I Am Holding BO's Presidency Hostage

I'm beginning to convince myself that BO has forgotten all about being a "really good one-term president." He wants to be number 1, all right. No doubt about it ... but he's looking for a top finish at the bottom, to be lower than Jimmy Carter, the worst president ever – until now.

The parallels are striking, until you examine them further. Then you find out BO is so far in front, if there were a 10-run rule in presidential dumbassity, the umpires would stop the game and declare BO winner. Think about it. Carter inherits a bad economy and makes it a thousand times worse; BO inherits a bad economy and makes every economy for every president ever to come (if he lets them) look like Carter were president during the Reagan years. Carter exemplifies a malaise in which Americans ponder being the first generation to live beneath the economic standards their parents enjoyed; BO exemplifies a malaise in which Americans contemplate their future economies functioning below the standard of living in Afghanistan. Finally, Carter presides over an internationally embarrassing hostage crisis that threatens the ideal of America; BO presides over an inter-oceanic-ly embarrassing hostage crisis that threatens to cause every member of PETA to brave Louis Farrakhan's security in BO's Chicago neighborhood for a seat on the mothership off this planet.

These are the kinds of thoughts an oil spill kicks around while spewing (at least) 1.5 million gallons of oil, 24/7 a day, into your Gulf of Mexico. Now, I'm just a political novice, a strapping baby boy a little over two months old, but I can't help but notice the parallels between the two presidents ... and then immediately figure out who's immeasurably worse. That's probably why rumors are swirling around about Rahmbo wanting to leave BO for greener showers. He's too pragmatic for the Ideologue in Chief. When in doubt, the pragmatic sailor cuts loose and sinks the dinghy holding his ship back, letting the dead weight sink to the bottom ... down here with me.

Seriously, did the Regime think the American people would accept this past weekend's spin – that it was inconceivable for my boss, Tony Hayward, to go yachting with his son – without noticing that it doesn't in the slightest bit do "us all good as American citizens" for BO to get his life back by golfing for the 39th time since he took over America, while I gush and gush and gush?

Meanwhile, Louisiana Gov. Bobby Jindal, whose calls to the president go un-answered, took vacation from beating me back ... to negotiate his state's budget.

Really, this guy BO is either the worst president ever, or he has something up his sleeve, something so nefarious, I couldn't possibly explain it. After all, I'm just a spill, yes, I'm only a spill. What do I know about BO wanting you to pay $7 for a gallon of gas?

What do I know about BO trading American lives and sovereignty for political gain in Arizona, telling Arizona Sen. John Kyl (R-to the rescue) that if the Regime secured the U.S. border, the GOP wouldn't be willing to consider amnesty for any illegal bastard already in your country, which, by the way, includes me?

For all I know, I'm just the tip of the iceberg, the nightmare BP and BO don't want you to really know about, a puddle of the disaster to come. You decide. Hey, for all I know, and I'm just an oil spill talking, maybe it's all about money, vast amounts of money BO stands to earn.

What I do know is that, whatever the Democrats thought their November would look like after they shoved Obamacare down your throats, it's going to be far worse. When it's all said and done, I will make every Congresscritter remember their trips to the ice cream stand after little league games as stays in the basement of juvy hall with the queens.

I am the face of ecological and political disaster, and, dayum, I have really big ears.

It's the end of Day 63, BO, and I'm still gushing. Do you know where your presidency is? Right here, gasping for breath, beneath the steel-reinforced heel of my boot ... because I am holding it hostage.

An Oil Spill Runs Through It

It's day 61. I'm still here. No one's kicked my ass yet. Not even close.

Oh, my employer claims to be kicking my ass. BP sucked up or burned off 25,000 barrels of me yesterday. It's an impressive figure, I must say ... because it's at least the amount I'm still gushing into the Gulf every day, if not more. But don't take my word for it. Want to have a better visual than the spill cam in the sidebar to your right? Here's another way to see what 25,000 barrels a day heading for your coastline looks like.

BP did kick someone's ass: My boss, Tony Hayward, is no longer my boss, a day after getting raked over the coals for political theater by all those big talkers in Congress. The good news is that our "Small People" expert is now getting more involved. I think I just felt a shiver in my stream.

Meanwhile, BO's big plan for kicking my ass continued to unfold yesterday. Don Quixote and his tilting at windmills Cap and Tax agenda will make you pay $7 a gallon for gas. I'm sure that will plug my damn hole. Come to think of it, you probably won't be driving much anyway. Not when unemployment around the Gulf goes up while deep water drilling profits go to Brazil, where politicians seem to be less concerned with showboating and more interested in improving their country's economic positioning in the world.

It's all part of BO's new plan of action: If I ignore it, the spill will go away.

That's why he spent $1 million of your tax dollars yesterday to speak for 10 minutes in Ohio about a "big ... deal," stimulus-funded construction. Few cared, and even fewer heard him, especially not the construction workers who should have been earning $200 to build a nearby hospital building but instead were ordered to take the day off without pay so BO could safely read from his teleprompter.

Not that Louisiana Gov. Bobby Jindal needed extraordinary security at about the same time, but he did need the Coast Guard to stop messing with the barges he'd gathered to suck up my oil and keep me from fouling his coastline even further.

And while Jindal continued to work for a living, BO expanded his carbon footprint, flying from Ohio back to DC to take in a ballgame at Nationals Park. At least he couldn't confuse it with "Comminsky Field." Thankfully no one asked him to throw out the first pitch.

All I can say is that when BO speaks of me on the unemployment line in 2013, he'd better not speak of me badly. I am his legacy.

Eventually, all things merge into one, and an oil spill runs through it.