AN OBAMA CAROL

The President sat bolt upright in his bed, wondering what had awakened him. It was not his wife; she slept peacefully in her coffin, hands folded, a predatory smile on her lips from some dream of destroying a political enemy. She did not seem to hear the noises the President heard, sounds that resembled the clatter of gunfire, the crackling of flames, screams, and a flushing toilet. For some reason, the President instantly thought of ghosts in haunted houses.

“It’s humbug still!” said the President. “I won’t believe it.”

His colour changed though, when, without a pause, it came on through the heavy door, and passed into the room before his eyes. Upon its coming in, the dying flame leaped up, as though it cried, “I know him; some dead white man!” and fell again.

The same face: the very same. Rounded cheeks beneath a bowler hat, a big cigar chomped in the corner of the mouth, the bulldog jowels, two fingers on the right hand raised in a V-shape. The President vaguely recalled the face; he had seen it in a book once, but he had not read the book, as it was about war and not about himself.

“How dare you!” the President huffed. “I do not allow dead white guys in my house. Go away at once!”

The specter produced a bolt of lightning that made the President jerk upright as electrical current surged painfully through his whole body. Was this the tingly feeling in the legs that he gave the Reporter, he wondered? If so it was not at all pleasant. The spirit then harrumphed, sat down in a chair, and magically produced a snifter of brandy.

“W-Who are you?” The President asked.

“I am the ghost of Winston Churchill.”

“Hunh? Who? Why not my hero, FDR?”

The ghost sighed heavily. “This is going to be tougher than I thought. FDR is busy in a very warm place, having made a deal with a devil, one named Joseph Stalin. As for who I am, I was Prime Minister of a once great nation at the time of her greatest crisis. Since, I have observed the sad decline of that nation. I am here to warn you of what lies ahead for your own country if you do not change your evil ways. Study history, study history. In history lies all the secrets of statecraft."
“I do not need help or to study history. I am a man of greatness. I’ve already have had Bill Ayers write two autobiographies about me. What books have you written?” The President huffed. “Besides, the public adores me, and thinks of me as their messiah.”

“There is no such thing as public opinion. There is only published opinion.” stated the Spirit.

“You think I am not the messiah? How dare you criticize me, whitey?!”

The Spirit took a sip of brandy. “Criticism may not be agreeable, but it is necessary. It fulfils the same function as pain in the human body. It calls attention to an unhealthy state of things. …..Personally I'm always ready to learn, although I do not always like being taught.”

The President sniffed. “What do I need to learn? Look what I have already accomplished in my first 100 days!”

“What an arrogant upstart you are, but then the leftists usually are.” The Spirit closed his eyes for a moment, deep in thought, recalling his own words from long ago. "These very high intellectual persons who wake up every morning...see what they can find to demolish, to undermine, or cast away."
“We needed to destroy the old way. My teleprompter and I have given the American people…at least the stupid & gullible ones…hope and change.”

“There is no greater mistake than to suppose that platitudes, smooth words, and timid policies offer a path to safety."

“I do offer a path to safety, especially economically. I will redistribute the wealth for the benefit of the people, or at least those people who vote Democrat.”

"Is it better to have equality at the price of poverty or well-being at the price of inequality? Socialism is the philosophy of failure, the creed of ignorance, and the gospel of envy; its inherent virtue is the equal sharing of misery. Socialism is inseparably interwoven with totalitarianism and the abject worship of the State. It is government of the duds, by the duds, and for the duds."

“Ridiculous. Look how poorly the free market was doing before I came along.”

“Your free market was anything but free, saddled by endless government rules, regulations, restrictions, and taxes. If you have ten thousand regulations you destroy all respect for the law. Some see private enterprise as a predatory animal to be shot, others look on it as a cow to be milked but a few see it as a sturdy horse pulling a wagon. If you destroy a free market, you create a black market."
“I will stimulate the economy,” the President pouted. He used both arms to heave a giant stack of paper, the size of two Bibles and a Russian novel, onto the floor at the Spirit’s feet. “Look at my stimulus plan! Look how much money we will spend to make things better.”

The ghost glanced at the paper monstrosity and snorted. “The length of this document defends it well against the risk of its being read.”
“Well, it’s not that I've actually read it myself, but I know what it contains. I offer a strategy for the future! My handlers tell me so!”

“Do not let spacious plans for a new world divert your energies from saving what is left of the old… However beautiful the strategy, you should occasionally look at the results. How will you pay for this monstrosity?”

“By raising taxes, of course. But only on the rich, so they will be good taxes.”

“There is no such thing as a good text. I contend that for a nation to try to tax itself into prosperity is like a man standing in a bucket and trying to lift himself up by the handle."

“You are wrong, pasty dead honkey. How about foreign policy, then? Why not look at what I have done for America’s image around the world? I have apologized to everyone I can think of. We will have world peace, thanks to me.”

"How many wars have been averted by patience and good will? Victory will never be found by taking the line of least resistance. You remind me of Neville Chamberlain. He was given a choice between war and dishonor. He chose dishonor and [had] war anyway."

“My handlers say I am right. We will continue on the course we have chosen.”

The Spirit literally groaned this time and rolled his eyes. “You can always count on Americans to do the right thing - after they've tried everything else.”

The Spirit killed his drink, heaved himself wearily out of the chair, and headed for the door.

“Before you go, dead white dude, what is that sound in the distance that grows louder by the moment?”

The Spirit cocked his head to listen momentarily, then sighed and shook his head.

“That’s a fat lady, and she’s singing about your nation. I bid you adieu.”