The Idiossey

The Not-Really-That-Epic Poem of Obamacles

Revised and Updated

(with Apologies to Homer)

Book the First: A question for the Muse

Speak to me, O Muse, of this resourceful man

who strides so boldly upon the golden shrine of Potomac,

Between Ionic plywood columns, to the kleig light altar.

Fair Obamacles, favored of the gods, ascends to Olympus

Amidst lusty tributes and the strumming lyres of Media;

Their mounted skyboxes echo with the singing of his name

While Olbermos and Mattheus in their greasy togas wrassle

For first honor of basking in their hero’s reflected glory.

Who is this man, so bronzed in countenance,

So skilled of TelePrompter, clean and articulate

whose ears like a stately urn’s protrude?

So now, daughter of Zeus, tell us his story.

And just the Cliff Notes if you don’t mind,

We don’t have all day.

Said the Muse:

I will tell the story of Obamacles through my scribe Iowahawk.

But this poem is copyrighted, so reproduce at your peril.

Book the Second: Obamacles Meets the Oracle of Doritos

From the land of Kenya beyond Nile, came Obamacles the Elder

To the grad school at Oahu, where Ann of Kansas bore him a son.

It would prove to be a hassle, thus he left his baby’s mama,

who then won favor with Soertoro, who brought them to his far-off island nest.

Young Obamacles was growing, and they shipped him back to Gramma,

And the prep school on Oahu. There he trained and studied boldly,

Drinking beer and smoking weed: Maui Wowie, paca lolo, sensimilla,

blunts and chiva, Thai and chronic, just enough to hone his mellow,

in the back of Kyle’s TransAm, a line or two of coke on weekends.

In his mellow young Obamacles beheld a vision in the salty snacks at Safeway;

There the Oracle of Doritos bade him:

“Travel the seas to the East, fair Obamacles, for this is where your fortune lies.

But beware, that way bodes peril if thou are not pure of image and smooth of delivery.

Seek first the masters of Occidental College, who will train you in the philosophers of Po-Mo.”

Replied young Obamacles,

“Accidental college heh heh heh heh Accidental moxidental taxidental heh heh,”

And Kyle is like,

“Dude you’re totally talking to the Doritos. That is totally bonus.”

Book the Third: Obamacles dazzles the masters at the Agora

After Obamacles had completed the perilous sea voyage to LAX and retrieved his bag from the carousel,

He entered the agora of Occidental, where wily Obamacles dazzled the masters with recitations:

Fanon, Menchu, Zinn and Chomsky, Saul Alinsky, Eldridge Cleaver, Kurtis Blow.

After two years his masters said,

“fair Obamacles, we can teach you no more, for your bullshit has surpassed even ours.

Hie thee now to the Isle of Manhattus, where in the agora at Columbius

you may study a bullshit so deep and complex and angry it is beyond our philosophies.”

Yet bold Obamacles was equal to the challenge. “Give us your thesis,” said the masters at Columbius,

and Obamacles conjured a mighty paper on Soviet disarmament, double-spaced and expertly margined.

Its beauty was such that the masters wept, and laid a baccalaureate wreath upon him;

But the masters ordered the beautiful thesis destroyed that so no mortal would again read it.

Then one day at the Duane Reade on West 123rd, the Oracle of Doritos appeared to him again:

“You have passed your first test, brave Obamacles, but the peril is yet beginning.

For now you must travel west to Chicago, the dreaded Isle of Monsters;

And become yourself a community organizer.”

To which Obamacles replied, “I really should cut down on the ganja.”

Book the Fourth: Obamacles meets the Jeremiad of Chicago

When Obamacles reached the shores of Chicago, he saw no monsters;

Yet its bone-strewn sands announced a land of many unseen dangers.

And though he be clever, Obamacles did not understand his task,

set before him by the Oracle; perhaps it was a riddle?

“Community organizer?” he wondered, “What the fuck is that?”

And yet he pushed from house to house, offering to organize the people,

But lo, the Southside people shunned him, slamming doors and mocking sad Obamacles.

“O people of Chicago, why do you shun me so?” he lamented.

“I have a bachelor’s degree and I am here to organize you.”

