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Wednesday, October 24, 2012

Read Chapters 1-4 of "Ken Tool or Obamaism"

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2008: How Ken Tool Learned Obamaism

Once there was a handsome but somewhat naïve young man named Ken Tool who lived in the opulent mansion of liberal and incomprehensibly wealthy US Senator Uboros Tool. The Tools resided in the village of Beverly Hills, in the marvelously liberal state of California, which, thanks to powerful state unions, environmental fanatics, and free spending Progressive policies, was almost bankrupt.

Ken’s tutor, renowned Berkeley political scholar Marx Pan-gas, instructed him thoroughly in all of the complex, irrefutable, and frequently paradoxical theories of Progressivism, and its new champion, Barack Obama. Professor Pan-gas, 45, was an excitable man with big ears, Lennon spectacles, a happy grin, and a graying pony tail.

As a clinching argument for accepting Obama’s brand of Progressivism, Dr. Pan-gas told Ken that almost all the big movie and TV stars loved super cool Obama and believed in his redistributionist ideas. “Become a Progressive Technocrat,” said Pan-gas, “and you’ll lead a glamorous life like mine. One day you might even get to meet Sean Peen and Stupi Goldburger at a party as I once did.”

The Professor also told Ken that there was a SECRET TRUTH at the heart of Obama’s Progressivism that he would reveal to Ken in due time. On the day Ken completed his Ph. D., he asked his tutor if he could at last learn the secret truth. “Patience, young Grasshopper,” said Pan-gas. “You are not yet ready.”

For the first ten months of 2008, Ken Tool worked tirelessly in the Obama campaign. Ken did everything from heckling Hillary Clinton at her rallies in the primaries to putting up posters in useless flyover red states to making fundraising speeches to hundreds of wealthy elitist donors in important blue states. When it came to Obama devotion, his coworkers said Ken was the Main Tool.

How Ken Tried to Impress the Girl Next Door, Vaginia King

The sunset was beautiful on the Pacific ocean on election day in 2008, and the warm California breeze tousled his thick black hair. Ken Tool was happy. Very happy. He was riding beside the “girl next door,” sexy and fantastically tanned Vaginia King, who was driving her purple Bentley convertible with its custom 24K gold trimmed top tucked away neatly under the white leather tonneau.

In spite of the fact that the Tools had been well established for four generations and the Kings were new money Progressives (her father owned all the Zombieburger fast food restaurants in the USA), the gorgeously blonde Vaginia had always treated Ken scornfully and rejected his advances.

Ken Tool’s private tutor and confidant, Professor Pan-gas lounged in the back seat of the Bentley. “Ken, you’re in a very good mood,” said the Professor. “Could that be because the early returns from the East coast indicate that Obama will win?”

Senator Uborus Tool, Ken’s grandfather and guardian, had planned a huge party that night to celebrate Obama’s victory and to announce Ken’s candidacy for congress in 2010. “Obama’s victory will ensure our celebration’s success. I’m very happy for Obama and ready to begin my own campaign, but that’s only part of my joy,” said Ken.

“Perhaps your Mother called and told you she will be at the celebration?” said Pan-gas.

“No, I suppose she’s busy with the magazine.” Ken’s mother, Moonbat Tool, 48, now a lesbian, was the Senator’s daughter. Moonbat was editor of Only Women, the radical feminist magazine that advocated complete female domination in all spheres. One key philosophical position Moonbat advocated was not speaking to any male, which logically included forgoing any kind of communication with her son. Ken hadn’t heard his mother’s voice since he was twelve, eighteen years ago.

As for who his father was, no one supposedly knew; his mother never spoke to Ken about anything at all and the Senator professed ignorance and told him some things were best left alone.

“Could your exuberance,” said Pan-gas smiling, “be because getting your Ph. D. from Berkeley in political science is finally sinking in?”

Ken laughed. “No, I think I understood the importance of that in August when I received the degree. And thanks to your help, I also won all of those prestigious Berkeley awards.” Ken glanced hopefully at the stunning Vaginia.

