Tag Archives: Barack Obama

My 100th Post! Century Mark: ATTAINED!

7 Oct

When I saw that this would be my 100th post, I was excited and a bit daunted. I really wanted to do something special for the 100th post, but I had no idea what. After a while I decided that first, no matter what I route I took with the entry, I’d start with a special thank you to my friend Jules Litke, who talked me into starting a blog in the first place. Although she once described the blog as “like an episode of the Simpsons–the end addressing an impossibly different subject than the beginning,” there was still an obvious support. Thanks, Jules.

I’d also like to thank Dr. JP Internet–inventor of the internet. Without you, none of this would possible, and so many 13 year old men would have retained their innocence so much longer.

In preparation for this stupendous occasion, Editor and I took a walk through some of our favorite blogs. At first, we were going to do a retrospective, but that felt so tired and a little cliche. We want to move forward, think forward, write forward. We want change. Who better to see about change than President Barack Obama? So, after many, many phone calls, e-mails, and background checks, the White House decided to let us come by for an interview.

Editor and I arrive by way of police escort to the White House. We pass through the iron gates. It isn’t until now that it really hits me–I’m at the White House. I mean, Mike Tyson has been here. I wonder if he’s hiding somewhere inside. At this moment of recognizing where I am, I cannot help but recognize the inverse–where I have been. I think back to my childhood, dressed as Spiderman, running around in the driveway with my sister, holding a large piece of paper that read “AUTOGRAPHS FROM THE SON OF SPIDERMAN!” I think back the sixth grade, kissing a girl for the first time when she wanted it too. I think back to high school, and all the time I spent at Whataburger with my friends. Then I think to just last week, when I woke up at noon, watched a movie that I hated because I couldn’t reach the remote, put on pants at four o clock in the afternoon, watched a three hours of The Hills, drank a couple of glasses of wine and fell asleep under my desk. I shiver.

We pull into to the guest entry area of the White House.

“Mr. Irion?” a security guard asks as he opens the door.

“This is he.” What? Why am I talking like that?

“Welcome to the White House,” the guard says.

I hold out my hand like I saw that girl on Princess Diaries do when she was being led from her car. The security guard merely stands and looks at my hand, and then to me.

“Welcome to the White House, sir.”

“Get out of the car, Kyle,” Editor says from behind me.

“Shut the FUCK up, Editor.” I turn so Editor can see me. “I’m serious. Do not ruin this for me.” He sits back a bit and I get out of the car. I approach the guard and lean in, speaking at just above a whisper. “On the way in, that guy looked really nervous. He was sweating bullets and looking around a lot. Then he showed me a gun and winked at me.”

“Please continue into the building, sir,” the guard said. “Welcome,” the guard says to Editor. Editor smiles and thanks the guard.

To calm my nerves, I had roughly six of seven shots from my flask on the drive in. As we approach the front door it seems as if they all hit at once. I enter the White House drunk as hell.

Our first meeting in front of local media.

Our first meeting in front of local media. He's apologizing for me profusely.

We’re immediately met by a White House Aide.

“Mr. Irion, right this way, please,” He says.

The White House is immaculate–perhaps one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever seen. There are plush couches without any cat hair, beautiful vaulted ceilings and paneled walls, also without any cat hair. For a moment I consider trying to start a new White House tradition of signing the walls just inside the entrance, walking toward one of the panels with a red crayon in my hand (I carry crayons everywhere for just such an occasion) but reconsider this notion as a guard places himself (and a clearly visible taser) between the wall and I.

Editor and I pass through several hallways before reaching the President’s meeting area.

“Can you believe where we are?!” Editor asks.

“It’s pretty incredible. I’m glad you haven’t ruined this for me yet.” I put my hand on his shoulder and he gives me a slight smile and a knowing nod. “Let’s go rape this interview,” I say. His smile fades and it seems like he’s about to say something when I turn away and walk into the meeting area.

I put a suit on for a quick photo op. This one's for mom.

This one's for mom.

“All right. Just wait in here. President Obama will be with you in just a moment.” The aide turns and leaves. For a moment, Editor and I stand in the meeting room, still awestruck by the grandness of it all.

“You know how many famous dignitaries have sat in that chair?” Editor asks, referring to the chair across from the President’s.

“You know how many famous dictionaries have shat in that hair? Stop getting emotional, Editor. We have to stay focused for this. This is the biggest interview of our lives–well, your life at least. I still plan to interview God one day. After that, I want to interview the color red.”

“Kyle, you–” Editor starts, but just at this moment, the door at the north wall of the room opens and in steps President Barack Obama.