And then Obamacles heard from behind a voice of such fury and anger

that he was frozen in fear for the very first time.

It was the Jeremiad, the fire-breathing Monster of the Pulpit, who roared:

“You stupid ass foo, it because you white!”

Now, it was known to Obamacles that the Jeremiad had forbade white men from the Southside.

What Obamacles did not know is that the Jeremiad also decided who was a white man.

Although his own hue was darker still than the Jeremiad, he was too clever to argue with the Monster;

Instead he said:

“You are right, fearsome Jeremiad; I am sadly white. And only your magic, my lord,

can relieve me of my accursed paleness. Cure me, that I may join with the sun people.”

The Jeremiad was astonished by the boldness of Obamacles and his clever flattery. He said:

“You have much bravery for a white man, Obamacles. But to become an authentic brother,

you must prove your worthiness in the torments of the pews.”

Hour after hour, Sunday after Sunday, year after year, Obamacles stood before Jeremiad

And the other monsters of the pulpit, Phlegeron and Mekus, withstanding their bellows of fire,

Never blinking or flinching, and seldom falling asleep.

the Jeremiad was pleased and and absolved Obamacles of his whiteness,

and allowing him to finally organize the community.

Which turned out to be a system for getting money for the Jeremiad.

One day at the Co-op in Hyde Park the Oracle appeared again to Obamacles from an end-aisle display:

“You have done well, young wayfarer, but further torments lurk in thy destiny.

Prepare at Kaplan for thy LSATs, for the abyss of uselessness at Harvard Law awaits.

And then must you return to Chicago to conquer the legion of monsters.”

Book the Fifth: Obamacles and Victimia

Having withstood the scorching blasts of the monster Jeremiad at Chicago,

Harvard Law proved no challenge for our hero; he was named beloved of the faculty,

For at the Isle of Harvard they eat that “community organizer” shit right up.

He returned to the Isle of Chicago with his magic Harvard talisman,

Small of heft but able to open any door.

Here he met Victimia, a long and lanky beauty, whose siren songs of woe bewitched;

They were wed in the screaming gardens of Jeremiad.

“O Victimia,” he sang, “if I could but bottle thy sob stories, the world would be ours.”

“Yes, Obamacles beloved,” replied she, “but first let me help you conquer Chicago.”

The monsters of Chicago were helpless against the duet’s laments and dirges;

Like a moth to a flame they proved irresistible, and the strange mutant beasts

of this Isle of the Damned soon were transfixed by their enchantments:

Ayres, the decrepit conjurer of fireballs;

his wife Doron, worshipper of murderers;

Rezko, Philistine Lord of the Pits of Slumos;

Giannoulis, Bagman of the Mafios;

Blago, Governor of the Underworld of Illinus,

And all of the monsters of the Pulpit from Jeremiad to Pherekon.

Obamacles had conquered all of the Chicagomon, even Daleos the little retard king,

Without once unsheathing his sword; such was his charm.

The monsters realized Obamacles was the perfect front man for federal funding scams,

And thus showered our hero with tributes and contributions,

Elevating him to Vicelord of the Chicagomon.

Thus exalted did Obamacles train his gaze on the mounts of Tribune and Suntimus,

and WGN and WLS and NBC 5, whose anchors splooged in simultaneous ecstasy

At his gleaming incisors and crossover appeal. Together they swore

their undying liege and to crush all obstacles in his path.

By acclamation he was sent as Chicago’s emissary to Senatus.

Book the Sixth: The Rage of Hildusa

In Senatus, Obamacles laid beside the reflecting pool while a coterie of Media fed him grapes.

Again the Oracle appeared to him, this time in the form of a bowl of arugula; it said,

“You have done well, hale Obamacles, but your torments are not yet complete.

The toughest test of all awaits, and may the gods have mercy on your soul.”

“Do your worst, arugula,” he laughed, “for I am Obamacles,

Lord of Illinus, who single handedly conquered the LSATs

and disarmed the Chicagomon. What task would you possibly fear me with?”

“You are to led the Demos back to the White Temple, by vanquishing Hildusa.”

At the sound of Hildusa’s name even brave Obamacles was driven to wet his toga,

For Hildusa, cuckolder of Bubba, was the mightiest of all the gorgons.

