Is Obama Jewish?

“Welcome to Lucha Libre Night at the Taco Bell Arena in Chihuahua,
Mexico. I’m Edificio Del Huevo, your color commentator, and I’ll be
assisted by six-time Mexican female mud wrestling champion, Rosita
La Chingada.”

“¡Hola amigos!”

“We’ll be reporting on the hugely anticipated grudge match tonight
between Mexican champion Comandante Marco and his American
rival, El Grande Bush. There’s a lot at stake in this battle for North
American supremacy, wouldn’t you say, Rosie?”

“¡Ooooh sííííí! Mexico has been pushing for a rematch since 1846,
when the malditos gringos cabrones put a gun to our heads and
made us sign over Texas and California. Now if we want to go there
for a vacation we have to swim through rat-infested sewer pipes, and
mutherfuckers telling us ‘Speak English! Speak English!’ I like English.
I luv it! But I don’t need no gringo mutherfucker breathin’ down my
neck.

“Anyway, if Comandante Marco wins the match tonight, we gonna get
back all our land and then we be telling you cocksuckers to speak
Spanish.

“I know the first thing I’m gonna do when we take over is to move into
the Presidential Suite at the Venetian Hotel in Las Vegas and go
skinny-dipping in the Grand Canal. Show the mutherfuckers what a
real Mexican chocha looks like!”

“Sounds good to me, Rosie, but as they say ‘Don’t count your huevos
rancheros before they’re hatched.’ Remember, the norteamericanos
are not going to give up all that loot without a fight.

“And as we speak, El Grande Bush is entering the ring. He’s wearing
his trademark pink tu-tu, dunce cap and glitter mask, and they’re
playing his music, ‘Cheeseburger in Paradise.’”

“Hey, Bushie, Bushie! Can we get a word from you for our studio
audience?”

“Waal, I’d like to address my remarks to the brave men and women
fighting in Eye-Rack for the forty-second consecutive year. I honor the
sacrifice you are making in the war on terror, and I want you to know
that I plan to win tonight so that when you come home you’ll have a
home to come home to.

“The threat we are facing in this arena here tonight is whether our
western states will remain The Home of The Free And The Brave, or
are allowed to become an open-air taco stand like the one on
Alvarado Street in downtown LA, where the crackheads and stray
dogs hang out, behind the convention center.”

“How inspiring! What’s your strategy for fighting Comandante Marco?"

“I plan to shock and awe him with my lightning speed, twist his head in
the ropes and bite his knuckles.”

“Excuse me, Ed, cut out that shit. Here comes Mexico’s national hero,
Comandante Marco of the Zapatista Revolutionary Army of Chiapas.
He looks ready for battle with his headdress of quetzal feathers,
jaguar-skin tights and crocodile nose mask. His musical
accompaniment is the Mexico City rock band Molotov singing their
anthem ''Viva México Cabrones.' Every time I hear that song it brings
tears of pride to my eyes, especially the part where they sing ‘No Me
Llames Cerdo.’ When I was a leetle girl in the shantytown overlooking
the security wall separating Nuevo Laredo from Brownsville, Texas,
my mother used to lull me to sleep by singing to me from Molotov’s
romantic love song ‘Chinga Tu Madre’, where they sing:

Nos vemos Acapulco a la fin de semana
Mientras yo cuido à tu hermana
Chinga tú chinga tu madre
[Ed. See you in Acapulco
But first I fuck your sister]

“Hey, big boy! You got something to say to your fans?”

“Hola, Rosie. I dedicate my life to the glory of Mexico. After I win, not
only are we going to reconquer our lost territories, but we are going to
sacrifice El Grande Bush on the ancient Mayan altar at Chichen Itzà
by ripping out his still beating heart and feeding it to the pirhana fish
that swim in the holy cenote. The whole ceremony is going to be
filmed by Mel Gibson for his upcoming movie “Jews of The Jungle.”

“Sounds great, sweetie. Only how do you plan to vanquish such a
great warrior like El Grande Bush?”

“I plan to shoot him with a curare-tipped blow dart and then, when he’s
paralyzed, I’m going to stomp on his balls.”

“And there’s the bell! The two fighters are circling each other warily,
looking for an opening, and they are being watched by the masked
referee, El Misterioso, who is also wearing a mask. Ed, what do we
know about El Misterioso?”

“Only that he gained fame as the fiercest lucha libre fighter in South
America.”

“Wow! Now El Grande Bush leaps forward and head butts
Comandante Marco in the chest, but instead of falling onto the mat El
Comandante does a backflip, kicking Bush in the face. Bush goes
down and Comandante Marco sits on his face, locking him in a French
Butt Hold, squeezing the air out of Bush like an Anaconda python
between the steel vise grip of his powerful glutes.”

“With his last, dying breath Bush reaches between Marco’s legs and
manages to insert his two fingers in the man’s nostrils and flip him
across the ring like a slingshot. Bush jumps to his feet and delivers a
shattering roundkick to the head of El Comandante, who goes flying
into El Misterioso who, enraged, punches him in the face. Hey, he’s
not supposed to do that. He’s the ref!”

