Twenty-Nine Hours?! I’d rather be waterboarded
The man who will not go away has released his fourth (or is it fifth?) autobiography, and apparently it’s only Part One (or Part Five?). Now, here’s the kicker. The audio version of his latest navel-gazing, self-congratulatory tome is narrated by him. Shocker I know.
Guess how long it is?
Twenty-nine hours.
Yup. You read that right. Barack Obama’s audio version of “A Promised Land” is twenty-nine hours long.
Twenty-nine hours and nine minutes to be more precise.
I don’t know about you, but I’d rather be waterboarded than subjected to twenty-nine hours and nine minutes of Obama reading his own turgid words. I could barely endure listening to this clown when he did his weekly addresses, and they only lasted ten or fifteen minutes.
I’d rather suffer through twenty-nine hours of Nancy Pelosi reading the ingredients of her expensive ice cream while smacking her lips and stammering.
Sure, Jack Bauer had to go a full twenty-four hours dodging bullets and stopping terrorists without the breaks necessary for eating, sleeping, showering or taking a crap. But I’d still prefer that to Barack Obama droning on about himself for twenty-nine hours.
Friends, find someone who finds you as fascinating as Barack Obama finds Barack Obama.
Given Barack’s habit of having his autobiographies penned by others, it wouldn’t surprise me in the least if recording the audio book was the first time he ever read the damn thing.
Whatever happened to the old adage “always leave them wanting more?”
I’m guessing after hour twenty-nine none but the most ardent Obama fans will be clamoring for even a single minute of Part Two (or Part Six?) of his ode to himself.
But as P.T. Barnum said, “there’s a sucker born every minute.” Or, in this case “there’s a masochist born every minute.” And there will be plenty of masochists downloading this self-absorbed, self-read Song of O and listening to every painful minute.
Though, since most of them live in deep blue states that are once again locking down, they’ll have plenty of time on their hands to suffer through it.
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I have some socks to darn. Sorry
Remember how every time he came out with a speech promoting Obamacare people liked it even less? This turd lacks even the rudimentary self-awareness to know that his fifteen minutes are up and its time to go back to the villa on Martha’s Vineyard and count his ill-gotten gains.
Obama is a class A narcissist.
If Ego was a planet, he would be the Sun.
“If Obama had a sun…”
/someone had to…
I expect we’re going to see an enormous spike in suicides really soon. I wonder how many s’es (?) are in there for him to lisp through.
I would rather watch Joy Behar do a striptease than suffer through one minute of Bathhouse Barry’s stilted prose, read in that peachy condescending monotone; self-centered congratulatory verbiage spilling out of that yap before he takes a break to try and fluff himself.
Preachy… f’ing autocorrect strikes again
So that’s what he’s been doing for 4 years.
(Well, I mean…besides all the spygate stuff.)
I guess folks like me will have to watch all the other folks fawn over this gangly, creepy know-it-all again referring to us as ‘folks.’
Listen to Obama…or get locked in the trunk of a car with a rabid wolverine? Hmmmm….
I wonder… if they edited out all the stammering and pauses for which he is so infamous? Might be less than half as long.
The on/off button on the van’s radio is still broken after I hammered it ‘off’ too hard when Obummer’s voice came on. Hillari’s voice likewise triggered me. Poor car radio, it was never the same.
Listening to O’blahblah speak, especially off teleprompter, occupies the same torture level as having a meticulous, and sadistic, old oriental woman slowly shove bamboo shoots under your fingernails. To my ears, Charlie Brown’s teacher expresses herself better, and makes much more sense. O’bummer probably worked himself up for each narration session by engaging in a strenuous workout with his 2.5 lb. dumbbells (appropriate equipment) in front of “the mirror”, with himself as the coach, of course. It is rumored that he has a commissioned painting of Narcissus gazing into the pool, seeing not his own reflection, but an image of the chosen one. Unfortunately, the pool was not large enough to display the entirety of his ears. This illegitimate, America-hating, incompetent buffoon is so full of himself it is astounding he doesn’t explode with several megatons of force. To correct Big Mike’s quote, in 2008, for the first time in my adult life, I was ashamed of my country (slick Willie and the peanut farmer notwithstanding).
I’d rather be waterboarded for the whole 29 hours
I heard that his mom was Caucasian and after his African father jumped ship he was raised by and schooled by all Caucasians. Whassup with him being the FIRST BLACK PRESIDENT? Clarence Thomas is Black – not the stupid barry obama. I don’t get it. And now Kamala is, God forbid, going to be the FIRST BLACK FEMALE VP? Whassup wit dat? Leftists remind me of a great book title: “Hello, He Lied”