Written by John Peurach

Wednesday, 28 December 2011

image for The American Irrespective: President Obama's End Of The Year Good News, Bad News, and More or Less, Worser News (So Far)
WHAT CAN I SAY? - In case anyone asks, this here's me doin' the tellin'.


Well, as someone around here used to always like to say - when otherwise attempting to both stall, and essentially delay, the inevitable had to be there, would-be almost truth of their particular semi-sort of, anything but full disclosure-like, ring around a response/altogether never mind, so as to suggest that either they didn't hear the question, and/or (best bet) had no idea what to say, and, as such, nothing, not-a-thing, nada, zilch, at all to add to any further moment of once proud in like Flynn times of pre-programmed miscommunication of the already on tap Presidential kind - let me make one thing perfectly clear - if not hopefully a little more so, than, of course, someone else in these even further once upon a used to be time parts often tried to somewhat semi-consistently do, as in always say so, don't ya know, during their otherwise extended, yet, as luck and an uncertain amount of smoking gun tape fate would have it, altogether brief and unceremoniously abbreviated, two-term stay, in and/or about the nearby, these here parts-like vicinity - about this, that is, and/or was (if only just because), as opposed to, or something, not like, but exactly, that's a fact, Jack!

In other words, play ball!

(No, wait - is this thing on?)

In still other words, all things considered, pound for pound, and then some, at this point in up-to-speed, real life-like time, I'll - albeit not as recklessly, yet all the more decidedly - stack my mission's accomplished up against, well, anyone's.

Or, at least, anyone's who's no longer on the yob, in this house, so to speak, anymore, and then some. Like, of course, they shouldn't have been in the first place. But, well, that's another story, if you know what I mean. As in, all (no longer uncharted) water under the bridge (since then), that, many of us have no trouble what so ever jumping off, as of, uhhh - now.

Or, as soon as some of the more necessary among us figure out how best to almost cross said bought and paid for here to there, go anywhere just the same structure, of sorts, and, with any luck, still not be forced to be (or not to be) the last one still slouching on it, in the next to no mood to otherwise not smile, and say, "Check, please!"


Before, that is, an otherwise assortment of expendable others are the first to jump off accordingly. With, or without, a corresponding, politically correct splash to (hopefully) be heard from later, along with, of course - due in no small part to an assortment of still in play labor-unfriendly regulations - any and all nearby available one hands clapping.

And/or, due to the seasonal timing of said leap, if you will - and since it's that time a year, why not? - an otherwise unwelcome array of once proud held open hands, still hanging on/hoping for any heretofore formerly passed out entitlements, currently not ready to quite happen anymore, as I speak. And, even less likely, once I stifle things up along the audio route of all Evel Knievel, if you got 'em.

(Without the nicks and cuts of a blade.)

How my doing so far? What??? Uhh, okay, to the point, right?

But seriously folks, I'm here all week. And, from the wide angle look all around the out-of-town yard, and, especially at the line-up of all supposed to be comin' at me, live and in anything but living color frontrunner things, another soon to be four years, as well.

(You don't say!)

That's funny, I thought I just did.

[Cue, rimshot!]

And, while you're at it, no more calls, please. We, that is me, is the winner. Ready, willing, and all the way able to stay on the job until a reasonable portion of it is either respectfully done, and/or politely forgotten about, due to "What did he know, and when did he know it?" requests not given an otherwise inch to stand on, or stoop over, presumably to concur, while the beat goes on, and, of course, those along for the slide keep having a kool kat time of it finding that their rhythm and/or rhyme of it.


Ding-dong! Hello, Mr. and Mrs. America, from border to border and coast to coast, and all puckered up lips not yet sinking too fast, and I don't mean at sea. Here's the deal that, for you anyway, should most definitely be as easy as A - B - and, what you see, when it's, yes, at this point in the program, still for now, that's right, all about me. And, all things reconsidered, what gives or has been already got, with more than a few no more now wow longer in play usual suspects.

In other words - so far so good. As in, totally unlike the other ones, or even that there little engine that could.

(Music maestro, please!)

AKA, a little traveling music, for:

Whover that was in Tunisia, a Mr. Zine el Abidine Ben Ali - GONE!

He with a no longer saved face in Egypt, one Hosni Mubarak to go - GONE!

Other God Fearing (More or Less) Free World Public Enemy #1 and done, Osama bin Laden - GONE!

Longtime, hair-impaired Libyan cuckoo bird madman, Muammar Gaddafi - GONE, GONE, and then some!

Pudgy wudgy, four-eyed rhymes with (pardon my Susie Green) duck, now no longer pain in the North Korean doenjang, Kim Jong-Il - GONE!

With, of course, Syria's 100% ball of odd, Bashar Assad, and Russia's soon to be anything but rootin' tootin', Vladdy "We Always Knew You Were Up To Something The Smelled To High" Putin, both fast becoming the dope of all ropes, just waiting for their fully anticipated, exit - stage left-like cues to keep moving to all points elsewhere.

And, oh yeah, being as how that's just the out-of-town sideshows that have so far closed down, don't look now, but, please do, if you can, give a peek to what's here all the while I'm on the job at the helm, all alone at the switch.

Meaning, of course, that back home here, for a whole bunch of you already know who's, it's, oh yeah, ain't the all the time wanting my job life a solid as all get the WTF out, multiply by B, carry the itch?

Or, something like that, especially when it's a lot like, yeah - this:

Sarah's still squawking, but sitting this one out.

Cain called a cab (and that ain't all).

Citizen Rick is stuck in a pew of his own, all decked out like the one that got away, little doggie, from the Brokeback fellow traveling team.

