The Idiossey
The Very Clever, But Not-Really-That-Epic Poem of Obamacles (with Apologies to Homer)
Book the First: A question for the Muse
Speak to me, O Muse, of this resourceful man
who strides so boldly upon the golden shrine at Invescos,
Between Ionic plywood columns, to the kleig light altar.
Fair Obamacles, favored of the gods, ascends to Olympus
Amidst lusty tributes and the strumming lyres of Media;
Their mounted skyboxes echo with the singing of his name
While Olbermos and Mattheus in their greasy togas wrassle
For first honor of basking in their hero’s reflected glory.
Who is this man, so bronzed in countenance,
So skilled of TelePrompter, clean and articulate
whose ears like a stately urn’s protrude?
So now, daughter of Zeus, tell us his story.
And just the Cliff Notes if you don’t mind,
We don’t have all day.
Said the Muse:
I will tell the story of Obamacles through my scribe Iowahawk.
But this shit is copyrighted, so reproduce at your peril.
Book the Second: Obamacles Meets the Oracle of Doritos
From the land of Kenya beyond Nile, came Obamacles the Elder
To the grad school at Oahu, where Ann of Kansas bore him a son.
It would prove to be a hassle, thus he left his baby’s mama,
who then won favor with Soertoro, who brought them to his far-off island nest.
Young Obamacles was growing, and they shipped him back to Gramma,
And the prep school on Oahu. There he trained and studied boldly,
Drinking beer and smoking weed: Maui Wowie, paca lolo, sensimilla,
blunts and chiva, Thai and chronic, just enough to hone his mellow,
in the back of Kyle’s TransAm, a line or two of coke on weekends.
In his mellow young Obamacles beheld a vision in the salty snacks at Safeway;
There the Oracle of Doritos bade him:
“Travel the seas to the East, fair Obamacles, for this is where your fortune lies.
But beware, that way bodes peril if thou are not pure of image and smooth of delivery.
Seek first the masters of Occidental College, who will train you in the philosophers of Po-Mo.”
“Dude you’re totally talking to the Doritos. That is totally bonus.”
Book the Third: Obamacles dazzles the masters at the Agora
After Obamacles had completed the perilous sea voyage to LAX and retrieved his bag from the carousel,
He entered the agora of Occidental, where wily Obamacles dazzled the masters with recitations:
Fanon, Menchu, Zinn and Chomsky, Saul Alinsky, Eldridge Cleaver, Kurtis Blow.
After two years his masters said,
“fair Obamacles, we can teach you no more, for your bullshit has surpassed even ours.
Hie thee now to the Isle of Manhattus, where in the agora at Columbius
you may study a bullshit so deep and complex and angry it is beyond our philosophies.”
Yet bold Obamacles was equal to the challenge. “Give us your thesis,” said the masters at Columbius,
and Obamacles conjured a mighty paper on Soviet disarmament, double-spaced and expertly margined.
Its beauty was such that the masters wept, and laid a baccalaureate wreath upon him;
But the masters ordered the beautiful thesis destroyed that so no mortal would again read it.
Then one day at the Duane Reade on West 123rd, the Oracle of Doritos appeared to him again:
“You have passed your first test, brave Obamacles, but the peril is yet beginning.
For now you must travel west to Chicago, the dreaded Isle of Monsters;
And become yourself a community organizer.”
To which Obamacles replied, “I really should cut down on the ganga.”
Book the Fourth: Obamacles meets the Jeremiad of Chicago
When Obamacles reached the shores of Chicago, he saw no monsters;
Yet its bone-strewn sands announced a land of many unseen dangers.
And though he be clever, Obamacles did not understand his task,
set before him by the Oracle; perhaps it was a riddle?
“Community organizer?” he wondered, “What the fuck is that?”
And yet he pushed from house to house, offering to organize the people,
But lo, the Southside people shunned him, slamming doors and mocking sad Obamacles.
“O people of Chicago, why do you shun me so?” he lamented.
“I have a bachelor’s degree and I am here to organize you.”
And then Obamacles heard from behind a voice of such fury and anger
that he was frozen in fear for the very first time.
It was the Jeremiad, the fire-breathing Monster of the Pulpit, who roared:
“You stupid ass foo, it because you white!”
Now, it was known to Obamacles that the Jeremiad had forbade white men from the Southside.