“Wait a minute! Now El Misterioso grabs a folding chair and breaks it
over the head of El Grande Bush.”

“The audience is going berserk. The mariachi band Los Tigres Del
Norte has started playing the romantic sentimental love song ‘Volver’,
I suppose expressing their wish for a return of Mexico’s northern
territories. Meantime, on the American side, Ted Nugent is shooting
off machine gun riffs from his guitar. Oh no, that’s not his guitar, it’s a
real machine gun! Now gunfire is breaking out all over the place and
bullets are flying.”

“Comandante Marco and El Grande Bush have recovered from the
surprise attack by El Misterioso, and they’re punching the shit out of
him in the corner of the ring. They rip off his mask.”

“Omigod, it’s Hugo Chavez, the president of Venezuela, and he’s got
an oil gusher shooting out of his butt!”

“Well, let’s get out of here before the whole place explodes. Reporting
to you from Taco Bell Arena, I’m Edificio Del Huevo.”

“And I’m Rosita La Chingada…”

“Wishing you a big cuevo en el culo, cabrones!”

CHUCHA LIBRE

200motels POLITICS

Comedy

Tragedy

Nonsense

Bullshit

No wonder the banks are steaming. They’re
no longer in the driver’s seat. Believe me, if
this was a Republican administration the
automobile bondholders, some of whom
bought their securities at a distressed 10-
15%, would have gotten preferred treatment
and the auto workers would have sucked
wind.

Stress test? Forget it. The New York Federal
Reserve Bank is appointed as follows: six
directors appointed directly by the investment
banks and three appointed by them indirectly.
Because of the crisis caused by their avarice
and stupidity, the Obama administration has
completely emasculated their control, and
now the banks obey the administration and
not visa versa.

It’s still not enough for me. If I had my way,
the Fed would be replaced by a central bank
that enforces monetary authority on behalf of
the public interest. Basically Obama has
usurped control from the moneyed classes
and is directing monetary and fiscal policy
without deferring to them.

This is a historic event, unequalled since
President Andrew Jackson broke the back of
The Bank of the United States, and the
banks’ meek acquiescence underlines the
true extent of their political power, which is
largely dependent on the lack of political will
of the electorate.

I say, why stop there? As President
Roosevelt tried to assert when confronted
with a cabal of obstructionist, reactionary
Republican judicial appointments, there is no
provision in the U.S. Constitution limiting the
Supreme Court to nine justices. That august
body can be changed by a simple act of
Congress. Five reactionary justices holding
up social progress? No problem. Simply pass
a law changing the number of justices from
nine to eleven, thirteen or fifteen, and appoint
a new majority.

It’s a whole new world and thankfully we didn’
t need to storm the barricades to achieve it –
just stand by as the Bush administration did
the political equivalent of hara-kiri. Fortunately
we had the right man at the right time ready
to pick up the pieces, Barack Obama, and it’s
a good thing, because Hillary Clinton, who,
after a lifetime of compromise and adhering to
the art of the possible, would not have had
the comprehensive vision or psychological
freedom of action to establish a whole new
order.

It’s a bloodless revolution, but heads are still
getting knocked together. For the first time,
nasty-mouth Republican agitators are getting
as good as they are giving. They are up
against a gang of Chicago politicians that
make Bill Clinton look like an altar boy. As
Obama pointed out at the White House
correspondents’ dinner, “Rahm Emanuel is
uncomfortable [using] the word ‘mother’
behind the word ‘day’.” Do you get the drift,
or do I gotta draw you a map?

What is disconcerting to the Republicans is
the convergence of Chicago left-wing politics,
which has historically been of a particularly
virulent nature, with Chicago manners, which
are derived from Upton Sinclair’s
slaughterhouses and the delicate etiquette of
Al Capone, who was originally from Brooklyn
and remains a dominant trait of Chicago’s
DNA. Rush Limbaugh and Ann Coulter might
think they’re smooth, but they’re no match for
Chicago’s slick hair stingy-brim hatted Italian-
tailored iridescent mohair suited poolroom
sharpies, who are basically the inspiration for
Obama and his backroom operators. As
Illinois’ esteemed former governor, Rod
Blagojevich, so delicately put it in many of his
phone conversations recorded by the feds
before he was undone by his own flesh-
eating party in a feeding frenzy, “Fuck ‘em in
the ass.”, a sentiment , I might add, with
which I completely concur. It’s inspiring that
the death of political correctness might come
about from the candidate in whom the
politically correct crowd invested so much of
its essence.

It’s more than slightly fortuitous that a
candidate like Barack Obama, who owes
nothing to historical precedent, should have
made himself available to present his
candidacy at the very moment that the
capitalist system melted down like a snowball
in hell. For this we owe the dubious genius of
the Democratic Party, which, in its infinite
wisdom, leapfrogged him over the back of
Hillary Clinton in the interests of diversity and
political correctness, and not because of any
visceral compulsion it had to win the election.
Never mind, the failed economic policies of
the Republican administration achieved this
for them, and all’s well that ends well.