From her head grew a writhing nest of asps, and the mere sight of her cankles

Would turn a man to stone. Some said she came from Lesbos

But others said her only pleasure was torment and sucking the marrow from her victim’s bones.

Around her at all times was a phalanx guard of mincing eunuchs,

led by Ickis, Wolfsonis, Blumenthalis and Pennis. At her side, an angry force

of menopausal PUMAs ready to strike on her command — for the children.

But Obamacles was only momentarily dissuaded from his task,

for he knew the people of Demos longed to return to the White Temple,

where they had been banished by the idiot emperor Chimpos II.

Although the Demos knew that Chimpos was the stupidest person in the world,

and they were the smartest, they had somehow been unable to defeat him.

Obamacles seized his opportunity. On the Isle of Demos, and said:

“Citizens of Demos, I am Obamacles of Illinus. I will lead you

from the wilderness back to the White Temple.”

Dispite his gleaming smile the agora laughed at the stranger’s folly.

“Fool, our leader is Hildusa,” they mocked. “What chance stands a handsome

newcomer like you against the mightiest of the gorgons?”

“For one, I will conjure our Spartans back from Babylonia,” said Obamacles.

“Hilldusa voted with Chimpos. I say it is time to begin the war to end this war.”

The words of Obamacles created a murmur in the agora, for on Demos the people

wished the Spartans home from war, to face trial for war crimes or be caged as madmen

Like in the many tragedies at the Demos Odeon Octoplex.

“We are with you, Obamacles,” came the shout of a man, who was turned to marble

and struck by lightning before his words could be completed. Obamacles had stoked

the terrible rath of the gorgon Hildusa, and the battle was joined.

Book the Seventh: The Battle for Demos

All the torments suffered by Obamacles had steeled him for this epic test.

The cliffs of Demos resounded with the approaching screeches of Hildusa

And her army of soul-eating Morpheons, spinning and faxing and conjuring position papers.

But Obamacles was unmoved, and with his right hand summoned

the Subterranean Creepos of the Nutroots to do his bidding,

Kos and Ariana and Demos Underground.

Hildusa was enraged for she thought them allies, and shot them the stink-eye.

“Destroy Obamacles!” she bellowed at her Eunuchs,

But they were retards and got busted for DUI on the chariot ride over.

Then Obamacles shot the arrow of Iowa across abyss of Dukakis,

striking Hildusa true in her cankles, no more to freeze men to stone,

And all of Demos roared approval.

“Citizens of Demos,” screamed the hobbled gorgon, “fair Obamacles is not what he appears!

Look, behind him! A phalanx of Chicagomon, the demons from the pits of Illinus!”

When the Demos people saw the Chicagomon they shrugged,

but Obamacles was taking no chances for the general battle;

He had no more further use for the Chicagomon and thus he summoned

Underbus, the destroyer of memes. One by one he disposed them,

The Jeremiad and Phlegeron and Ayres, all sacrificed to Underbus.

When Hildusa saw this her eyes boiled with rage,

and she summoned her Amazon Pumas

But they were too fat and old and employed

to battle the snarky college assholes in official Obamacles tunics.

At last Hildusa summoned Bubba, who in principle was her husband.

Though the mightiest god of Demos, he trembled before her gaze;

For once she saved his sacred bacon, but yet had him castrated and banished.

“Destroy! Destroy! Destoy!” she bellowed, handing Bubba sharpened talking points,

But Obamacles would not yield, and from beneath his tunic

withdrew his razor-sharpened race card, filleting Bubba into tiny pieces.

The crowd at Demos was breathless, hardly believing their eyes.

And then winged Media lifted Obamacles across the abyss to where Hildusa

lay supine and helpless, and, grabbing her by the asps,

took one more mighty swing with his race card,

and held her severed head before the cheering crowd.

All of Demos sang in praise, even the severed head of Hildusa

as he paraded it around the stage at Invescos

and banked it off the glass for three points.

But yet, as he exited the stage amid the cries of the rapture,

The Doritos called once more from the Table of Catering:

“Beware, fair Hero, for one last task awaits thee.”

