the-garbardine member of the S.S.S., Sniveling Sycophants for Swishy, sworn to uphold the truth whenever strategically useful, Mr. Sorkin, remarkably, goes on to admit that Swishy would be just as embarrassed to be seen with the bankers in public because, darn, it would anger his angry hard left base.
Sounds to me like two very married people giving up on sneaking out to meet each other incognito.
In that event it is up to Sycophant Sorkin to cover for his guy, whereupon, with all the smoothness of a hillbilly carnival barker with icky breath, he fouls the EPA air with a series of anonymous, calorie-rich quotes that, surprise, drench Swishy in praise.
My golly, Murgatroyd. Can you believe this boy?
My favorite is: “‘Obama hasn’t been too bad to banks. He could have been worse,’ said a top executive at one of the nation’s largest banks, a big supporter in the past who decided against attending the dinner because he did not want his colleagues and clients to see him supporting the President.”
If Mr. Sorkin had bent his brittle bones any further to say that gosh, the split that I have been trying to deny between bankers and Swish is is a fig newton of a dirty Republican’s thyroid-activated imagination.
As in, are you going to believe me or your eyes?
With journalists like Mr. Sorkin excusing his every hiccup and denying his worst flaws, this is how a weak, passionately passive, alarmingly absent, constantly confused, historically illiterate dilettante President can sail through his first 29 months looking as if he is ready for Rushmore.
Except normal Americans have seen through this chap and treated his popularity and credibility as if they were twin nails to be hammered into the soft, muddy ground.