“Ken won the ‘Jimmy Carter Anti-terrorism Ribbon,’” said Pan-gas to Vaginia, picking up on Ken’s hint, “the ‘Gore Vidal Composition Crest,’ the ‘Michael Dukakis Tank License Certificate,’ the ‘Ted Kennedy Water Rescue Medal,’ the ‘Reverend Jeremiah Wright Goddamn America Cup,’ the ‘Bill Ayers Weatherman Bomb Making Plaque,’ and the coveted ‘Saul Alinsky Community Disintegration Trophy.’ We’re all very proud of him.”

Vaginia yawned and rolled her blue eyes.

“Hmmm,” said Pan-gas, deciding to try another strategy. “My dear young lady, you should be aware that Ken is a high ranking member of WALNUT, the World Alliance of National Union Transformers, a Progressive political group that is slowly changing the country. Besides Ken, myself, many other academics, and various minorities, President Obama and everyone in his administration are WALNUT members.”

“Whatever,” said Vaginia.

“Ken,” whispered the Professor, “tell her about the WALNUT agenda.

“Our organization is all about organized stealth,” said Ken, trying to make the group sound as dramatic and dangerous as possible. “We WALNUTS in the educated elite are like political Ninjas; we provide logistical support to local Progressives on issues like Political Correctness, Multi-culturalism, Affordable Health Care, Racial and Sexual Identity, and Protecting the Environment.”

“These ideas are helping to move us to a humongous socialist state,” said the Professor, “which will be controlled by educated elite technocrats such as ourselves.” 

Vaginia ignored their comments and focused on the road ahead.

The Professor decided to return to his original speculation, this time stroking Vaginia’s ego in the process. “Ahhh, Ken, does your bliss derive from the fact that you’re riding in the only purple Bentley in L. A. beside the most beautiful blonde in Beverly Hills who just happens to be the ‘girl next door?’”

Ken blushed.

Vaginia looked at them sharply. “I tole bof of you honkies I was already 2Killer’s ho,” she said. “Keep messin’ wid me and 2Killer put a cap up yore asses.”

Hearing Vaginia talk in that hip African American Rapperspeak always pained Ken, but he understood how her strong feelings for society’s victims could turn to love or sexual attraction for one of them. Vaginia had met the wannabe rapper 2Killer Jones at Tupac Shakur Memorial Community College in Long Beach. They were in their sixth year at the school now, majoring in Political Rap Eubonics, and hoped to graduate next year.

“Vaginia is spectacular and I idolize her,” Ken said to Pan-gas, “but, as you can see, she’s always scorned me. So, I need something to make her sit up and take notice of me. Something that will prove to her that I am somebody. Am I right Vaginia?” She smirked at him. “Well,” he continued, “tonight my grandfather will announce my candidacy for congress and I will reveal something else, something personal that will make me a star in everybody’s eyes, including Vaginia.”

“Yeah, like any shit a white boy like you be peddlin’ gonna hep you get me,” said Vaginia venomously. “Ima only drivin’ you to this party ‘cause Daddy make me.”

“Vaginia,” said Ken, “have you forgotten that you’re white like me?” She rolled her eyes at him and shook her head like he just didn’t get it. He didn’t.

The professor suddenly leaned forward in his seat. “Ken, does your unparalleled joy have anything to do with that well dressed but dangerous looking black man I’ve seen you talking to in your office lately,” he asked, “that investigator fellow named Martin Bobo?”

“I’ll plead the 5th amendment on that one,” said Ken, feeling his mood lift again.

“What’s he doing for you, what’s he found out?” said the Professor.

“You’ll see,” said Ken confidently. “I’m announcing it at the victory celebration.

Why Ken Revealed the Name of His Father, Ted Nugget

Since Senator Tool, Ken’s grandfather, was a true Progressive and hated any overt displays of patriotism, he eschewed silly provincial displays of the flag or other American symbols.

