#Julia Meets Room 101
For his newest composite girlfriend, couldn’t Obama and his ghostwriters have chosen a name that wasn’t prominently featured in George Orwell’s 1984? (Cool song by the Eurythmics though.) As David Steinberg writes at the Tatler:
The Obama 2012 campaign released the epic government-fueled travails of “Julia” today, a slideshow supposedly relating how an Obama presidency can benefit the life of the average American woman. “Benefit”, as in pay for each of her progressive-approved hipster doofus life-choices (“Age 22: She starts her career as a web designer”).
Right off the bat, “#Julia” trended to the top of Twitter as the second-most popular current hashtag in the United States; to the horror of David Axelrod and the increasingly dated tacticians of the Obama campaign, virtually every mention of #Julia was a conservative mocking the slideshow. Our Vodkapundit nailed it with:
“#Julia is a #composite of all the ways @BarackObama would like to buy the women’s vote.”
“On my count, the last five hashtags introduced by Obama’s campaign have been instant public relations disasters; another smear tactic backfired into the legendary #ObamaEatsDogs,” David concludes. (Read the whole thing.™)
Not to mention, serving, as the original Julia did, as a reminder of the horrors of a Nanny State run amok:
There was no telescreen, but there must be hidden microphones: besides, they could be seen. It did not matter, nothing mattered. They could have lain down on the ground and done that if they had wanted to. His flesh froze with horror at the thought of it. She made no response whatever to the clasp of his arm; she did not even try to disengage herself. He knew now what had changed in her. Her face was sallower, and there was a long scar, partly hidden by the hair, across her forehead and temple; but that was not the change. It was that her waist had grown thicker, and, in a surprising way, had stiffened. He remembered how once, after the explosion of a rocket bomb, he had helped to drag a corpse out of some ruins, and had been astonished not only by the incredible weight of the thing, but by its rigidity and awkwardness to handle, which made it seem more like stone than flesh. Her body felt like that. It occurred to him that the texture of her skin would be quite different from what it had once been.
He did not attempt to kiss her, nor did they speak. As they walked back across the grass, she looked directly at him for the first time. It was only a momentary glance, full of contempt and dislike. He wondered whether it was a dislike that came purely out of the past or whether it was inspired also by his bloated face and the water that the wind kept squeezing from his eyes. They sat down on two iron chairs, side by side but not too close together. He saw that she was about to speak. She moved her clumsy shoe a few centimetres and deliberately crushed a twig. Her feet seemed to have grown broader, he noticed.
‘I betrayed you,’ she said baldly.
‘I betrayed you,’ he said.
She gave him another quick look of dislike.
‘Sometimes,’ she said, ‘they threaten you with something — something you can’t stand up to, can’t even think about. And then you say, “Don’t do it to me, do it to somebody else, do it to So-and-so.” And perhaps you might pretend, afterwards, that it was only a trick and that you just said it to make them stop and didn’t really mean it. But that isn’t true. At the time when it happens you do mean it. You think there’s no other way of saving yourself, and you’re quite ready to save yourself that way. You want it to happen to the other person. You don’t give a damn what they suffer. All you care about is yourself.’
‘All you care about is yourself,’ he echoed.
‘And after that, you don’t feel the same towards the other person any longer.’
‘No,’ he said, ‘you don’t feel the same.’
There did not seem to be anything more to say. The wind plastered their thin overalls against their bodies. Almost at once it became embarrassing to sit there in silence: besides, it was too cold to keep still. She said something about catching her Tube and stood up to go.
‘We must meet again,’ he said.
‘Yes,’ she said, ‘we must meet again.’
Related thoughts on “The cradle-to-grave, government-supported existence of ‘Julia,” from Morrissey, Ed 655321, an Outer Party member who blogs via a two-way telescreen located in one of Oceania’s more frigid climates.
Update: “Alas, Team Obama has omitted a few milestones from the life of Julia.” Actually, Julia should be pretty comfortable working the Memory Hole by now.
More: Heh, indeed. Just click.™
Obama’s campaign does seem to be stepping on a lot of rakes lately. There’s an old saying to the effect that is a mistake to confuse good luck with skill. Could it be that Obie Won Kanobody’s campaign is just a bunch of inept boobs who got lucky in 2008? Let’s hope so.
