Does BleachBit work on the mind? Please tell me it does. I made the mistake of watching the video from 2008 of Barack Obama parading his stiffie in front of the press pool aboard his campaign plane. And I kinda wish I could unsee it.
It certainly does give a whole new meaning to the term fundamental transformation.
Why did I watch it? I don’t know. Why do people slow down at car accidents?
To be honest, I only caught a fleeting glimpse of, you know, Little Barry.
And that’s despite the fact that Barack seemed to be doing everything possible to highlight it. He lifts his leg up and props his foot on a seat seemingly to accentuate the bulge his stiffie made in his pants.
To quote Cordelia Chase from Angel, “There’s not enough yuck in the world.”
The giggling gaggle of girl reporters seemed quite delighted and impressed at the sight.
But consider the source.
Given how the press tended to over-inflate everything about Obama back in 2008, I’m guessing his stiffie wasn’t nearly as impressive as they let on.
Nonetheless, it does put some rumors to rest.
For example, he has boy parts. Who knew? After all these years, I wasn’t certain.
If only he was able to get a rise out of economy the same way, we wouldn’t be in the mess we’re in.
It’s probably good that Chris Matthews wasn’t on that plane. That thrill running up his leg would have been accompanied by something else running down.
Sorry. Was that too much?
Although, knowing Chris, he’s probably responsible for at least three quarters of the views that this video has received in the last 24 hours.
Anybody else wonder who was on the other end of that phone call Obama was making?
I sure am.
Something tells me it wasn’t Michelle.
Michelle seems less a stiffie-maker and more a stiffie-suppressor. Like saltpeter with perfectly manicured nails.
Maybe it’s me, but I found the sight of Obama showing off his stiffie far more disconcerting than Trump’s vulgar locker room talk.
Trump’s words have quickly evaporated from my memory. Whereas Obama proudly parading his privates to a plane full of squealing reporters will be stuck in my head for the rest of my life. If Lupus could find a way to attack that particular part of my brain, I’d be eternally grateful.
No. I’m not posting the video. If you haven’t seen it, consider yourself lucky.
Do yourself a favor and skip it. There’s no sense in all of us being tormented by the creepy visual of peek-a-boo Barry.
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