David's Harp: A brush with Obama


Off the White House presidential bedroom suite in the bathroom, Mr. Obama is brushing his teeth this morning. Young Sasha enters. “Daddy when are you going to stop the Wiki-Leaks?”

The president is scrubbing what’s left of his wisdom molars. He mumbles, “I’m working on it; I’m working on it, darn it.” Then he fills his cupped hands and rinses his fresh mouth with some water.

“And Daddy, the unemployment index just seems to be increasing every time you do something. And why do we keep going to Hawaii? Why can’t we go on a cruise to Sarah Palin’s Alaska like the Boehner family and the other kids? It’s always Hawaii, Hawaii. Does this have something to do with that certificate thing you keep screaming at Mommy about? And what’s going on in Egypt? Didn’t you make a big speech in Cairo? Do I really have to throw away my Princess Jasmine dolls? And why do you keep telling that Yahoo guy in Israel to stop building houses? I remember I put a setting at the dinner table for him and then you told me to take it away?”

Obama spits into the sink, “Don’t you have school or something?”

“No, it’s officially Nancy Pelosi Day, we’re allowed to sit in class and do nothing, Sasha explains. “So I thought I would stick around here and learn about our government’s foreign policy toward rogue states, dictators, kings and theocratic mad men. Are we for or against it?”

“Michelle! Michelle!” Obama yells to no avail. He turns to Sasha, “Where is your mother?”

“She’s in the hydroponic molecular pod,” Sasha says. “Pruning kale for your breakfast.”

“Oh no! Not green eggs and yam again,” Obama moans as he begins to floss.

Sasha persists with her interrogation, “Can we go to a real proper church this Sunday, or do we have to keep going down to the Situation Room and watch those old Rev. Wright videos? And how come Auntie Helen Thomas doesn’t come around anymore and curse at the wall and kick Bo the dog? And where did Bobby Gibbs go? I loved when he would do that magic trick where he would talk out of both sides of his mouth. He’s so funny.”

“Sasha I really have to get ready without any distractions, I’m meeting with Gramps Biden in ten minutes,” Obama scolds.

“That’s another thing, Daddy, when did he start talking again? Ever since he got back from Jerusalem he’s been so out of sorts, like if Dennis Miller ever guest hosted The View. Speaking of your frenetic Mid East policy, what is a negotiation? Is that something that is done after you intimidate, badger and extort the side that is friendly, democratic and westernized?

“Sasha please, Daddy’s busy and in a rush right now. I’ll let you have just one more question, so make it a good one.” Obama warns.

Sasha taps her index finger on her forehead, “Let me think, I need to ask a really good question.” “Hmm.” Her eyes light up, “Mr. President, how many more Russian spies will be sent home before you release Jonathan Pollard?”