Diary

Obama Raffles Dinner with Himself; an Annotated Email

CAPTAIN COCKY’S CREEPY EMAIL: ‘SOMETIME SOON, CAN WE MEET FOR DINNER?’ 

Following the Obama Regime’s brilliant decision to launch AttackWatch.com – which has quickly become the laughingstock of Washington – the gang that couldn’t shoot straight has come up with another humdinger: The “Dinner with Captain Cocky” raffle.

That’s obviously not what this Obamagasm is being called, but by the sound of Captain Cocky’s email, it might as well be. With comments like “Sometime soon, can we meet for dinner?” and “Maybe I’ll get to thank you in person,” I thought I was reading a note from The Bachelor to one of the love-struck, hopeful bachelorettes.

As a service to wishful Obamanites, who would give up their Prii (yep, that’s how Toyota spells the plural of “Prius.”) for a magical dinner date with their television idol, I decided to post a CliffsNotes version of his dreamy email – with annotations of course:

Friend, (I hope you’re one of the few I haven’t pissed off with my hypocrisy, lies and bullcrap campaign promises)

Supporters like you are the reason I’m here, and the values we share have always made our organization more than just a political campaign. (Blind, pathetic Kool Aid drinkers like you are the only reason I’m hanging on by a thread; our stubborn commitment to socialism is more important than America itself.)

So whenever I can, I want to take the opportunity to meet you. Last month, that meant I got to…sit down with a group of volunteers from around the country who helped build this campaign. (So whenever I can, I want patronize you, and say whatever is necessary to make sure you keep pouring the Kool Aid down your socialist lemming throat. Last month, I brought in a bunch sycophants from around the country who helped put together another bunch of catchy campaign slogans and hollow promises that I have no intention of honoring this time either.)

Today, I want to ask if you’ll join me and three other supporters for a meal and conversation sometime soon. (Today, I need you to send me as much money as I can swindle out of you, which will give you a chance – along with three other Kool Aid drinkers – to experience the greatest moment of your life: Dinner with the Big O – the Gipper, as I like to arrogantly call myself – where I will brag about my accomplishments and tell you how awesome I am – for three solid hours.)

No matter what our opponents do over the next 14 months, dinners like these are how we will continue to put people at the heart of this campaign — and prove that we don’t need checks from Washington lobbyists or special-interest PAC money to win an election.(Whether my idiotic enemy takes matching funds or not, dinners like these are an important part of my strategy in appearing to actually give a rat’s ass what you think – and if things work out like they did in 2008, I’ll be able to reneg on my promise to take matching funds again- and raise a hell of a lot more money through private contributions than the stupid Republican who runs against me will receive by having honored his naive “promise.”)

That’s why I’m asking for your donation today. I hope you’ll take a minute to help build this campaign. When you do, you’ll have a chance to join me for dinner. (That’s why I have the balls to send you this email; I’m really getting desperate, and I hope I’ve snowed you sufficiently to cause you to go get your checkbook right now, and send me the largest check you possibly can. (Lines of credit work as well – if you’re penniless and livin’ on the Big O’s ridiculous promise of “hope and change,” you fool. If you send me your money – or credit card authorization, you’ll have slightly more than a snowball’s chance in hell of having the greatest experience of your life – a little sliver of Barack heaven – dinner and conversation with the man of your dreams – even if you’re a man as well.)

Maybe I’ll get to thank you in person. (Of course I won’t get back to you in person, but I’ll definitely let you fawn all over me if you’re fortunate enough to win this arrogant laughingstock of a raffle.)

Barack (Love, “B”)

Good luck, Obamanites; call the bank and up those credit lines!