Book the Eighth: The Contest of November

“Who dares challenge me now?” asked Obamacles. “For I am Obacles,

vanquisher of Hildusa, of whom all of Demos sing;

Make him the mightiest, so that I might find him worthy.”

“Your foe will be the grizzled warrior Crustius,” said the Doritos,

As Obamacles laughed in disbelief; for though brave Crustius

had once proved great valor in the tragic war of Namos,

He had grown old and addled sailing the Sea of Maverikus.

In years a full score he sailed, seeking the fabled Microphone of Media,

Only to crash on its shoals, lured to doom by the flattery of the Sirens.

“Be not hasty in thy hubris, Obamacles,” warned the Doritos.

“Although he is old and stranded and beset by mutineers,

grizzled Crustius is far craftier than in your imaginings.”

True to the prophesy of the Doritos, wily Crustius had a secret trick up his toga.

From his rock-strewn shipwreck he summoned Palina, huntress of Wasilla,

Whose fertile loins had many odd-named children bore,

Bristol and Trig, Dakota and Algebra, Calculus and Physed,

And yet she retained the visage and figure of a goddess.

Palina emerged from the sea, springing fully formed from a clamshell,

Brandishing the spear that had slain a thousand antlered beasts.

Once mutinous, the Crustonauts were instantly heartened,

For now they and sensed a chance at victory.

Although his pollsters warned of danger, Obamacles was stalwart

For he knew just how he got here. “Attack,” he beckoned very calmly,

And from across the land of Soros, a thousand score of demons answered;

HuffPo nutjobs, New York Kronos, the shrieking hags of talk TV,

Couric, Fey, Oprah, Behar, the hermaphrodites of NBC.

Palina was undaunted by the minions and thus she battled gamely on.

But at last she was attacked by Crustius himself;

For so addled and contrary was the wizened sailor

That he had forgotten which side he was on.

Vanquished Palina returned to Wasilla to fight another day,

While Crustius sails again, forever seeking the elusive Sirens of Media.

Book the Ninth: Obamacles Ascends to Olympus

Now behold him, brave Obamacles,

Who strides triumphant down Pennsylvania Avenue,

With Victimia at his side in a gown of golden brocade,

Hewn from the finest hotel draperies.

Behold his ascent to the marble dais to swear his oath,

Which Justice Roberts flubs; so dazzled is he

by our hero’s pure magnificence.

And behold the crowd whose number has grown to a million,

Mocking limping Chimpos as he flees to Brazos exile,

Tossing their sandals at his edifice, only to stop to hail the conquering hero.

“All hail Obamacles!” they cry, “Master of Bullshit,

Vicelord of the Chicagomon, Slayer of Hildusa,

Vanquisher of Palina. You are our new and shiny hope,

a true god amongst mortals.”

And yet once more the Oracle appears to Obamacles,

At the Inauguration Bacchanal, brought to you by Doritos.

“What now?” said Obamacles, irked at Oracle’s salty impertinence

and the interruption of his famous pop ‘n’ lock. “For I have conquered

all, and there is no challenger left in all the Beltway.”

The Oracle spoke out from the depths of the guacamole:

“I bid thee welcome to the White House

where your true test now begins:

Markets deaf to happy buzzwords

Blind to Shepard Fairey’s art,

Heeding laws of economics,

Not the wishful laws of man;

A world of of evil filled with monsters,

who are unmoved by flowery talk,

Invulnerable to race cards

or leftwing blogger insults,

Who Hope for Change in megatons.

Do not despair! For look before you,

The noble army who brought you here:

Thespians and hiphop moguls,

Graphic artists, hipster twats,

The academic scribes of Athens,

basic cable sycophants.

These are the arrows in your quiver,

for the coming epic tests;

Use them well, but first remember:

They’re waiting on those magic tricks.

Good luck with that, well-spoken hero,

I think I’ll grab a snack and watch.”

Obamacles look out onto his drooling throngs, and wept;

for then he realized then may be things even gods can’t do.

Is this man hewn from Olympus,

Sent by Zeus to save our souls?

Or a plastic dashboard Jesus

In a car he can’t control?

Will this Adonis save the planet?

Or is he fleecing golden sheep?

Ask another Muse tomorrow,

Hell if I know, it’s all Greek to me.

Burma Shave