What Obamacles did not know is that the Jeremiad also decided who was a white man.
Although his own hue was darker still than the Jeremiad, he was too clever to argue with the Monster;
Instead he said:
“You are right, fearsome Jeremiad; I am sadly white. And only your magic, my lord,
can relieve me of this accursed paleness. Cure me, so that I can join with the sun people.”
The Jeremiad was astonished by the boldness of Obamacles and his clever flattery. He said:
“You have much bravery for a white man, Obamacles. But to become an authentic brother,
you must prove your worthiness in the torments of the pews.”
Hour after hour, Sunday after Sunday, year after year, Obamacles stood before Jeremiad
And the other monsters of the pulpit, Phlegeron and Mekus, withstanding their bellows of fire,
Never blinking or flinching, and seldom falling asleep.
the Jeremiad was pleased and and absolved Obamacles of his whiteness,
and allowing him to finally organize the community.
Which turned out to be a system for getting money for the Jeremiad.
One day at the Co-op in Hyde Park the Oracle appeared again to Obamacles from an end-aisle display:
“You have done well, young wayfarer, but further torments lurk in thy destiny.
Prepare at Kaplan for thy LSATs, for the abyss of uselessness at Harvard Law awaits.
And then must you return to Chicago to conquer the legion of monsters.”
Book the Fifth: Obamacles and Victimia
Having withstood the scorching blasts of the monster Jeremiad at Chicago,
Harvard Law proved no challenge for our hero; he was named beloved of the faculty,
For at the Isle of Harvard they eat that “community organizer” shit right up.
He returned to the Isle of Chicago with his magic Harvard talisman,
Small of heft but able to open any door.
Here he met Victimia, a long and lanky beauty, whose siren songs of woe bewitched;
They were wed in the screaming gardens of Jeremiad.
“O Victimia,” he sang, “if I could but bottle thy sob stories, the world would be ours.”
“Yes, Obamacles beloved,” replied she, “but first let me help you conquer Chicago.”
The monsters of Chicago were helpless against the duet’s laments and dirges;
Like a moth to a flame they proved irresistible, and the strange mutant beasts
of this Isle of the Damned soon were transfixed by their enchantments:
Ayres, the decrepit conjurer of fireballs;
his wife Doron, worshipper of murderers;
Rezko, Philistine Lord of the Pits of Slumos;
Giannoulis, Bagman of the Mafios;
And all of the monsters of the Pulpit from Jeremiad to Pherekon.
Obamacles had conquered all of the Chicagomon, even Daleos the little retard king,
Without once unsheathing his sword; such was his charm.
The monsters realized Obamacles was the perfect front man for federal funding scams,
And thus showered our hero with tributes and contributions,
Elevating him to Vicelord of the Chicagomon.
Thus exalted did Obamacles train his gaze on the mounts of Tribune and Suntimus,
and WGN and WLS and NBC 5, whose anchors splooged in simultaneous ecstasy
At his gleaming incisors and crossover appeal. Together they swore
their undying liege and to crush all obstacles in his path.
By acclamation he was sent as Chicago’s emissary to Senatus.
Book the Sixth: The Rage of Hildusa
In Senatus, Obamacles laid beside the reflecting pool while a coterie of Media fed him grapes.
Again the Oracle appeared to him, this time in the form of a bowl of arugula; it said,
“You have done well, hale Obamacles, but your torments are not yet complete.
The toughest test of all awaits, and may the gods have mercy on your soul.”
“Do your worst, arugula,” he laughed, “for I am Obamacles,
Lord of Illinus, who single handedly conquered the LSATs
and disarmed the Chicagomon. What task would you possibly fear me with?”
“You are to led the Demos back to the White Temple, by vanquishing Hildusa.”
At the sound of Hildusa’s name even brave Obamacles was driven to piss his toga,
For Hildusa, cuckolder of Bubba, was the mightiest of all the gorgons.
From her head grew a writhing nest of asps, and the mere sight of her cankles
Would turn a man to stone. Some said she came from Lesbos
But others said her only pleasure was torment and sucking the marrow from her victim’s bones.
Around her at all times was a phalanx guard of mincing eunuchs,
led by Ickis, Wolfsonis, Blumenthalis and Pennis. At her side, an angry force
of menopausal PUMAs ready to strike on her command — for the children.
