Coming Out Smelling Like a Rose

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Last night I plunked my self down in front of the big screen LED HDTV to watch the President weasel out of his disaster called Syria, or the Red Line, or aiding and abetting Al Qaeda. The Samsung brought Obama right into my living room. When he walked down that hallway to his teleprompters the definition on my screen was so real, I thought he was coming into the room with me. His opening remarks were not very inspiring and I had heard most of the arguments about how he knows that Syria lobbed gas bombs into a rebel held neighborhood. I was wanting to hear him read something good and important.

It was kind of surreal when the next image appeared, it was a commentator analyzing every syllable of every word Obama uttered. What happened to his speech? I, uh, guess I have to confess, his magical oratorical reading had the same effect on me that gas warfare had on Assad’s citizens. Except, I am lucky, I woke up again, a bunch of his people didn’t.

Now, I am content with watching news-snippets of what he did read, and I am glad I fell asleep. The nap was more beneficial than the solace he might have offered me with his plans to go no where.

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