Here’s the deal with Obama. There’s an escape clause in everything he says.
A couple of examples.
During the campaign, Barack set a date certain to get U.S. forces out of Iraq. One of many escape clauses in that statement was mentioned only two weeks ago when a reporter asked Obama about his earlier Iraq-withdrawl statements. Obama clarified the previous statement saying the earlier comments were referring to “combat troops.”
Then there’s Gitmo.
Closing Gitmo doesn’t really mean closing Gitmo. It means on some date not certain, the usual and customery operations of Gitmo will be operationally reduced.
In case anybody is listening with a fine tuned ear, this administration is based on a foundation not of concrete ideas that turn into decisive action, but well-chosen words that turn into thin air.
I’m waiting for some aspiring reporter to ask Barack what he meant when Barack said he found the “Suburbs boring.” I’m sure Barack will have an escape clause for something as seemingly meaningless as that.
Who then is the Barack Obama?
Barack is Winston Churchill, without the Sword and Juno; with no victorious battle of Britain. Barack is Hitler with no September 1, 1939. Barack is George Washington with no crossing of the Delaware. He’s Davey Crockett with no valiant defense of the Alamo. He’s Joe Namath without the arm. Tiger Woods without the swing.
Barack is a hybrid wordsmith and verbal bully who can’t believe so many people fail to realize that his “let me make this clear” rhetoric is simply that; rhetoric. He’s a paper tiger posessing an uncanny ability to deliver the kind of beautifully crafted, highly persuasive speeches that has an army of psychofants including the mainstream media jumping up and down with glee like schoolgirls with front row seats on August 15, 1965 at Shea Stadium.
B. Obaman has the charisma of a Beatle and the ego of Donald Trump. He is like a good actor who landed the role of President of the United States. But when his closest advisors talk about him on the golf course, it becomes very clear that they, too, realize Barack is just playing a part. He’s a great magician’s illusion.
However, the ability to pull the wool over 54% of the voting public’s eyes does not a President make.
For someday the rubber will meet the road. Things will get sandpaper tough. When decisive action and nothing less is needed, the house of cards that is Barack Obama will fold like one. The facade that is Barack Obama will fall like a blind roofer.
One day, my friends, when action is needed, when mere words no longer suffice, and Barack is frozen with fear like a deer in the headlights, he’ll sit on his stool in his frightened corner of the world, like a February 25, 1964, Ali-beaten Sonny Liston complaining an aching backbone is the reason he can’t get up.
That’s when the lemming-like rats aboard the USS Obama will start jumping ship, and the hapless, spineless Barack will busy himself rearranging the proverbial deck chairs on the Titanic. And, like you can’t find a grown up hippie these days who’ll admit to spitting on a GI in an airport who just got home from the Vietnam war, in time no one will admit to being mesmerized by the Obama spell. The psychofants will crawl into their Hollywood, New York, metropolitan holes, never to be heard from again.
Ladies and gentlemen, Barack Obama lives in a world where words always speak louder than actions. The problem with that belief is that sometimes tyrants and terrorists are often deaf when it comes to words; only understand something as compelling as the tip of a bayonet.
If great speeches could win the war on terrorism, America would be home free. Unfortunately, it ain’t a gonna happen. Mister Obama, along with all you miserable psychofants, welcome to the real world.