Newt is, of course, Twen spelled backwards, which is exactly where anyone following that beady-eyed lawn gnome is headed, once he humpties the dumpty all the way home.

Ron Paul, sure, he may seem like just another harmless tool in the shed with two first names, but it's his two, extra-wide, right about nothing feet that will trip him up whenever the big dance officially begins for real.

Along with, of course, the Professor (Not!), Rick "The Other" Santorum, and, Mary Ann wannabe busy bee, Michele "Turner Overdrive This!" Bachmann, who, together have no clue as to which end is up, and/or, only getting way more down off the horse, even further.

Which, leaves us with, ahh yes, Mitt, for all those still soaking, and/or, otherwise insisting, that they're not, from now until whenever, actually stepping in it.

Like I said, good news, and then some. For me to use, above and beyond, and - although no one said it was supposed to be fun, it sure seems that way - as always, so far.


Bad news?? We don't need no stinkin' bad news.

Or, at least, not any more than there most assuredly already would seem to be, and/or, has been, ever since I first hit town, still wet behind my ears without fears, and promptly got my hair mussed, my origin overly discussed, and, my otherwise well intentioned good word sent immediately south to the far side of who else you gonna trust?

(Take your time. As this could be on the final.)

But, then again all's fair in love, when this means war. And, since I'm the heat, welcome to my kitchen.

And, OK, sure, despite any steadfast claims of "Hope" and semi-defined, clear bell desires to "Move On", much of what passes along as the American populous these days and nights of the right about now, is either out of work, in a flux, or, occasionally being ignored just enough to no longer pretend as much, if not more so. Especially, when it all adds up to the already left at the alter, you know what out of luck, 99% kind.

But still, we hear your pain. And, feel our very own version of, not quite, if only once in a while more of the same. With, of course, enough room left over for an all-important therefore. That, even at this late in the date point in time would seem to suggest that, as much as it may seem like the ship be sinking, believe me when I say, that if we all knuckle down, team up, sit tight, and, for now, play it right, we'll be on the way to a next stop, that should be even more than simply OK.

Especially if we move forward, one as all, and all as they should, like we all know we would if we could. And we can. Providing, of course, we keep working at it, and, more importantly, keep buying our way into it, while spending what we don't have (yet) like we all know we know how to.

And, OK, so we don't make anything anymore. Not even the better mouse trap. Big deal. We at least know who does. And, besides, when it all comes down to it, just sorting the stuff out, moving the stuff all around, keeping the stuff on the shelves, and buying a lot of the stuff is, as always, more fun anyway.

Which, in the end, and all along the way, is all the more reason to remain hopeful. Providing, of course, the citizenry keeps playing along, drinking coffee, loading up on meds, wearing t-shirts and sneakers, talking & texting on phones, playing computer games, upgrading their lives, loves, and brains along accordingly, apping themselves into a constant state of all about the silly, posting photo shopped pictures, having fries with this (and that), brushing, not brushing, flossing, not flossing, eating too much, remembering next to nothing, and, of course, staying healthy long enough to keep getting sick like they're supposed to, in order to keep the whole thing rolling along like it's supposed to be, up the hill not too far away, but never close enough to anything but, as always, drive to there and back, or, as far as you can go, all the way without a prescription, and/or, better yet, a note to follow so.........

What???? This is still Bad News, right?

Well, either way, it's whatever it is. And, for all intents, on purpose, still unsafe at most speeds. Especially when teamed up with the already up to my eyes in jive nutshell I was both left and carelessly handed, by those who escaped in the night before I so well-timed arrived, with my fully elected/carefully readjusted, more or less, mandate in tow.

So, okay, sure, keep trying, cause you know I will, where it counts the most - already, since I'm still, yes I am, the right now Boss of all there is of Uncle Sam, I am.

And well, if that means some of you got to go all wiseacre and/or not too far out of your own lard ass way to make an altogether unnecessary wide load crack (or two, or three) about someone's (I'm not saying who's) back porch so to speak, then this "Bad News" end of the equation has really hit almost, but not quite, rock bottom. No pun intended.

But still, I mean, come on fellas. Be cool. And as much as rumor has it there's a first time for anything, here's your chance.

In still other, can't quite end this as of yet, words, what gives, huh?

First it was her arms, with too much out in the open. Then her across the pond trips. And, all the time her clothes. Her shoes. And, as usual, with so much live appearance booing, when not conveniently clouded inside so many code words. And the - oh, why go on, as it still all just winds up to where all verbal roads can't help but lead straight on through to said someone's otherwise (I can't complain) have to be somewhere back there, bass akwards.

Or, something like that.

In any case, sorry to spoil your little (accent on even smaller) taffy pull, but this is still nothing that's going to ever make this Commander-In-Chief turn the car around to go back to where it's rumored me, myself, and I improperly came from.

In fact, it only makes the one you elected as me even more determined to keep things-a-going like they woulda-coulda-shoulda, if you would all just either let me lead, like I'm supposed to, while you either follow me if you can, and, oh yeah, get the hail out of my way while I get you there.

Wherever that is, not was. As in, as far as I can tell, just because.


Well, until we hear anything at all of substance - no, not that kind, but close - from "The Dorking Review," this end of the that's the way it is news till now yard is still pretty much strictly a work in progress, that, so far knock on wood, remains up for grabs, and the exclusive "in semi-illegal association with" property of whoever figures out how to get here first, last, and always.

With, of course, a reasonable amount of room for fill-in-the blank who's to blame error. Since, as always, objects in mirror may actually be closer than they appear. And, as a result of regulations far outside of even my all knowing/all seeing control, some settling of contents may have occurred during shipment, due in no small part to business as unusual.

(In stereo, where available.)


The story above is a satire or parody. It is entirely fictitious.

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