Obama's Bailout Font

CHORUS:
You can get anything you want from Obama's bailout font
You can get anything you want from Obama's bailout font
Chime right in, it's a pat on the back
Just a wink and smile from a Congress hack
You can get anything you want from Obama's bailout font

RECITATION:
This song is called "Obama's Bailout Font." It's about Obama, and the bailout font, but "Obama's Bailout Font" is not the name of the bailout font, that's just the name of the song. That's why I call the song "Obama's Bailout Font."

Now it all started one Nomination ago... a while ago, 'fore Nomination, when the MSM and I went up to visit Obama at his Chi-town front.

But Obama doesn't live in a public haunt, he jives in the church whereby the Wright haunts, near the Iv'ry Tower with his wife Michelle and kids, both cute.

And livin' near the Iv'ry Tower like that, they got a lot of kooks down there where the brains used to be, and havin' all them kooks (seein' as how they took out all the brains), they decided that they didn't have to think of their garbage for a long time.

We got up here and found Ayers' garbage in there and we decided that it'd be a worthy gesture for us to toss the garbage beneath a city bus.

So we took the half-a-ton of garbage, put it in the back of a green SUV Hummer, took edits and stets and implements of omission, and headed on toward the city bus. Well, we got there and there was a big sign and a chain across the yard sayin', "This office is Closed on Occasion," and we'd never heard of an office "Closed on Occasion" before, and with tears in our eyes, we drove off into the sunset lookin' for another bus to toss the garbage.

We didn't find one till we came to a 'burb road, and by the curb of the 'burb road was another Wright-foot riff, and at the bottom of the riff was another pile of garbage. And we decided that one big pile was heavier than two little piles, and rather than cover that one up, we decided to toss all ours down. That's what we did.

Drove back to the joint, heard an Inauguration speech that couldn't be beat, went to sleep, and didn't get up until the next morning, when we got a 3 a.m. phone call from Officer Olbie. He said, "Kids, we found Bill Ayers, Rev. Wright, and a teleprompter beneath a half dozen buses and I just wanted to know if you had any information about it."

And we said, "Yes sir, Officer Olbie, we cannot tell a lie. "They" tossed that evidence under those buses." After spinnin' to Olbie for about forty-five minutes with the teleprompter, we finally achieved a half-truth of the matter and he said that we had to go back and reveal the garbage, and also had to go down and speak to him at the Journalism Station. So we got in the green SUV Hummer with the edits and stets and implements of omission and headed on toward the Journalism Station.

Now, friends, there was only one of two things that Olbie could've done at the Journalism Station, and the first was that he could've given us a medal for bein' so craven and skillful with the obfuscation (which wasn't very likely, but we all did deserve it), and the other thing was that he could've bawled us out and told us never to be seen pushin' O garbage around in the election again, which is what we expected.

But when we got to the Journalism Station, there was a third possibility that we hadn't even counted upon, and we were all immediately accosted, corrected, and we said, "Olbie, we can't reveal the garbage with these Hillary minders anon." He said: "Shut up, kids, and get in the back of the search engine."

And that's what we did . . . sat in the back of the search engine, and drove to the quote scene of the crimes unquote.

I wanna tell you 'bout the town of Chicago, Illinois, where this is happenin'. They got three thousand stop signs, twenty-five police districts, and one police tank, but when we got to the scene of the crime, there was five police officers and three police cars, bein' the biggest crime of the last fifty secs but nobody even wanted to get a newspaper story out of it.

And they was usin' up all kinds of blog equipment that they had hangin' around the Journo Ethics Station. They was takin' hard IP tracks, footnotes, gut-churnin' clips and they took twenty-seven 8 x 10 colored glossy photographs with circles and arrows and a paragraph on the back of each one explainin' what each fake was, to be used as evidence against us. Took pictures of the ascent, the get-together, the New York corner, the WaPo corner . . . and that's not to mention the serial fauxtography!

After the ordeal, we went back to the spot. Olbie said he was gonna put us through hell.
He said: "Kids, I'm gonna put you through hell. I want your wallets and your pens."We said, "Olbie, we can understand your wantin' our wallets, so we don't have any money to spend disinforming, but what do you want our pens for?" and he said, "Kids, we don't want any tinglin's." We said, "Obie, did you think we was gonna bust ourselves for spinnin'?"

