Jesus, teh Obama, do I always have to do ALL YOUR WORK FOR YOU?

Oh, teh Obama. Teh Obama, teh Obama, teh Obama. If I've told you one thing over and over again since you started running to teh president, it's that you can't get anything done in American politics without getting help from celebrities. I tried to warn you after jigg razzlefrazzle the blah (the artist sometimes referred to as Judge Reinhold, but not on this here blog here since his refusal to endorse Oscar the Grouch for President) endorsed someone else other than you for president, but you didn't listen. You didn't listen then, and you don't listen now, and it's surprising that a man with ears the size of satellite dishes would not listen that much, because you would think that ALL you would do is listen, which is not true. It's like you have to wrongfully arrest a high-profile black Harvard professor just to get five minutes alone with you these days, teh Obama!

This is not the change we can believe in. Again.

And just look at the state of your Heathcliff Healthcare Reform-Time Play Pal, or whatever clever and catchy thing your marketing experts are failing to call it. Nobody wants it! Nobody was actually interviewed for the writing of this piece. Nobody very clearly went on record in support to teh Obama or to his Heathcliff Healthcare. I HAS QUOTABLE SOURCES. I AM JOURNALIST.

But this is not about me. This is about you, teh Obama, and how I can help you win back public support for Heathcliff Healthcare from more people than Nobody. All you need is two celebrities and a little bit o' hope.

Here's whatchagottadoo:

1. Get the Jesus Endorsement

Show a picture of Jesus and Heathcliff Healthcare (seriously, how is there not a man, woman, or post-op transsexual dressed up in furry mascot suit yet?) with their arms over each other's shoulders, all smiles and birthday cake and Skittles. And a banner that says, "Jesus endorses the Obama healthcare plan and the public option!"

Then you get Jesus to write a statement on his facebag page like Sarah Palin did. For instance:

I support the Obama healthcare plan because there are like 300 million Americans and I am totally fucking exhausted from having to answer prayers from people without insurance. Come on, mankind. Do you have any idea how many wide wide receivers there are that need My help to catch touchdown passes? Go Steelers! JK! LOL! My point is that I am a Busy Dude. I don't have time for that AND sick people. What am I, Superman? LOL.

Also, from what I hear up in Heaven, Obama's a pretty great guy. Then again, We really don't get that that many Republican voters visiting the Great Death Panel in the Sky.

See? Piece o' cake, teh Obama!

And then you can stand there at your town halls and be like, "who's gonna fuck with Jesus? You gonna fuck with Jesus?" Then you throw down the microphone, walk off stage, and write me a thank-you card.

2. Get Harry Potter to Bounce at Your Town Hall Meetings

People wanna show up with guns, I have a real simple fix. It's called magic. I read about it in Hogwarts, A History.

Psych! That is totally not where I read about it.

But cereal, teh Obama, this is Problem Solving 101. If you have a leaky pipe, you call a plumber. If you have people calling you a Nazi and carrying rifles and handguns to your rallies, you get Harry Potter out there to run your crowd control operation. Dude handled a fully-grown cave troll when he was 11! (SPOILER ALERT.) AND he beat freaking Voldemort! (SPOILER ALERT x2.) Some whacked-out muggle with a big metal stick isn't gonna be much of a threat.

Of course, those same asshole protesters who are out there with signs calling you a Nazi will probably show up with new signs that say "you can expelliarmus our guns, but you can't expelliarmus our ridiculous overblown partisan rancor!" But the joke's on them because yes, we can.

Gay Men and Puppets Are Here to Save You

I have the lyrics from "Away in a Manger" stuck in my head this Sunday late morning, just sitting there in my brain like yesterday's oatmeal, which is sitting in the GladWare container out of which I didn't finish eating it, getting crustier by the second. Somehow, the metaphor seems to have drawn me away from my point, though, which is about the lyrics from "Away in a Manger."

It's not a subconsciously guilty response to having skipped church this morning. I have skipped church for more consecutive weeks than Tiger Woods has been number one at golf, and for more consecutive weeks than Barack Obama (who is the Tiger Woods of black US presidents) has been number one at being awesome. At least, I don't think it's a subconsciously guilty response to skipping church. But that's the thing with subconsciousness, isn't it. You can never be sure.

Except for this time. I am sure this time. I am sure it's not my subconscious because I know what this "Away in a Manger" business is about. That was the song that first made me fall in love with baby Jesus. And it's hard to think that after all those years of being at least as devoted to him as most of the nuns I'm friends with, I would give it all up for a flash-in-the-pan circus man named Paul Anderson, just because Paul Anderson can walk on stilts.

Then again, Paul Anderson looks like this:

So we really can't blame me, can we?

In the words of the Tiger Woods of black US presidents, Yes We Can.

People are always talking about sin. Studies show that apart from talking about childhood obesity and chewing gum, talking about sin is the most popular use of the human mouth that there is. Catholic priests use their mouths to talk about sin ALL THE TIME, which is ironic because they probably also use those same mouths to fellate their altar boys, because all Catholic priests are child molesters, again, according to studies.

Speaking of which, I once had a molestation-minded Catholic priest chase me around a church once. He caught me by the organ.

You can't really consider Jesus my boyfriend, but I think the point that my subconscious, and my conscious, and Barack Obama are trying to make is that by falling so hard for Paul Anderson, I have sinned against the Lord Jesus, or J-Lord Perry, as I sometimes call him. After all, Jesus was a carpenter, and Paul Anderson is a circus performer, and the only place a circus performer should come before a carpenter is in the bizarro Yellow Pages, where things are in backwards alphabetical order, and where forsaking Jesus for Paul Anderson is not a sin.

But this is not the bizarro world. It's the world where Barack Obama is president, Tiger Woods is number one at golf (even though he hasn't played since June), and religious comeuppance comes not only from subconscious lyrical reminders of Jesus, but also from moralistic musical sermons by men on YouTube who are obviously gay:

I have always taken pretty much a "meet it head-on" approach to dealing with sin. Obviously, that was wrong. I don't know why this didn't occur to me before. I guess because I am not Tiger Woods, or Barack Obama, or Jesus. I am but a poor servant of the higher mastery that is the Dole Fruit Company, a practicing existentialist, and a sucker for a dude who can make his own stilts.

Here's a little more temptation to look away from:

How to Saw Wood To Build Circus Stilts -- powered by ExpertVillage.com

Where are your puppets and homos to save you now, bitches?