Senator Tool felt the United States was far too powerful and that its wealth--except for all those funds controlled by Progressives--should be redistributed to the rest of the world; to that end he had sponsored several bills designed to relinquish the sovereignty of the United States to the United Nations and to hugely expand foreign aid to poorer nations, especially those who were Islamist or in other ways indicated their animosity to the US. And, old allies be damned, he also sponsored bills meant to force Israel to cede all its territory to the Palestinians.

It was fitting then that the one hundred huge columns that surrounded the grand ballroom of the hotel were draped with alternating banners and posters of Obama, Senator Tool himself, and pro Palestinian Hamas/Fatah leaders and their anti-Semitic slogans. The floor of the ballroom was littered with pale blue balloons with United Nations logos on them and blue and white confetti, all dropped earlier from the gilded ceiling when Obama made his televised victory speech.

The crowd, well over a thousand elitist politicos and Progressive movie stars, was still excited after Obama’s speech which was shown on the giant screen behind the podium. Senator Tool, a polished and distinguished looking man in his late sixties, concluded his own rousing follow-up speech by introducing his grandson.

“And now, after this great Obama victory, I have an important announcement to make. As most of you know, my beloved daughter’s son, Ken, just finished his Ph. D. in political science at Berkeley.” The crowd applauded and cheered. “I’m happy to announce that Ken will continue the Tool tradition of public service; he is forming an exploratory committee to consider a run for congress in Arkansas.”

The crowd stood and cheered again. “Now I know how most of us laid back California Progressives feel about the hog state, Arkansas. But as champions of diversity and tolerance, we can rise above that natural sense of distaste for hillbillies and rednecks as we did with the remarkable Bill Clinton.” The crowd’s cheer this time was somewhat muted, probably because of Hillary’s dogged fight against Obama.

“Ken has spent many summers there in Buttface, Arkansas, at our lake cottage,” the senator continued, “and he has many friends in the district. I’m sure that when the mid term elections roll around in 2010, Ken will join President Obama in Washington, and we can proceed to redefine and remake America more along the lines of those European nations we so admire!” The crowd roared. “Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Ken Tool.”

As more blue and white confetti fell, Ken stood at the podium looking out at the cheering crowd. He saw the much admired documentarian, Michael S’Mores standing beside action star Mutt Damon. And over there to Damon’s left, by House Speaker Nancy Pelosi, was Jeanne Garofoolo, the rather plain looking but politically astute actress who’d helped Ken lose his virginity when he was only fourteen. But that was before Vaginia King had moved in next door. Since then he’d vowed to remain chaste until he could marry Vaginia.

Both Garofoolo and Pelosi were talking to comedienne Sarah Silvermensch who wore a Vera Bong designer bridle and bit in her mouth to emphasize her often self-referenced horselike facial features.

Because a real celebrity was involved, and a rock ‘n roller at that, Ken was sure that what he was about to reveal would certainly impress Vaginia. And, since his grandfather was a tolerant Progressive and always open to the truth, it would impress him too. It would impress all his friends and help lay a foundation for his Arkansas campaign. Ken also hoped that it could help him reestablish communication with his radical lesbian mother Moonbat Tool.

“Ladies and gentlemen, fellow Democrats, Socialist comrades, our partners in the Media, and friends,” said Ken, who took great pride in his ability to utilize the well known “crescendo” oratorical device effectively. “Thank you for your enthusiasm and support. I’m so very happy to be here on this night to celebrate with you the victory of our great and magnificent new champion, the embodiment of all our collective dreams and desires, the final glorious result of the Progressive fight for tolerance and racial equality, the apex of American diversity and multiculturalism, the hope of America, the first really cool president, the One who will lead us into the new Progressive era…Barack Obama!”

Ken was pleased as the crowd went wild and the applause and cheering continued for almost five minutes. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his grandfather, Senator Tool, smiling proudly. As he scanned the audience, he saw Michael S’Mores embrace and kiss Mutt Damon, bending him backward like the famous Times Square sailor kiss after World War II ended. Garofoolo, Silvermensch, and Pelosi were so excited they dropped to the floor and attempted the rare and blatantly lesbian, triple scissoring move.

