Obama: The Man Who Would Be King
It’s time to face reality and declare Barry the Emperor Hussein.


A couple of you wingnuts have been floating an idea lately that, mirabile dictu, actually makes a lot of sense. No, I’m not talking about running Michele “The Battle of Lexington and Concord, N.H.” Bachmann for president; that member of the House Intelligence Committee has enough on her plate right now, including elementary history and geography, without having to worry about the other 56 states.

Rather, I’m talking about the movement afoot to make our beloved bonze, Barry, a.k.a. His Serene Majesty the Emperor Barack Hussein Obama II, Lord of the Flies, Keeper of the Hoops, Master of the Greens, and Protector of the Holy Cities of Honolulu and Chicago, into a, you know, honest-to-Gaia emperor. I mean, here we’ve been talking about finding common ground since the election of 2008, and now we just may have stumbled upon the solution to our contentious national dialogue.

You perhaps may have noticed that the former Mr. Barry Soetoro already has lots of different names and titles, so why not make it official and add the one toward which he has striven all his charmed, magical life? You’d think that Barry, Barry Obama, Barry Soetoro, the Punahou Kid, Barack Obama Jr., Barack Hussein Obama, Barack Hussein Obama II, State Senator Barack Obama, Senator Barack Hussein Obama, President Barack Hussein Obama, Nobel Peace Prize winner Barack Hussein Obama, and the First Black President would be enough for anybody, but the one thing we men of the Left love about Mr. Multiple Handles is his unceasing, restless, relentless quest for his next résumé topper.

After POTUS, of course, there’s really nowhere else to go, unless you count Ban Ki-moon’s job over at the U.N., and I have it on good authority that the other First Black President, Billy Jeff Blythe III, has dibs on that one. Since Billy III’s one up on Hussein II in the Roman-numeral department, it’s probably his for the asking. And the Chinese gig is already taken.

My first thought was that we should offer Barry the vacant throne of his native Hawaiian Islands. Sure, he’d have to put on three or four hundred pounds to fit the royal robes of King Kamehameha, but even Barry might blanch at the thought of adding King Kam’s full moniker to his roster of names: Kalani Paiea Wohi o Kaleikini Kealiikui Kamehameha o Iolani i Kaiwikapu kaui Ka Liholiho Kūnuiākea, the Second. Still, Michelle would have a real shot of slipping into Queen Kapiolani’s muumuu collection and making it her own, especially after a few more meals of short ribs in Vail, the calorie count of which is only slightly offset by her incessant finger-wagging at the rest of us.

I’ve never read that Barry can cook, so Top Chef is probably out. Since he’s never shown the slightest inclination for hard work, president of Paramount Pictures is equally unlikely, or of any of the other Hollywood studios, where you actually have to do the job and show results or get fired. And if there’s one thing, among many, that Barry has never done, it’s get fired. Like all good confidence men, his strategy has always been to seek the next higher office before the voters decide his services are no longer required.

Speaking of Hollywood, “Tammany” Chris Dodd (D., Countrywide) managed to retire unindicted and has just scooped up the chairmanship of the Motion Picture Association of America, so there goes a perfectly good layabout lobbying gig. Maybe Obama could appoint Dodd ambassador to Ireland, so Mr. Ethics can spend more time at his house in Galway, but that would require Obama’s looking down the road to electoral defeat in 2012, and we don’t want to go there just yet.

Still, there’s got to be a pot of gold at the end of this rainbow coalition somewhere, and that’s what I’m here to propose.