Obama’s Secret Advice to the G.O.P.


My fellow Americans on the other side of the aisle:

Ever since my election, I’ve been watching you implode, my eyes dilated in horrified fascination (like they were glued in that Indiana Jones movie to the Nazi’s face melting into molasses).

Now I know I’m the last man on earth you want any advice from, but maybe you should consider absorbing a few choice pearls from my bipartisan heart, especially now that the only Republican leader who is still boning her own spouse, Sarah Palin, is fast losing ground among independents.

I want to speak to you honestly, clearly and candidly, with a generous measure of tolerance, totally on your own level, complete with punchy four-letter words I picked up from the Chicago streets and from Professor Rahm, so you know I’m absolutely sincere in my advice, and not towering over you from the commanding heights of my intellect or voiding over your pea-brained noggins with beefy Chicago-sized turds.

No. Not at all. You know me as a man who always gives the other fellow a fair hearing. When others engage in bickering, I advocate peace. When it comes time to protect our national interest, I’d shake a hand drenched in blood.

So I want you to imagine we’re standing side by side in the pissoir, colleagues in a common biological need, our protein projectiles aimed purposefully at the porcelain, when — lo and behold! — our streams find each other and flow together in a spirit of bipartisanship.

Listen, I had no idea when I kicked your butts into spaghetti last year that you’d go and die on me, for chrissake. Being a super-nice guy, I feel seriously guilt-tripped into giving y’all a blood transfusion of my eloquent wisdom before you turn into a bunch of zombies wandering blindly in the desert and bumping into anteaters.


So let me help. First, a little pep talk.

Buck up, assholes! Get your act together, dickheads! You’re men, aren’t you?

Or so I would assume, given the evidence of your willies so frequently found in the juiceboxes of other men’s wives, or up the butts of buff young fellas.

You’ve been painful to observe, guys. You’re running out of feet to shoot yourselves in. You lack ears. You don’t listen to any voice of reason, or any poll, or any of the half-dozen half-sane guys still half on your team. Sometimes I wonder: do you have styrofoam for brains — or the actual excremental stuff from some small breed of pesky dog? Or is it silly putty — to echo the vibrations of all the crazies in your gang? Man, if I had a dollar for every stoopid gaffe you guys commit, I could’ve bailed out California.

There are those in my own party who counsel me to kick the fulminators and fornicators in the Republican Party while you’re down, but I say no, let us reach out and rescue you poor saps in a spirit of bipartisanship as you lie there in a stinking heap of your own making.

Accordingly, following my characteristic inclination to speak kindly to my enemies, I, Barack Obama, extend to you a helping hand to lift you up so you can look the world in the eye again like real men and women — instead of staring at the ass end of the universe from your prone position of total humiliation as your last farts emanate in pitiful squeaks from your incredibly shrinking buttholes.


Here is my secret advice. I’ve put it in point form to make it easy for anyone with a room-temperature I.Q. to follow. And I’m keeping it in a style I call the poetry of the vernacular (or in more Foucauldian terms: the hermeneutics of scatology applied to metaphysics, though that may admittedly sound more Susan Sontagian than Foucauldian), with plenty of four-letter words and rude stuff you’d otherwise never hear from my lips in public.

1. ZIP IT. Can someone please tell your Governors and Congressmen to keep their private organs out of the interiors of guys and the wives of other guys? It’s getting to be embarrassing. Or if you guys are going to be unzipping from here to Argentina, can you at least lay off the family values trip for a while? You seem to forget that I’ve got the family values mantra covered, dudes. My family is more valued by the American people than all your dysfunctional families put together. Your problems started with Reagan, whose family was not exactly the paragon of togetherness, and today the tradition continues with your own families, some of whom are the most fuck-upped families since the Oedipus family. The voters aren’t dumb: they look at my family, and at yours, and when you bleat on about family values, they begin to think you know less about family values than the Pope knows about coitus.

That’s point one. Got it? Here’s point two.

2. STOP YOUR FISCAL PROMISCUITY. Why don’t you try walking your talk for a change? You talk about shrinking government and fiscal responsibility, but under Ronald Reagan you expanded the government and went into debt, and under George Bush you did more of the same times twenty. I’m going into vast debt myself, but at least I have a good excuse — I’m spending when the economy is in bad shape, which is the Keynesian thing to do (John Maynard Keynes was an economist who was very famous in the 30s and 40s; google him). You’ve got to realize, you are the party of economic irresponsibility, and Democrats are always having to clean up after you, so either you change your ways or shut the heck up about shrinking government and fiscal responsibility.