Olbie said he was makin' sure, and, friends, Olbie was, 'cause he took out the TV set so we couldn't see The One, faint, fawn, and fall down, and he took out the toilet paper so we couldn't bend the bars, roll the toilet paper out the window, write down the roll and have an outlet. Olbie was makin' sure.

It was about four or five hours later that Obama--(remember Obama? This's a song about Obama.)--Obama came by and, with a few saintly words to Olbie on the side, lightworked us into understanding, and we went back to the haunt, had a special Inauguration dinner that couldn't be beat, and didn't get up until the next morning, when we all had to see Hillary. We walked in, sat down, Olbie came in with the twenty-seven 8 x 10 colored glossy pictures with the circles and arrows and a paragraph on the back of each one, sat down.

Man came in, said, "All rise!" We all stood up, and Olbie stood up with the twenty-seven 8 x 10 colored glossy pictures, and the Dean walked in, sat down, with a pork-needin' hog and he sat down. We sat down.

Olbie looked at the pork-needin' hog . . . then at the twenty-seven 8 x 10 colored glossy pictures with the circles and arrows and a paragraph on the back of each fake . . . and looked at the pork-needin' hog . . . and then at the twenty-seven 8 x 10 colored glossy pictures with the circles and arrows and a paragraph on the back of each fake and began to cry.

Because Olbie came to the realization that it was a typical case of Democrat backroom politics, and there wasn't nothin' he could do about it, and the Dean wasn't gonna look at the twenty-seven 8 by 10 colored glossy pictures with the circles and arrows and a paragraph on the back of each one explainin' what each fake was, to be used as evidence against us.
And we was given fifty dollars and had to gloss over Obama's garbage... in media snow.
But that's not what we're here to tell you about.

We're here to talk about social justice.

They got a buildin' down in Columbia called The Journalism School, where you walk in, you get segregated, masturbated, GPA-inflated, exculpated, and indoctrinated!

We went down and got our GRE examination one day, and we walked in, sat down (got good and stoned the night before, so we looked and felt our best when we went in that morning, 'cause we wanted to look like the All-American Kid from Chicago. We wanted to feel like . . . we wanted to be the All-American Kid from Chi-town), and we walked in, sat down, we were hung down, brung down, hung up and all kinds of green, livid, commie things.

And we walked in, we sat down, they gave us a piece of paper that said: "Kids, see the journalist in room 666."

We went up there, we said, "Prof, we wanna spin. We wanna spin! We wanna see Bill and Gore and Hill and Byrds in our briefs! Meet Reds, Somebodies! We mean: Spin. Spin!"
And we started jumpin' up and down, yellin' "SPIN! SPIN!" and she started jumpin' up and down with us, and we was all jumpin' up and down, yellin', "SPIN! SPIN! SPIN! SPIN!" and the dean came over, pinned a Pulitzer on us, sent us down the hall, said, "You're our boys."
Didn't feel too bad about it.

Proceeded down the hall, gettin' more conflations, consultations, indoctrinations, and all kinds of stuff that they was doin' to us at the thing there, and we was there for two hours... three hours... four hours... we was there for a long time goin' through all kinds of green, livid, commie things, and we was just havin' a buff time there, and they was inspectin', infectin', every single part of us, and they was leavin' no part untouched!

Proceeded through, and we finally came to see the very last prof. We walked in, sat down, after a whole big thing there. We walked up, and we said, "What do you want?" He said, "Kids, we only got one question: Have you ever been arrested?"

And we proceeded to tell him the story of Obama's Bailout Font with full orchestration and five-part harmony and stuff like that, and other phenomenon.

He stopped me right there and said, "Kids, have you ever been to court?" And I proceeded to tell him the story of the twenty-seven 8 x 10 colored glossy pictures with the circles and arrows and a paragraph on the back of each fake . . .

He stopped me right there and said, "Kids, I want you to go over and sit down on that bench that says 'Group W'."

"Now, kids!"

And we walked over to the bench there, and there's... Group W is where they put you if you may not be moral enough to join the press after committin' your special crime.