“I also want to share something important with you tonight,” said Ken when the applause and cheering finally stopped. “Just as our new champion Barack Obama wants us to discover the true identity of America as a socialist, statist, government controlled paradise, we often must find our own personal identity before we’re able to make our mark on the world. Tonight, my friends, for the first time in my life, I know who I am. Of course, I’m a generous liberal, a tolerant Progressive, a life long Democrat, a committed socialist, an academic Marxist, and of course, most important of all, I’m a Tool.” Ken paused and took a deep breath. “But part of my identity has been incomplete since I never knew who my father was.”

The crowd grew hushed, silent. Professor Pan-gas was staring at him. Vaginia was actually paying attention. But Senator Tool’s mouth was open and he was shaking his head slowly in disbelief.

Ken pushed on. “After a long and painful search, and with the assistance of my friend, special investigator Martin Bobo, I’ve finally discovered who my biological father is.”The crowd gasped. Senator Tool collapsed to his knees but was pulled back upright by his aides. “My father is a celebrity,” Ken continued, “like many of you. He’s a rock star, quite well known as I understand it.”

Ken chuckled. “My life has been spent mainly in academia so I don’t know much about him, but I finally know his name. Before I say his name, I want to say this to my mother, Moonbat Tool. Wherever you are tonight, I love you Mom. I know you’re a lesbian now, and I respect that. But I’m glad that when you were young you were hetero for awhile. And I’m glad that you went to that concert. And that you really did, as that song by the Goldfinger group says, F-T-N!” The crowd gasped in unison. “Yes, my father is a rock musician. His name is TED NUGGET!”

A groan of revulsion arose from the audience and turned into a raucous chorus of boos.

Ken didn’t understand. Why were they not happy for him? Why were they shouting angrily at him—“F*** you Tool. And f*** Nugget too!”

Damon and S’Mores simultaneously gave him the finger and the Bronx cheer. As he watched, Garofoolo threw up on Pelosi’s white gown and Silvermensch neighed loudly, pulled her pants down, bared her butt and gave him a full moon.

Senator Tool finally recovered sufficiently to make his way to the podium. He pushed Ken Tool aside and spoke into the microphone

“I apologize to all of you for this disgusting display of ignorance and naiveté.” He turned to Ken. “To make this vile statement tonight of all nights, to sully the purity of Obama’s ascension is sickening to me and to all those present.”

“But grandfather,” protested Ken, “what about Progressive tolerance and openness to diversity and differences of opinion?”

“Shut up you sniveling ingrate. To show you and everyone here the depth of my anger at your revelation, let me publicly say this. You are no longer my grandson, Ken Tool. You are banished forever from the family.” The crowd gasped and then began to applaud.

“Your mother will never speak to you again,” said the senator sternly. “nor will I or anyone I’m associated with.”

“But Mother Moonbat hasn’t spoken to me since I was twelve,” said Ken.

“Shut up, I’m just getting started here. Your membership in the WALNUT organization is hereby cancelled. And forget about the congressional run in Arkansas. I won’t support you. I’m also closing all your bank accounts and taking your Lamborghini too.”

The senator paused and looked daggers at Professor Pan-gas. “I’m not sure, but I suspect your tutor, that bumbling idiot academic Marx Pan-gas standing there had something to do with your abominable and unforgivable behavior. Professor, you’re fired.”

Senator Tool then turned his heated gaze on Vaginia. “Or maybe it was the influence of our crude trailer trash neighbors the Kings and their whorey daughter, Vaginia. Vaginia, you and your family of fast food Zombieburger nouveau riche yokels are banished from Tool society. You won’t be welcome anymore at any Tool events. Now, all of you get off this stage, and get out of my sight. Take them away!” Senator Tool gestured to his security team who sprang into action.