That’s point two. Are you’re with me? OK, let’s move on.

3. STOP BEING CRAZY. It worked in 2004, but not anymore. You may have noticed that I’ve introduced a new paradigm into political life: the idea of the cool, calm, dispassionate fellow who doesn’t fly off the handle or get into a hissy fit or snarl like Darth Vader or strut like a cowboy or sulk like a teenager or vent like a diva like a few of your party I could mention, starting with a certain McCain chappie who tripped over the hot feet in his mouth because he didn’t have my steady demeanor.

It’s all about temperament, you jerkoids, and you should study how grownups behave and apply it to your own behavior. The voters trust me. Why? Because I’m unflappable. Because I’m professorial. Because I’m rational. I’m everything you pathetic drama queens are not. I don’t string illogical thoughts of total craziness together like I fell from the nutjob tree. Watch me handle the press. Watch me handle world leaders. There’s a reason I’m the top dog. It’s not just because I’m smarter than everyone else. It’s also because I’m cooler than everyone else, with the coolest wife and the coolest kids and the coolest smile on the planet. You don’t show you’re the top honcho by being an alpha dog who barks at every flea in his path, like you do, you stupid bitches. Listen up, pricks. Compared to me, you look like total assholes. Compared to me, you ARE total assholes. There’s only one way for you to remedy the totality of your assholedom. Study me and learn.

That’s point three. Got it?

4. STOP BENDING FOR YOUR BASE. It’s time you stopped devoting all your efforts to cultivating your base and went after the independents instead. Look, buttfuckers, I’m not telling you to neglect your base. I’m just saying it’s not the best use of your meagre resources to crawl up the ass of your base 24/7. All you need to do is throw your base some red meat every now and then. I do it every couple of moon cycles with my left wing to keep them from getting an aneurism. I don’t even have to do anything; I just make some meaningless symbolic statement and they quiet down for a while. You could do the same thing with your base.

But when it comes to courting the independents, you need to get smarter, which I hope you guys are still sort of capable of in some kind of way. At the risk of repeating myself, I’ll repeat myself: don’t concentrate ALL your efforts on your base. There is not enough of them alive for you to win elections with them alone anyway. They’re fixing to vanish into a puddle like the Wicked Witch of the West. They’re shrinking like Clinton’s willy shrank at the thought of putting it in Monica’s other hole. In another 15 years most of your base will be dead from diabetes or obesity given what dumbfucks they are. You cannot build the future of the Republican Party on the dumbfucks of America anymore. More and more kids are going to college. Reagan was smart enough to appeal to the dumbfucks of America to round out his coalition of rich people, business people, blue collar workers and Reagan Democrats. But he knew he couldn’t rely on them alone. They were part of his bigger tent. Once upon a time, all the racist, sexist, gay-bashing, union-hating, Bible-thumping bigots were Reagan’s useful idiots — but then you a-holes let them become the whole GOP. Now they’re the tail that wags your dog. A few more wags and you’ll be all tail and no dog. You’ve got to change the balance back to what it was when Reagan ran the party.

Now I know the real problem is that all you Republican Congress people and governatterers are dumbfucks yourselves, so you can only talk dumbfuck talk that appeals to dumbfuck folks. But all is not lost. You still have a few Republicans left who actually have a modicum of intelligence. Let them loose so they can start recruiting people with intelligence who can talk the talk of the college kids, the Latinos, the working women, and all the young people under thirty who are not your dumbfuck base. Your dumbfucks are not going to vote for a smart black dude like me, let’s face it, so you’ll always have them. But if you want to come back in say 2024, after Hillary’s second term, you may want to think about expanding your base from your moronic bowling-and-Bud dumbfucks to include some other fucks who are not quite as dumb as Joe the Plumber.

I mean, who are you going to run against me in 2012? The Mormon? The ditzhead? The Asian guy with a snorkel for a nose? Listen, I’ll slap the Mormon down like I slapped that fly. I’ll chew up the ditzhead and spit her out, waders and all. I’ll kick the South Asian governatterer over his nose so it lodges so deep in his butt, it’ll take a Brazilian surgeon to remove it and stick it back on his face.