“Mr. Iron Kyle, it’s nice to finally meet you.” Obama extends his hand to me and I take it, shaking it as firmly as I can without making him think I’m trying to assert any form of dominance. I consider giving him the “wriggler” handshake, but decide against it since that sort of thing hasn’t been funny since the Truman administration. “And you must be the infamous ‘Editor,'” Barack says. “Hello.” The President motions for me to take a seat across from him. “Can I get you anything? Water?” He points to Editor and then to me. We both shake our heads no. “All right. Well then, let’s get started, shall we?”

“Shall we,” I say. Barack looks confused. “We shall–we shall,” I correct myself. I’m incredibly nervous. “So, Mr. Obama. You’re almost a year into your first term. How do you think things are going?”

I'm telling Barack about my dating history.

I'm telling Barack about my dating history.

Barack shifts in his seat. “Coming out with guns blazing,” he says, smiling wryly. “Well, as I expected, it hasn’t been easy, but to say that the past eight or nine months have been according to plan would be a,” he pauses, “would be grossly inaccurate.”

“Blazing out with guns coming,” I say. I fucked it up again. This time, however, I just plow through. “What has gone your way, in your opinion, and what hasn’t?”

“Well certainly I would like to have been further on this health care issue–that’s one thing I wish there was more progress in. I also would have been so, so proud to get the Olympics in Chicago.”

“More like Shit-taco,” I say. I hear Editor choke out the word “no!” under his breath.

“Excuse me?” Barack asks.

“Stupid Chicago couldn’t win the Olympics for you. I’m sorry, Mr. President.”

“That word you just used to describe Chicago, that’s highly inappropriate. Chicago is a beautiful city and I won’t see it disrespected.”

“Sorry. I’m really nervous. Cracking jokes is how I calm down–well, that and shot after shot of whiskey,” I say. Barack lightens a bit.

“A whiskey man? Would you like to have a glass? I have a great eighteen year vintage of Jameson’s. You like Jameson’s?”

“Absolutely!”

“Well all right then. Tammy,” He gestures toward a woman standing behind the couch Editor is sitting on. “Would you please get us three tumblers and my bottle of Jameson’s?”

“Yes sir,” she says and goes with haste to retrieve the bottle and glasses.  While she is out getting the drinks, I decide to continue with some lighter questions.

“What’s the biggest perk of being president? I mean, not like ‘bestowing freedom to the world,’ or anything like that–although that is good, but what I’m talking about is like, presidential socks, or how instead of reading about a foreign reader’s stance you actually get to hear it straight from him or her.”

“Well,” Barack begins, holding his chin and smiling wryly,  “I do get a lot of free stuff.” We both chuckle a bit.

“Like missiles? I bet you get a shitload of free missiles,” I say, sitting at the edge of my seat looking for all the free missiles.

“No, actually, no missiles. I did get this bottle of whiskey we’re about to drink for free, though. In fact, when you leave, you can take it with you.”

“Barack, I’m so glad I voted for you.” Just then Tammy walks in with the whiskey. “Now let’s get royally shit faced.”

“No,” Barack said, “Let’s get Presidentially shit faced.” We raise our glasses and drink.

Thanks for reading.

Thanks for reading. Here's to 100 more.

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Wolverine vs. Barack Obama in a Battle for Your Health.

20 Aug

I like being healthy. It pisses me the hell off when I find out I have illness. I remember one time a doctor told me I had an inner ear infection and I ended up slashing his tires and writing “Stick this in yer ear” on his windshield with shoe polish. It was really embarrassing when I had to go in later because I left my phone on the table, but still totally worth it. All that being said, being healthy and having good preventative medicine is really important to me. I understand, however, that people will still need medical care occasionally for things that preventative medicine cannot avert. It’s this reality that makes proper health care a must.

Some people–people like me and my dad–don’t need a whole lot of medicine. We hardly need any medical care at all. It’s easy for people like us, the genetically healthy (mutants), to say “Listen, I don’t care a whole lot for medical insurance or who’s payin’ for it. I just don’t care.” It’s also easy for these people to get clawed in the face by my dad.

Me and the ol' man last thanksgiving.

Me and the ol' man last Thanksgiving.We're thankful for rust remover.

Some people, however, can’t help but get sick. And unfortunately, it just so happens that some people who get sick can’t afford the medical care they need. Some can’t even afford to see the doctor so that he can tell them they can’t afford the medicine they need. How do we remedy this? Free health care? Perhaps, but perhaps not. (See, that’s how I sound intelligent without actually saying anything at all.)

