Oh, I seen him walking
Plowing down that road
He got a broken white man
With a heavy load
Oh, Lord have mercy
Upon my foolish soul
It is so cold & dark
Behind these eyes of coal
Its the Hoodoo Obamanator
When a tribe teeters on the brink, it finds itself forced into the orbit of the nearest Hoodoo Obamanator, a shamanic trickster with magic wand & fairy dust, one part magician, one part witch doctor, who has the power to step between raindrops & alter the past.
"We have met our responsibility," Obama said. "Now it is time to turn the page."
Here, the Hoodoo Obamanator takes rivers of blood and pallets of lost treasure and alchemically transforms this dross into pyrite nuggets of honorable promises met, and complicity to forget.
"The United States has paid a huge price to give Iraqis the chance to shape their future.
This time the Hoodoo Obamanator sprinkles corpse dust from his gris-gris bag onto an illegal invasion. Slowly the image of this crime wavers, like heat rising from asphalt, slowly beginning to glow with zirconia like nobility.
"Winding down Iraq will allow the United States to apply the resources necessary to go on the offense in Afghanistan."
Using the arcane wisdom of "The Football Cult," whose adherents have mastered the ages old ascetic discipline known as "The Way Of The Fat Drunken Couch Tater," he mutates invader into defender & defender into invader.
"It's well known that he and I disagreed about the war from its outset," Obama said. "Yet no one could doubt President Bush's support for our troops, or his love of country and commitment to our security."
The Hoodoo Obamanator, scrying mirror in hand, calls up the image of the tragic king, now vanished in the mists of history. Muttering outre spells in Enochian double talk,
he remolds & reshapes the vanished king's reign of blood & callous disregard into a myth for our new, well earned tomorrow.