(Record Master)
Obama has so few records I thought this “stink” of a “poem” should be published.

“Pop,” written when Obama was 19. This crude ‘poem” could be about obama himself sitting in his seat, sprinkled with ashes, smoking pot, taking another shot of seagrams, stain on his shorts, makes me smell his smell, coming from obama and his buddy Siddiqi, a drug addicted illegal alien from Pakistan. Obama a flim and flam “no record” of the world, since things have been easy for him, from under his seat pulls out the mirror he’s been saving, laughing, looking at himself, a narcissistic personality laughing loud at Americans who believe in freedom. Obama fails to pass the smell test. With heavy lobes obama’s still telling his jokes and the state run media is running laugh tracks with every fake quote and every broad and broken comment.
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Pop

Sitting in his seat, a seat broad and broken
In, sprinkled with ashes,
Pop switches channels, takes another
Shot of Seagrams, neat, and asks
What to do with me, a green young man
Who fails to consider the
Flim and flam of the world, since
Things have been easy for me;
I stare hard at his face, a stare
That deflects off his brow;
I’m sure he’s unaware of his
Dark, watery eyes, that
Glance in different directions,
And his slow, unwelcome twitches,
Fail to pass.
I listen, nod,
Listen, open, till I cling to his pale,
Beige T-shirt, yelling,
Yelling in his ears, that hang
With heavy lobes, but he’s still telling
His joke, so I ask why
He’s so unhappy, to which he replies . . .
But I don’t care anymore, cause
He took too damn long, and from
Under my seat, I pull out the
Mirror I’ve been saving; I’m laughing,
Laughing loud, the blood rushing from his face
To mine, as he grows small,
A spot in my brain, something
That may be squeezed out, like a
Watermelon seed between
Two fingers.
Pop takes another shot, neat,
Points out the same amber
Stain on his shorts that I’ve got on mine and
Makes me smell his smell, coming
From me; he switches channels, recites an old poem
He wrote before his mother died,
Stands, shouts, and asks
For a hug, as I shink, my
Arms barely reaching around
His thick, oily neck, and his broad back; ’cause
I see my face, framed within
Pop’s black-framed glasses
And know he’s laughing too.

– Barack Obama

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The most telling line in the poem is one of the shortest. The line is “Fail to pass.”

Obama is a failure. A failure immersed in himself. A “man child” as rush calls him.

Obama fails and his failures are passed over by the “state run media”. Obama fails to answer question concerning his college records, birth records, or any record.

Obama fails to pass the smell test.

The smell test is documentation proving and authenticating obama’s past record of performance based on academic achievements in any school or college he says he attended.

Obama has not presented anything confirming academic achievements anytime except for a “stink” of a “poem” that “fails to pass” the test of real achievement.

This “poem” is one of a couple of “performance” records of obama that has surfaced.

This “poem” is record of obama’s performance. It is slim evidence of achievement. In fact it proves obama is best described as an underachiever. A lame excuse for confidence in obama. This is the evidence we have to be able to say obama is a scholar, a learned person.

Obama’s “scholarship” is in the form of an affirmative action “no record” promoted as an intellectual. Obama has been promoted as a “super hero” to save America.

Obama is as fake as any “super hero” in any comic book. He is a figment of the imagination of public relations firms who were paid over $260,000,000. to promote the comic book hero “obama”.

Obama the “hero” is a real zero. Nothing from nothing leaves nothing.

Obama has no records to share with the public authenticating his person except pr spin.

Obama is a figment of no imagination. He really is an empty suit.