Tuesday, August 25, 2009

Politics can be so polarizing I generally try to avoid them, but I've dodged one certain topic for so long I have to speak up or I'll bust. There are significant questions as to whether or not President Obama was born in the U. S. A., and is thus eligible to be president.

My fellow "birthers" have noticed a preponderance of evidence that seems to prove President Obama was born in Kenya, and we've been trying to get our doubts addressed. For some reason, though, we're not making any progress, despite months of screaming at the top of our lungs.

We've been locked in a war of semantics about "short form" and "long form" birth certificates. We've been debating the legitimacy of a Hawaiian newspaper's birth announcement. We've even been arguing about the presidential penis. Activist Larry Sinclair claims he and the president had sex, and he stated categorically that the president is uncircumcised. But the president says he was born in Hawaii: Weren't boys routinely circumcised there?

Maybe, the president's supporters say. Then again, maybe not.

We continually ask these relevant questions, and we're offhandedly tossed insignificant answers. Needless to say, the controversy hasn't gone away. So, in the interests of good journalism, I've devised a foolproof test that will prove beyond a shadow of a doubt whether Barack Obama was born in the United States.

He should tap-dance for us.

Think back: The 1950s were a pleasant post-war period when America just wanted to relax. The television set still hadn't made it into the average household, so radio, board games, and movies entertained us. Shirley Temple was the number-one box office star, and America was entranced by the adorable moppet with the headful of shiny curls.

In just about all of her movies, there was some old black butler or chauffeur or handyman who'd be there waiting every time she felt like tap-dancing down stairs.

You have to remember: This era predates the civil rights movement. Back then, predominantly-white movies offered the only real role models available to blacks, so naturally this was what they aspired to. All black parents wanted for their children were a warm home, food on the table, and tap-dance lessons so they could entertain the white folk. Despite the fact that such lessons were frequently quite costly, every black child in the nation was taught, well into the 1960s.

Was this true in Kenya? Absolutely not. Kenyan boys can tap-dance about as well as white boys can rap.

And so, here's my proposal. At the next White House press conference, a reporter needs to ask the president to tap-dance for us.

It'd be ridiculously easy. He could say something like, "Hey, Mr. President, did you ever take tap-dance lessons? You must remember some of those steps." And let's state categorically: a quick shuffle-ball-change isn't going to be good enough. Hell, anybody could learn that in the time it takes to make tea. No, we want intricate movement, like a paddle-and-roll leading into a riff walk. Me, I'd love to see President Obama shim sham shimmy into a double toe punch followed by a string of over-the-tops. And if he'd like to prove his prowess beyond a shadow of a doubt, he could toss in a triple time step that segues into a buffalo cramproll with heel clicks.

All these moves should be accompanied by the appropriate jazz hands, and ideally Obama should perform some of these steps while moving either up or down stairs. If he really wants to do it right, he'll wear white gloves and carry a cane. And, of course, the routine should end with a "Hotcha!"

So, as a proud spokesman for the so-called "birther wingnuts," I'd like to assure America that yes, it really is that simple. Put all our worries to rest. Shut us up once and for all. Just one simple tap-dance routine and we'll never mention it again.

And if the president refuses, then we all need to be seriously worried about who is running the American show.

3 comments:

David said...

You are profoundly and delightfully twisted.

Yet Another Steve said...

Shirley Temple was the darling of the 1930s; by the '50s she was pretty much washed up, as nobody wanted to see a woman her age squinting, dimpling and singing about lollipops. (Of course now that would instantly make her an international sensation, like Valentina, but that was the '50s after all.)

RomanHans said...

30s, 50s -- who am I, Siskel & Ebert? I stand by my facts!

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