I admittedly know practically nothing about the debate over private and public health insurance. So, I contacted my sources (Wikipedia, my brother Nick, MTV), and got some more information.

The 8 principles of Obama’s health plan are to:

  1. Better utilize technology to provide faster access to medical records. There is also a proposal for the President to finance a plan to get stupid freaking Facebook Chat to work. (“‘No longer online?’ They were midsentence! They still have a speech bubble!”)
  2. Support research into treatment comparisons so doctors and patients have a better idea of what specific path would be best for them.
  3. Double cancer research funding, including a $6 billion injection (medical pun) to National Health Institutes.
  4. Improve services for American Indians and Alaskan Natives (Eskimos, Snow Men).
  5. Recruit more into the medical health fields, including $331 million for doctors, nurses, dentists, etc. in areas of shortage.
  6. Expand child care plans such as “Early Head Start” and “Head Start” and create new programs to support first time mothers.
  7. Improve Medicare, the government insurance program for seniors.
  8. Give the FDA a big ol’ money vitamin (1 billion milligrams) to support more inspections and aid in the creation of new labs for the surveillance of what President Obama refers to as “food terrorists,” or “germs.”

These all sound great. The proposed cost for the American tax-payer will be roughly $630 billion over 10 years. That’s a lot of clams. That’s a lot of beans. That’s a lot of bucks, dubloons, cash, change, currency, baby fists. I made the last one up.

Detractors of this plan claim that it would provide a hefty price tax-wise The reason this plan will be so expensive for each individual tax payer is that each one of us will be paying for every other citizen’s use of EVERY available medical treatment–from in-vitro fertilization to mental health benefits–treatments that are much more expensive any procedure most people usually pay for.

It would also force all citizens to pay the same for their medical insurance in spite of their level of risk. For instance, in the current insurance game, a guy like me– a guy with a mutant healing ability–would have a substantially lower monthly payment because I’m at lower risk of actually needing to draw from my fund. Other people–the elderly, people who juggle fire, or people who mess with me and my dad–are at a higher risk of injury and thus required to pay more because of the higher probability of them actually using the insurance money. With Yomama’s plan, everybody would pay the same, so young people would be TOTALLY JIPPED LIKE WTF GOD, MOM! I, a specimen of human excellence, would pay the same as that old guy I saw at IHOP with the weird foot problem. Disgusting. I don’t want the government seeing us in the same way. We aren’t the same. I can jump.

Some say there’s a danger that Americans will over-consume this “free healthcare,” driving up taxes, making the plan actually more expensive than before. Other say th…

This sucks.

Let’s do something more fun. Look at this!

WOOHOOOO! HEALTH!

WOOHOOOO! HEALTH!

There are a lot of things Obama wants to implement that the liberal media isn’t reporting. Check THIS out:

Pictured on right: Grandpa. Pictured on left: Sacrifice to the Socialist Overlord.

Pictured on right: Grandpa. Pictured on left: Sacrifice to the Socialist Overlord.

Washington insiders say that, being under heavy pressure from his constituency (America), Barack has looked to alternatives to private vs. public medical insurance. One anonymous source has told IronKyle Editor that at a recent meeting with the Surgeon General, Barack tossed out the entirety of the U.S. Medical Research heads, screaming about a strong demand for unicorn blood. Michelle Obama quickly saw to the removal of all media related to the J.K. Rowling series, Harry Potter, from the White House. No matter how futile his search may be, the message is clear: Barack Obama wants to harvest the blood of beautiful Unicorns to help the sick. Gross. Have you ever seen a sick person? Do you ever see Lisa Frank putting sick people on her stationary? No. Do you see beautiful paintings of sick people being ridden by ancient Greek gods? No, that’s silly. Sick people are weak and complain too much for that.

Whatever Obama wants, we must be weary. There’s word that no one can find a valid birth certificate for Barack. Could this be because he’s not even from Earth? How could he possibly understand the plight of the human form if he isn’t even human. Think about it. Have you ever seen him get sick? Do you ever see him and Superman at the same place at the same time? Absolutely not.

Oh. All right, well nevermind on that.

Oh. All right, well never mind, then.

Wherever this debate ends up, with price locks and heavily-regulated, socialistic governmental control of the medical industry or a completely free-market, private system similar to the one we already have, we should try to  remember that we’re all in this together and that nobody’s out to ruin America. That’s just ridiculous. Come on, people now. Smile on your brother. Everybody, get together. Try to love one another right now.

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