There was all kinds of clean, happy, Christian-lookin' people on the bench there . . . there was child-bearers . . . rural-lifers . . . Red-State-lifers! RED-STATE-LIFERS sittin' right there on the bench next to me! And they was clean and happy and Christian and conservative and crime-fightin' guys were sittin' there on the bench, and the cleanest, happiest, Christianest one . . . the most conservative of them all . . . was comin' over to me, and he was clean and happy and Christian and conservative and all kinds of things, and he sat down next to me. He said, "Kids, what'd you get?"

We said, "We didn't get nothin'. We had to earn fifty dollars and pick up The One's garbage."
He said, "What were you arrested for, kids?" and we said, "Litterin'" . . . . And they all moved to tears for us on the bench there, with the teary eyeball and all kinds of clean, happy things, till we said, "And creatin' news bias-free . . . " And they all came to, shook our hands, and we had a great time on the bench talkin' about crime, spell-checkin', margin-erasin', . . . all kinds of groovy things that we was talkin' about on the bench, and everything was fine.
We was drinkin' FairTrade™ teas and all kinds of things, until the dean came over, had some paper in his hand, held it up and said:

"KIDSTHISPIECEOFPAPERSGOTFOURTYSVENPAGESTHIRTYSEVENSENTENCESFIFTYEIGHT
WORDSWEWANTTOKNOWTHEDETAILSOFTHECRIMETHETIMEOFTHECRIMEANDANYOTHER
KINDOFTHINGYOUGOTTOSAYPERTAININGTOANDABOUTTHECRIMEWEWANTTOKNOWTHE
ARRESTINGOFFICERSNAMEANDANYOTHERTHINGYOUGOTTOSAY . . ."

And he talked for forty-five minutes and nobody understood a word that he said.
But we had fun fillin' out the forms and playin' with the pencils on the bench there.
We filled out the Bailout Font with the four-tril' harmony. Wrote it down there just like it was and everything was fine. And we put down our pencils, and we turned over the piece of paper, and there . . . on the other side . . . in the middle of the other side . . . away from everything else on the other side . . . in parentheses . . . capital letters . . . quotated . . . read the following words: "Kids, have you rehabilitated yourselves?"

I went over to the dean. Said, "Dean, you got a lot of god-damned gall to ask me if I've rehabilitated myself! I mean . . . I mean . . . I mean that you send . . . I'm sittin' here on the bench . . . I mean I'm sittin' here on the Group W bench, 'cause you want to know if I'm moral enough to join the press, twist stories, facts, edits, and ref'rences after bein' a coverer-up."
He looked at me and said, "Kids, we like your mealy kind! We're gonna send your cover-up off to Washington!"

And, friends, somewhere in Washington, enshrined in some little folder, is a study in black and white of our cover-up.
And the only reason I'm singin' you the song now is 'cause you may not know somebody in a similar situation.

Or you may not be in a similar situation, and if you're not in a situation like that, there's only one thing you can do:

Walk into the DNC wherever you are, just walk in, say, "Dem, . . . you can get anything you want from Obama's Bailout Font", and walk out.
You know, if one person, just one person, does it, they may think he's really sick and they'll redistribute to him.

And if two people do it, in harmony, they may think they're both gayfolk and they'll redistribute to both, equally.

And if three people do it! Can you imagine three people walkin' in, singin' a bar of "Obama's Bailout Font" and walkin' out? They may think it's an ACORN branch!

And can you imagine fifty people a day? I said FIFTY people a day . . . walkin' in, singin' a bar of "Obama's Bailout Font" and walkin' out? Friends, they may think it's a MOVEMENT, and that's what it is: THE OBAMA'S DEM-BAILOUT FONT MOVEMENT! . . . and all you gotta do to join is to sing it the next time it comes around on the guitar.

With feelin'

CHORUS

A truly Glorious work. I must commend this today.

Once again I must commend this great work..

Be sure to both share liberally and equally among your comrades today

Dearest Groucho Marxist,


I never would have found this unless you posted this wonderful reply referring to a submission written by my most darling Comrade Tovarich.


It is really good. As you know, I have taken note of the wonderful and prolific posts of our comrades at The People's Karaoke.


There is a movement afloat to give you guys the acknowledgement you deserve. One such one was posted on The People's Blog, just yesterday, by Commissar Redumdimski.


I know all of you guys give selflessly, and I feel you deserve some well deserved responses!


Go, People's Karaoke!

Brilliant.