Che nodded in agreement. “Our lack of faith in him is threatening the legacy of the New Deal.” I nudged Ginger to notice the framed portrait of FDR over the faux-fireplace, flanked by votive candles — the Kahane family’s very own version of the Eternal Flame. “Social Security, the National Recovery Administration, Manzanar, the last section of Footlight Parade . . . ”
“ . . . with Cagney and Keeler,” sighed Uncle Joe. “Now those were some hoofers. Not to mention the Great Society — Medicare, Medicaid, free love . . . ”
“ . . . don’t forget the free clinics. Think of how many kids I would have had without them . . . ”
“When you’ve got your health care, you’ve got everything,” said Uncle Joe, nodding his head in self-satisfaction.
“But we’re letting the president down, which is threatening our most fundamental values as a caring, compassionate, and tolerant nation.”
“So tolerant that it tolerates people like us,” said Uncle Joe.
“Who only want to tear this rotten country down and start all over again. That’s what Adorno told me.”
“You mean Horkheimer.”
“I mean Marcuse.”
“Whatever. Anyway, who could possibly object to that?”
“Only a fascist or a Republican. But Barry’s still blowing it.”
“That’s because he’s not feeling the love, like I said,” said Uncle Joe.
I knew we were in for an endless feedback loop of sibling wrangling, so I took Ginger by the arm and showed her Che’s complete collection of the Daily Worker, all Pete Seeger’s records, and half a dozen books conclusively proving the innocence of the Rosenbergs.
She whistled in admiration — the “Internationale.” And you wonder why I’m crazy about her.
The evening ended with a couple of bottles of Slivovitz and Ginger’s famous imitation of the Cecily the Librarian scene from Tom Stoppard’s Travesties. Still, on the way home, my dad’s words kept echoing in the caverns of my mind. Why not just dissolve the People and elect another?
It’s not as hard as it might seem. Taking time out from her busy chicken business, the governor of North Carolina, Bev Perdue, had the right idea the other day: All we would have to do is suspend elections for a reasonable length of time — say, 30 or 40 years, to allow BO2 to fully implement his vision for Amerikkka. And after that, well, we really wouldn’t need elections any more, would we? Problem solved!
Think of how much easier this messy thing we call “democracy” would be. No longer would Barry need to ram his noble programs through an obstructionist Congress. No longer would he be impeded by crass considerations like $62 trillion in unfunded social-program liabilities — for what is money when human beings are in need? And as for Limbaugh, he’ll be picking up roadside trash in an orange jumpsuit by the time we get finished with him, because we got your First Amendment right here.
And all it’s really going to take is one . . . billion . . . dollars. That’s how much BHO II is aiming to raise for the ultimate sequel, Hope and Change II: This Time, It’s Personal. A mere billion bucks and, of course, a whole lotta love from the likes of us, even when we’re stuck in traffic for days here in Los Angeles while Barry goes about the people’s business of fundraising.
Hussein has never been denied anything his entire life, his glide path from Punahou to the sheep-dip years at Occidental to the friendless years at Columbia, to the sleep-late years at Harvard Law, to the “present” years in the Illinois state senate, to the blink-and-you-missed-them years in the U.S. Senate, and now to the White House.
So who are we to deny it to him now? More specifically, who are you? Because we’re watching you, buddy.
— David Kahane is sure he’ll be feelin’ the love once His Serene Majesty begins his second reign in 2013. Until then, you can write to him with offers at email@example.com or become his BFF on Facebook. As Rules for Radical Conservativesproves, he will write for love, but he’d rather write for food.