As one of the burly security guards dragged Ken and Vaginia offstage, she hissed through her teeth at Ken and snarled, “Ken Tool, you stupid asshole. You’ve ruined everything for me and my family. 2Killer may even drop me. I hope you rot in Hell.”
Ken didn’t like what she said, but at least she didn’t say it in Rapperspeak.

How Ken Was Kidnapped by the California Green Militia

Senator Tool’s security guards threw Ken, the Professor and Vaginia out on the sidewalk at the side entrance of the Hotel. Ken brushed some of the confetti off his sleeve. “What just happened?” he said. “Why did the senator kick me out of the family? I thought Progressives were tolerant and appreciated diversity. I thought he would want to know the truth about my father.”

“I think I was falsely accused of corrupting you,” said the Professor. “But that investigator Martin Bobo is the guilty party. I warned you about trusting conservatives like him.”

“I’m sorry, Dr. Pan-gas. But I just don’t understand my grandfather. What he’s done to me contradicts everything Progressives believe in.”

“No, no. You have to understand that contradiction is a basic part of our liberal mindset,” said Pan-gas. “We often hold contradictory views at the same time. For example, we say we’re for economic progress and more jobs but we necessarily have to kill that impulse with environmental regulations on oil exploration and a complete shutdown of energy derived from coal.”

“But I….” 

“And Ken, you have to realize, this news about your father will not benefit your grandfather, Senator Tool. Remember, he has another election in two years. Being in any way connected to the gun and hunting fanatic Ted Nugget would be bad for him. This is California, after all.”

“I gotta say, I always been thinkin’ Ted was kinda hot,” said Vaginia. “But I still mad.”

“It’s good that you think my father is sexy, Vaginia,” said Ken. “I think I look like his pictures and maybe…Wait a minute, Professor, you mean besides being a rock star, my biological father is an animal killer?” said Ken.

“I’m afraid so,” said the Professor. “And he’s a rabid conservative!”

“Oh, no,” said Ken, “how depressing. I’m beginning to understand the Senator’s anger. 
But still, he’s my grandfather; I should be able to count on his support. This kind of thing can be very destructive to an individual’s self esteem.”

“Remember, to a true Progressive, politics always trumps family loyalty. Don’t despair. As for your destructive complaint, remember, ‘no pain, no gain.'”

“You’re right. I will not give in to despair. I am still a Tool no matter what my grandfather says. And I will continue to work for President Obama and try to further the cause of Progressivism.” He pushed himself up off of the hard concrete and brushed the confetti off his slacks and sport coat. “Professor, don’t you think that after all this I’m ready for the SECRET at the heart of Obama’s Progressivism?”

“Be patient, Ken,” said Pan-gas. “I will tell you when the time is right.”

Just then, Ken felt a tremendous pounding on his chest as a customized, low slung, metallic blue, pimp ride Gigantic Motors Cascade SUV pulled up to the curb.

“Oh it’s 2Killer,” said Vaginia standing up, “I know dem loud speakers anywhere. I’s so happy he be here. He’s gonna punch yo face, white boy.”

2Killer emerged from the car slowly. As he walked toward them, Ken noticed that the large fat black man was weighted down by gold bling. 2Killer had on a shiny silver jumpsuit and wore thick gold bracelets, necklaces, earrings, rings, every kind of jewelry imaginable.

“Hey Vaginia, my main ho, whazzup? These honkies botherin’ you?”

“I want you to whip Ken Tool’s ass,” said Vaginia, “and his friend, Professor Pan-gas too.”

“Wait a minute,” said the Professor as he eyed the enormous black man, “I had nothing to do with this. It was all Ken’s fault.”

“Professor,” said Ken, “I can’t believe you said that.”

But before 2Killer could act on Vaginia’s command, twenty masked figures emerged from the shadows beside the hotel. As they came into view, Ken saw that they were both male and female and wore skin tight green leotards, and green and purple billowy silk blouses with the letters CGM in glowing chartreuse. They also wore glittering red masks dotted with rhinestones and similarly ornamented red combat boots. Eleven of the figures were very muscular, well built men, the rest were shapely women.