What to make of Obama? There is a train of
thought (mine) that he is not an earthly
presence at all, but the fortuitous implantation
by an infinitely wiser extraterrestrial power
that decided that an intervention was
necessary to save us from being crushed
under the weight of our own callous stupidity
and material garbage, sort of like “The Day
The Earth Stood Still”. Obama kind of
resembles Star Trek’s Mr. Spock in his
unnatural logic and composure in the face of
frantic chaos and hysteria. If you consider for
a minute the Star Trek analogy, with a
multicultural command center, Joe Biden
providing comic relief in the role of Scotty, the
irrepressible ship’s engineer, and the
Republicans taking on the role of the ghastly
Klingons, led by the monstrous and inhuman
Dick Cheney and Rush Limbaugh, determined
to reduce the human race to a cinder, you
have a very satisfying sci-fi scenario indeed!

But there is another hypothesis, also mine,
which is just as bizarre, being that Obama is
the first Jewish president. Nobody is going to
be happy to contemplate that eventuality, but
it is actually quite plausible, considering the
historical trans-migration of the Jewish
people throughout Africa since time
immemorial. The world is already quite
comfortable with the concept of the Ethopian
Falasha Jews, who were a generation ago
airlifted to the Promised Land. Historical
records trace the exodus of Jews from the
Iberian and Arabian peninsulas to locations as
remote as Timbuktu in modern Mali and to
Nigeria. The name Zimbabwe derives from a
city founded by Yemenite Jewish traders,
who long ago explored the Indian Ocean in
ships, settling as far away as India’s Kerala
state.

In recent years the black Jews of South
Africa, called Lemba, who celebrate Jewish
traditions and even engrave their
gravestones with Hebrew inscriptions, have
come to prominence. DNA testing has
confirmed the veracity of their Jewish
identity, being an exact match with that of the
Cohen tribe of ancient Jewish priests from
the Arabian Peninsula.

If you accept, for example, that the centuries,
and even millennia, of Jewish presence of the
Iberian peninsula has infused the modern
population of Spain and Portugal, (and, by
extension, all of Latin America) with at least a
residue of Jewish genealogy, then what to
make of the tribes and clans of Africa who
have interacted with their neighboring Jews
over the same period? It sort of makes you
wonder what the inherited genealogical and
cultural impact might be on modern South
African figures like Nelson Mandela and
Jacob Zuma.

So if the presence of Jewish ancestry and
cultural authenticity is undisputed in
territories to the north and to the south of
Barack Obama’s ancestral tribal home of
Kenya, how could it be possible that that
territory would be unaffected by Jewish
traders and explorers over the centuries? Not
possible.

Nevertheless, when I scoured the Internet for
evidence of Jewish exploration or settlement
in Kenya, no results came up. What I did find,
however, were a couple of web sites run by
American Jewish rabbis who have
established ministries to provide support to
the African Jewish diaspora. I emailed these
rabbis, recounting my theory that Barack
Obama, because of his extraordinary
personal and scholarly qualities, might
conceivably be the beneficiary of some
aspect of Jewish heritage, no matter how
remote. Did they have any proof that Jews
had ever inhabited the region of modern
Kenya, I inquired.

To which inquiries I received no response
whatsoever, not even a polite note saying
they didn’t know. Nothing, I got.
Now this may be due to the fact that I referred
them to my web site, www.200motels.net,
which, with its graphic portrayals of French
women performing nasty tricks with mobile
phones and headlines like “Jaws Eats Jews”,
not to mention a lyric opera of Sen. Larry
Craig singing an ode of love to Rep. Barney
Frank in the men’s room of the Minneapolis
Airport, is not exactly calculated to charm the
beard off a man of the cloth. It’s quite likely
that they didn’t want to be associated with
me in any way, shape or form.

If that’s not enough, my deceased uncle, who
shared not a few common characteristics
with me, once wrote a book recounting a
mythical visit to Africa wherein he ended up
being chased around on numerous instances
by naked African amazons clad only in leather
vests and brandishing whips, not exactly the
thing to enchant the earnest africanophile,
one might discern. Like uncle like nephew, I
suppose. I guess the rotten apple does not
drop too far from the tree after all.

On the other hand, maybe, in my delirious
fantasies, I have hit on something that some
responsible authorities might wish to keep
concealed deep from the light of day. What if
Barack Obama really is Jewish? That would
surely throw a monkey wrench in U.S. foreign
policy. Imagine the Arab reaction to
discovering President Barack Hussein
Obama to be a stealth Jew? Another
treacherous CIA plot! Boy, would that blow
up the peace process!

I’m betting that Obama has got enough
Jewish blood in him to get elected president
of Israel. But so has French president
Nicholas Sarkozy and the whole Spanish
nation. So what? Remember, the poet
Alexander Pushkin, who is the most revered
writer in Russian literature, was also the
descendent of Ossip Petrovich Gannibal, an
Ethopian black who was brought to Russia
as a slave and rose to become a general in
the Russian army. But that’s another story.