Your bench of talent, oh my failing Republicans, is the opposite of deep. It’s shallower than Paris Hilton’s coochie. You’ve got to recruit better people, because you look and act like a bunch of losers. One thing you’ve got on your side: time. You’ve got many, many years to recruit fresh Republican blood with brains in their heads instead of the mixture of corn and axle grease most of you Republicans take for brains. If you get some charismatic kid on the payroll now, you can start grooming him for a successful run in maybe 30 years.

That’s point four. Got it? Here’s point five.

5. TRY ACTUAL POLICIES. Listen, when LBJ signed the Civil Rights bill, he knew he was losing the Dixiecrats. Now you don’t want to be losing the independents to me and Hillary totally if you want to come back in 2024. So start creating some actual policies that’ll appeal to independents and Democrats. Not anti-gay marriage, anti-abortion or tax cuts: that’s all played out. I suggest you position yourself as the party of the small business person. You might also want to steal some of my positions, like Bill Clinton stole Reagan’s positions. I offer you a vast array of sensible and rational and compelling and wise positions to choose from. If I were you, which I’m not, because I’m too smart to be that dumb, I’d think about stealing my smart diplomacy, and the way I talk bipartisanship while I’ve got Rahm trying to screw you behind my back. There’s the way I talk tough about the entitled con artists on Wall Street, but bend over to their every wish when it comes to actual legislation. That shouldn’t be too difficult for you to steal. And you could easily outflank me on gay marriage, since my churchgoing blackness prevents me from pushing hard for legalizing gay marriage, or if that’s too radical for your bigoted hearts, you could tackle me on Afghanistan, where you could make a case for a bigger surge than the surge I surged when I thought the time had come for surging.

Most of all, as a general rule, I would try and steal my air of common sense from me. You may not realize it, but most of the time you guys come off to most independents as crazier than a bat on amphetamines trying to fuck the butthole of an owl. I don’t know about you, but personally I don’t even want to imagine what happens to a bat who is stupid enough to try and bang a sharp-taloned owl in its butthole.

Also, start thinking seriously about what you can do about the populist rage against me. Try and get someone to articulate it, someone who won’t be booed by the Tea Party crowd, like two of you guys were booed by them already.

Let me give you a clue: these Tea Party people feel that Washington (that’s me and you) and Wall Street and Silicon Valley and Hollywood and Santa Fe and many other places look down on them. These soreheads include your own crazies, who are getting pissed off with you; the folks who voted for Ross Perot (that was 19% of the voters); and assorted other folks who are pissed off with us folks in the elite. I’d say they’re about as pissed off with the world as your wives and ex-wives are cheesed off with you.

For example, they could chew live snakes they’re so mad at the liberal media who attack Sarah Palin’s family. (This pisses me off, too, BTW. Back in the 90s they called Hillary a lesbo and attacked Chelsea, too … it’s clear to me in my bipartisan sagacity that most white men in the media, left and right, have a problem with strong chicks, especially when they’re deemed fuckable.)

These Tea Party Jacobins are also purple-mad pissed at the banksters who gamed the bubble in housing, and cost regular folks their houses, jobs and retirement savings. And then what happened? Bush and I showered the Wall Street fraudsters with taxpayers’ money. We sold out the country to Goldman Sachs (though I’m smart enough to still get a pass from MoveOn).

Then there are those illegal immigrants who steal the jobs of real Americans. With only the slightest encouragement, the Tea Party rebels would probably try to roast these fence-jumpers over an open fire.

And, of course, above all, and at the breaking point of all things to be pissed off about, these aggrieved victims of our bad economy are MAXIMUM pissed that I’m in the White House with my black ass and my black wife and my black kids.

So there you have it. It’s a mad, mad, mad world of would-be revolutionaries out there, just waiting for Walmart to import a supply of affordable made-in-China torches and pitchforks.

We’re talking about a rage that goes beyond political parties into some gut-deep victim feeling of martyrdom … a rage that’s like the rage of some Taliban dude who can’t make sense of the modern world and feels it leaving him behind, and wants to do something, except he doesn’t know what to do besides joining his fellow sufferers in aggrieved victimhood and wildly waving around some fucking teabag.

Some of them even believe I was birthed in Kenya, which means that I, in a not so immaculate delivery, dropped out of my Dad’s butt.

