Brain Worm

My abandonment of God has not lessened his influence on the people in my life. They attend church and pray to Their Master for guidance and assistance and thanks. Their belief is a source of comfort in a life fraught with worry. I restrained myself from challenging the existence of a bearded deity in a muumuu for the sake of peace and love, but this past week the ex-model from Paris sent a video by a gay man declaring that he had sex in the backseat of a limo with Barack Obama, while the senator smoked crack. The accusation was posted on Youtube with the backing of the religious right who regard the President as the embodiment of the Anti-Christ. The ex-model from Paris is a happy-clappy Fundamentalist blinded by the love of God. She prayed for my soul, because I was doomed to Hell with salvation. I was fine the way I was, but I'm taken aback by the venomous attacks on the POTUS and this one was vile. This video surfaced in 2007 before the Presidential election. The story dating back to 1999 was dismissed as a hysterical sexual fantasy of a middle-aged ex-con, although the threat of this smear was considered dangerous enough by the Obama camp for them to over the man $10,000 to take a polygraph test with the potential bonus of 100K, if he passed the test. He failed not one, but two tests along with a drug test for cocaine. $20,000 the richer, which is Seeing a photo of the man, I thought that the president could have done better, if he wanted sex with a man. I would have fellated him myself for a hit of crack. I didn't think anything else of the story, until I met the ex-model from Paris at a restaurant just outside of Les Halles. We hadn't seen each other in twelve years, since my life gyroscoped from Europe to Asia in 1999. She hadn't changed much. Her beauty wore a little rust, but without my glasses she was as beautiful as the first day that I met her at the Bains-Douches. A famous female photographer was sitting at the table. Bucky and I see each other in New York. Her husband is my friend. We spoke about our families, friends, and old stories from the 80s. After finishing her steak, the ex-model from Paris broke rank with our conversation and said, "I hate Obama." "Why, because he's a nigger?" I had no problem saying that word. I wasn't white 100%. 'I'm not prejudicious." The ex-model from Paris was born in South Africa. Her mother believed in apartheid. She had been a full-blown fundamentalist. Like mother like daughter. "No, but fundamentalists hate Obama, because he's black." America was divided down the line for/against the president strictly according to the color of skin. "No, they hate him, because he's the son of Satan. You know he was smoking crack and he killed everyone who knew about this scandal. He is evil evil evil and anyone who doesn't believe that is going to hell." "Hell." I was quite ready to go to hell, if fundamentalists were banned from the fiery pit. "And there will be no beer in Hell." "No, but I think there will be popcorn and I bet it has lots of salt on it, so you wish you had a beer. Now that's hell." I turned to the photographer and asked, "Have you ever heard the song POPCORN." "By James Brown." Bucky said his name with a childish admiration. She was a good person for a blonde. "No, by Hot Butter." I whistled out the tune. "Ja, ja, I know this song." Bucky was also German. "Well, that will be the only song in Hell." "You are a bad man." The ex-model from Paris was not amused by my apostasy. "And that's why people love me." I kept whistling the song, wishing its ear worm would root the Jesus from the ex-model from Paris. It was better than the brain worm which she had stuck in my head of Obama getting sucked off while smoking crack. Shiver. Save me POPCORN. Here's the url for that classic http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DBYjZTdrJlA Enjoy.