The Two Autobiographies of Julia Hussein Hashtag.
(we never use the middle name, however, it is an affront to her and a subliminal racist code word to speak it out loud)
Julia, our heroine, was born in the 60′s during a particularly bad acid trip, the daughter of a hippie castrati, Timothy Leering who had donated to a sperm bank the day after Gloria Steinem had gifted him a fish and a bicycle for his 25th birthday and the day before his accidental vascectomy and during his third sophomore year at Purple Haze Community College in the People’s Republic of Maryland….and his girlfriend, Rainbow Freelove Hashtag, the “Berkeley Stepford” wife he never married.
Rainbow was looking for a donor who embodied all the things she wanted in a man. He wasn’t present, he had no opinions, didn’t bother her for sex and he rote memorized the ten commandments of NOW and would repeat them on command, while genuflecting with his head bowed toward Woodstock.
Nine months to the day later she conceived little Julia, in an Odent water birth ceremony, by C section in order to avoid trauma and an episiotomy.
In the second autobiography (nobody writes two autobiographies during a time when they are completely unknown anymore, then again, why would they), the C-section was removed from the historical narrative, although the Odent water birth remained in a composite form with the midwife being Rainbow’s life partner.
Little Julia was sent to the public school, lived off of public assistance, learned how to use food stamps and how to roll a joint at the medical marijuana clinic where Rainbow volunteered.
As she grew older, Julia began to hang out at the tatoo parlor and would occasionally have dreams from her father, which her mother called flashbacks, but it gave Julia hope for change in her life.
When she became 17, Julia got a social security card in Connecticut, a state she had not resided in a day in her life, at eighteen she obtained a passport as a citizen of another country so she could travel to areas restricted to American citizens and she traveled the world, Cuba, Venezuela, and other exotic lands. She contracted numerous diseases and always came back home for her free clinic disease removal treatments and to refill her stash from the medical marijuana store.
She entered Accidental College to study the Zinn/Chomsky combined major “Anti-Americanism and the Art of Perpetual Protest”, even though she doesn’t remember graduating from high school or having any friends…she was admitted to the Ivy League bastion of higher learning, Prince Dartyale…where nobody remembers her and transcripts go to die.
Her education was paid completely by government programs, hidden donors and vaporized student loans.
She then decided to go to law school, not to become a lawyer, but to become a Constitutional scholar, since she absolutely despised that document and wanted to learn how to ignore it.
At law school, she never wrote a single article, but became the head of the Law Review, the reason for which never became clear to anyone, but makes for a great resume filler and she didn’t want a regular job anyway. Her education was paid for just as mysteriously as her bizarre non-existence days at Prince Dartyale’s University, since she never once achieved a single honor of any type, how she got into law school at the altar of high dudgeon Harvey Browncorn, never gets mentioned in her first autobiography The Audacity of Trope.
Julia graduates and moves to the big city to begin her life as a radical extremist, learning the fine arts of class warfare, racial warfare, and how to find grievances where none exist.
She also learns how to get “free” stuff by making other people pay for it and blaming them for being so “greedy” at the same time.
Julia lives in government housing and teaches at a public university as a part-time lecturer on how to destroy the Constitution.
One day she decides to run for public office, she wants to become the first Hashtag President of the United States. Nobody knows who she is, she has no qualifications and she has lived off of mysterious donors and government programs her entire life, she re-releases her two autobiographies and promises everyone the life she has stolen from the day she was born and she wins!
Ahh…never mind…nobody is ever going to believe this story…it’s just too far-fetched.
Cancel the script. I’ll try a re-write in November.
Awesome. Scott Ott would be proud. You should publish, I sense the market for good humor is ripe.
Cradle-to-grave Entitlements (C>G E) in cartoon form!… how entertaining kids!
For the adults, let us count all the money it would take to fund Julia’s Cradle-to-grave Entitlements.
If this program were to follow suit with the rest of Great Society programs, the program will cost 120% over tax receipts, and that’s providing Julia works, if Julia decides she is going to be a Welfare mom (now in it’s 3rd generation, breeding the 4th) every penny goes down a black hole.
Julia is a cautionary tale, all we have to do to find Julia today is to look behind the police barricades in Greece, Spain, UK, Russia… demanding more handouts, with a Molotov cocktail in one hand and a red flag in the other.