Whoever figures out how to articulate the Rage and Loathing of the Fucking Teabag, and channel it into actual policy demands, could be onto something. I can’t do it. I’m too busy bending over and letting the Blue Dog Democrats piss all over my agenda to have time to give the anger of these whiners some relevant Platonic Form (Plato was a Greek philosopher; google him).

Take it away, losers, they’re all yours, these brandishers of teabags. I give them to you to cultivate. They’re not my kinda crowd anyway; there’s not a single arugula eater among them. I suspect they include many of the voters who gave my predecessor his steady 30 percent approval rating, and quite frankly, I can’t be bothered with folks who are that ideologically disabled. They remind me of those zombies who eat their own mothers just to keep on zombie-ing. They’re nothing but skidmarks on the underwear of the body politic. As far as I’m concerned, they can go jump in a septic lake and grow two heads.

That’s point five. Got it?

6. STOP BEING SUCH SISSIES. Why are you scared of that fat fuck Rush Limbaugh? He’s just another rich windbag who has to wear black so he doesn’t look as fat a fuck as the fat fuck he is. You guys really have to distinguish between fat fucks like Rush Limbaugh who’re going to keep you in the wilderness, and thinner fucks like Joe Scarborough who might lead you out of the wilderness. Rush Limbaugh has the shit of a desiccated poodle for brains, and Joe Scarborough has the shit of a sturdier breed for brains, like a Portuguese waterdog. There is a difference, my dear Republicans — if you could just take your heads out of your butts for one second to see it. I’ll spell it out for your refried-bean ears one more time: if you stay scared of your crazies, and you don’t have the balls to enlarge your tent, you’re going to vanish up your own asses faster than a piranha vanishes up the ass of a rich eco-tourist who slipped on a martini olive and fell off his Regal express cruiser boat into the Amazon.

That’s point six. Got it?

OK, now I’ve run out of points, and I’m running out of words, which is unusual for me. But sometimes I get a little impatient with my audience, especially when they’re as intellectually inferior as you.


So there: you’ve gotten my advice, given freely and generously, straight from my bipartisan heart. And I know what you’re asking yourselves: why should you listen to me?

I’ll tell you why: I’m a winner and you’re a bunch of losers.

If you don’t listen to me, I can come to only one conclusion: you WANT to be a bunch of losers. Your ideology has overpowered your reason. Your misguided guts and dicks are stronger than your addled minds. I can tell you this: a party guided by its guts and its dicks ain’t going to make it in the 21st century. You need a little brains. That’s the stuff between your ears (it’s made up of the cortex and the cerebellum; google it).

If you don’t want to use your brains, or if you don’t want to recruit people with more brains than you’ve got, or if you don’t want to be cool, or if you don’t want to go after the votes of college-educated folks, or if you don’t want to court the votes of the Latinos and Latinas, or if you don’t want to cultivate voters under thirty, then I give up.

If you’re that dim, and if you’re that bent on self-destruction, even I, Barack Obama, cannot save you.


So die in peace. But please don’t inflict the agonizing screams and moans of your passing on all of us. Turn down your volume. Use your indoor voices. If you can’t live like grownups, at least die like grownups. I suggest the Roman way: they opened their veins in a warm bath and quietly checked out with honor and dignity. (The Romans were guys who, based in Rome, ruled the world two thousand years ago; google them.)

You might consider the Roman or Japanese way (seppuku; google it) instead of what you’re known for: the gnashing of the teeth, the sweating of the blood, the loud shrieking of loony accusations, the irritating whining at all hours of the night and day, and the ear-splitting airing of imaginary grievances and amorphous rage.

I ask you nicely — consider the fact that my daughters are still young and impressionable. I’d like them to spend their time in Washington all happy and serene, instead of being exposed to the sound of your death rattles.

So cool it, dickwads, if only for a change of pace. Go fuck an owl. Whatever gets you through your pain.

I’m asking you nicely, OK? I may have done my law degree at Harvard, but I did my politics in Chicago. So listen up, buttfuckers. You need to get out of the way and stay out of the way, you shit-eyed fuckfaced cretins, because there’s a whole world out there that needs me to run it.

Got it?

Author’s Note:

After this scholarly piece, you might need the comic relief of seeing me, Evert, in drag on YouTube as Aunt Mabel, who crushes the Wall Street giant Goldman Sachs like a bug.

(Address any comments on the video to evertcilliers at yahoo.com. I desperately need to know what you think of my hair.)