Honestly, Obama's Lying



Carrie Prejean, Miss California

“So, what do you make of this whole Miss California thing?”

“Buncha hysterical queens.”

I’m having lunch with a well known film producer, a lever-pulling Democrat. We’ve known each other for over 20-years and in spite of our political differences we are close friends. My buddy has a cutting edge sense of humor that verges on the cynical, but I can always count on him for a dose of unvarnished truth.

“I’m not talking about the lunatics, or the frontal attack on Prejean. I’m talking about the disconnect, I mean these are all people who support Obama, right?”

“Definitely.”

“But Obama’s on record as being against same sex marriage because he’s a Christian.”

The producer motions to the waitress, orders a Perrier. As she goes to fetch his order, he fixes his eyes on her swaying hips.

“Cute. I love waitresses. They’re all out of work actresses. Totally desperate.”

“She’s old enough to be your daughter.”

“I’m deprived.”

“Depraved.”

“Hey, we’re all not married to Karen. Speaking of which, when do I get to come over for another Sabbath meal. Karen’s food is like…”

Shavuos, okay?”

“Which one is that?”

“When G-d gave us the Torah.”

“Heston on the mountain. Maybe you should do a remake.”

“Pass-adena.”

“Anyways: some of us were married to f*****g Lady Macbeth.”

I dig into lunch as my friend launches into a feverish monologue detailing his ex’s endless flaws and unforgivable sins. I have heard this maybe a dozen times and with each telling the former Mrs. gets worse and worse. It must be exhausting to feel contempt for someone you once loved.

The waitress returns with a cold bottle of Perrier and my friend smoothly draws her into conversation.

Oh, wait, it’s called flirting.

The waitress is obviously an experienced hand with frisky producers. She manages to charm my buddy, let him know that yes, she’s an actress, but no, she’s not going to have a drink with him to, ahem, discuss her career because:

“The boyfriend would definitely object.”

My friend goes: “Don’t tell him.”

Waitress chuckles like Gloria Grahame in The Bad and the Beautiful: “Naughty you.”

And she’s off to the next table, the next predatory executive.

“Awesome,” my friend sighs.

Miss America contestants, 1921. I'm pretty sure there were no questions about gay mariage at this pageant.
Miss America contestants, 1921. I’m pretty sure there were no questions about gay marriage at this pageant.

“Obama. Gay marriage?”

“Robert, don’t be so naive. We all know Obama’s lying through his teeth.”

“About gay marriage?”

“That and being,” he claws quote marks in the air, “a good Christian. Listen, Obama’s a Christian like I’m a Hasid.”

I am floored.

“You’re saying that Democrats assume Obama is lying for political expediency?”

“To get elected, sure. Hey, welcome to the real world.”

I take a deep breath.

“So Cary Prejean is a big fat target–“

“Not fat, my friend, did you see that slamming body?”

“Okay, so she’s a slamming beautiful target because she’s a genuine Christian and sincerely opposes gay marriage whereas Obama gets a pass because, you assume, he’s a liar and an opportunist.”

“You got it.”

“This is okay with you?”

“He got elected didn’t he, not like your self-destructive McCain.”

No argument.

I’m like: “It’s not right.”

My friend goes: “Hey, you should be used to it, you know the old Hollywood story.”

“What’s that?”

My friend quotes the shortest, truest Hollywood joke on record:

“Good morning, he lied.”

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