“What’s going on? Who are you,” asked Ken.

“Never mind who we are,” said one of the men stepping forward. “You’re guilty of rape.”

“What?” said Ken.

“You just raped Gaia, Mother Earth. You soiled Her beauty with those polluting fragments of confetti. And all of your accomplices are guilty too for not stopping you.”

“I just brushed myself off,” said Ken. “I’m not a rapist. Your accusations are quite extreme.”

“Hold on just a minute Mr. Fancy Pants,” said 2Killer to the man. “I ain’t guilty of nothin’ either, ‘cept pickin’ up my bitch here. Mess wid me I put a cap in you ass.”

“What is your organization,” said the Professor, “what do you stand for?”

“We’re the California Green Militia, a unit of the California Environmental Protection Agency, union employees of the great Golden State. And I’m Admiral Begley Watson. By the way, we designed and made our own uniforms. Aren’t they just fantastic?”

“They’re very attractive,” said Ken.

“Beautiful colors and fabrics,” said Pan-gas.

“I gotta get me some dem red boots,” said 2Killer.

“Excuse us momentarily while I confer with my staff officers,” said Admiral Watson.

“Let’s take ‘em all to one of our state funded community college re-education centers,” said one of the women, grabbing 2Killer’s sleeve.

“Take you hands offen me,” said 2Killer pulling a big .45 out of his pants. “I ain’t shot a bitch since this morning, so I’m feelin’ a little gun horny.”

“Patience brother,” said the Admiral. “You’re not in danger. Our Progressive diversity rules point out that blacks and Muslims are protected victims, and cannot be culpable for any actions they take, and may not be compelled to do anything. Besides, that’s a chrome plated .45 you’re holding.”

“Damn straight,” said 2Killer.

“Okay,” said the woman. “We’ll let him go. But the others must be educated.”

“He clearly indicated that the woman was his ho,” said another woman, “what about her rights as a woman? Shouldn’t we intervene?”

“Black always trumps feminism on the victim scale,” said one of the men. “That’s why we supported Obama over Hillary even though he trashed and abused her. Besides, that’s a very BIG gun he’s holding. Ergo, she’s his woman.”

“Okay, we’ll just take Ken Tool and the Professor,” said Admiral Watson. “You’re free to go, my black brother. And you too,” he said to Vaginia.

“We be lookin’ for you fool,” said Vaginia to Ken. “I can’t believe you announced to everybody that you Daddy is Ted Nugget, even if he is hot. You ruined everything for my Daddy and Mama.”

“We find you ass later,” said 2Killer. He picked up Vagina and threw her over his shoulder like a sack of feed. He moved off slowly towards his ride.

“Where are you taking us?” said Ken to Admiral Watson.

“We know who you are, Ken Tool. We were watching from the back of the crowd as your grandfather exiled you. But you will be very useful to us. We know you are a brilliant Berkeley graduate who won the coveted Bill Ayers Bomb Making Certificate and you’re going on a mission with us.”

“A mission?”

“First you must sign this document.”

“Be careful about what you sign,” said Pan-gas. “You could be committing to Big Oil or some evil corporation.

“Big Oil! Sir, how dare you! This document is simply a loyalty oath to Gaia, Mother Earth. It also states that you will support any all actions taken by the California Green Militia as we resist the enemies of Gaia. Since you live in California, aren’t you both good contemporary Democrats who understand the Progressive cause?”

“Of course,” said Ken and the Professor.

“Do you support our great newly elected chief Progressive and Main Environmentalist Dude, the President of Cool, Barack Obama?”

“Yes, yes!” they said.

“Then sign the document now!”

Ken and the Professor eagerly signed the document. They were immediately handcuffed and separated. The Professor was given an injection in his buttocks and then taken away into the darkness. Ken was thrown headfirst into a large green van.

Read the rest of Ken Tool or Obamaism--click a link below.

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