But Obamacles was only momentarily dissuaded from his task,
for he knew the people of Demos longed to return to the White Temple,
where they had been banished by the idiot emperor Chimpos II.
Although the Demos knew that Chimpos was the stupidest person in the world,
and they were the smartest, they had somehow been unable to defeat him.
Obamacles seized his opportunity. On the Isle of Demos, and said:
“Citizens of Demos, I am Obamacles of Illinus. I will lead you
from the wilderness back to the White Temple.”
Dispite his gleaming smile the agora laughed at the stranger’s folly.
“Fool, our leader is Hildusa,” they mocked. “What chance has a handsome
newcomer like you against the mightiest of the gorgons?”
“For one, I will conjure our Spartans back from Babylonia,” said Obamacles.
“Hilldusa voted with Chimpos. I say it is time to begin the war to end this war.”
The words of Obamacles created a murmur in the agora, for on Demos the people
wished the Spartans home from war, to face trial for war crimes or be caged as madmen
Like in the many tragedies at the Demos Odeon Octoplex.
“We are with you, Obamacles,” came the shout of a man, who was turned to marble
and struck by lightning before his words could be completed. Obamacles had stoked
the terrible rath of the gorgon Hildusa, and the battle was joined.
Book the Seventh: The Final Battle for Demos
All the torments suffered by Obamacles had steeled him for this final epic test.
The cliffs of Demos resounded with the approaching screeches of Hildusa
And her army of soul-eating Morpheons, spinning and faxing and conjuring position papers.
But Obamacles was unmoved, and with his right hand summoned
the Subterranean Creepos of the Nutroots to do his bidding,
Kos and Ariana and Demos Underground.
Hildusa was enraged for she thought them allies, and shot them the stink-eye.
“Destroy Obamacles!” she bellowed at her Eunuchs,
But they were retards and got busted for DUI on the chariot ride over.
Then Obamacles shot the arrow of Iowa across abyss of Dukakis,
striking Hildusa true in her cankles, no more to freeze men to stone,
And all of Demos roared approval.
“Citizens of Demos,” screamed the hobbled gorgon, “fair Obamacles is not what he appears!
Look, behind him! A phalanx of Chicagomon, the demons from the pits of Illinus!”
When the Demos people saw the Chicagomon they shrugged,
but Obamacles was taking no chances for the general battle;
He had no more further use for the Chicagomon and thus he summoned
Underbus, the destroyer of memes. One by one he disposed them,
The Jeremiad and Phlegeron and Ayres, all sacrificed to Underbus.
When Hildusa saw this her eyes boiled with rage,
and she summoned her Amazon Pumas
But they were too fat and old and employed
to battle the snarky college assholes in official Obamacles tunics.
At last Hildusa summoned Bubba, who in principle was her husband.
Though the mightiest god of Demos, he trembled before her gaze;
For once she saved his sacred bacon, but yet had him castrated and banished.
“Destroy! Destroy! Destoy!” she bellowed, handing Bubba sharpened talking points,
But Obamacles would not yield, and from beneath his tunic
withdrew his razor-sharpened race card, filleting Bubba into tiny pieces.
The crowd at Demos was breathless, hardly believing their eyes.
And then winged Media lifted Obamacles across the abyss to where Hildusa
lay supine and helpless, and, grabbing her by the asps,
took one more mighty swing with his race card,
and held her severed head before the cheering crowd.
Book the Eighth: Epilogue
And that, dear reader, is the story of brave Obamacles,
Whom all of Demos sing in praise, even the severed head of Hildusa
as he parades it around the stage and banks it off the glass for three points.
“All hail Obamacles!” Cries Invesco, “Master of Bullshit, Vicelord of the Chicagomon,
vanquisher of Hildusa, you are our new and shiny hope, a god amongst mortals.”
And yet once more the Oracle appears to Obamacles,
From the Teleprompter screen; it says:
“One more task lies yet before you, brave Obamacles of ChiTown!
To vanquish the ancient warrior Crustius and his Plutocrat hordes…
using only these acolytes before you.”
Obamacles look out onto his drooling throngs at Demos, and wept;
for it was then he realized there are things even the god can’t do.
Will this Adonis retake the Temple?
Or is he fleecing golden sheep?
Ask another Muse tomorrow,
Hell if I know, it’s all Greek to me.
