Obama Wins Forever

So the other day, I met Barack Obama.

I was in the office, minding my own business. He was in his, apparently in some important meeting with big advisers- James Carville, Henry Kissinger, Janeane Garafolo, among others.

The bustle in his office filled the room with cacaphonous argument. Everyone from Communications to Finance was able to hear the deafening shouts of Kissinger bouncing off the walls. There was some serious disagreement.

After five minutes of this, Barack exited the room with a heavy sigh, leaving the pack of consultants to their yelling. He looked across the room, dejected. "What is this crazy game I'm playing these days?" he seemed to be asking himself. "What have I become?" He looked once more across the room of intrigued staffers. No one said a word. The room was tense.

As Barack scanned the room, his eyes met mine- my baby blue, idealistic, hungover eyes. He smiled and began to walk briskly over to me. My heart beat quickened. Oh my god. What does he want? What will I say? What will I do?

Hey Kid.

I rose to my feet. Oh hello Mr. Senator. Pleased to, uh, meet you.

Listen kid, what do you say we go out for a cigarette?

Oh, jeez, well, I dunno- you know my mom doesn't really-

Meet you on the roof in a minute.

Dumbfounded, I gathered my bag and headed for the elevator. Barack retrieved his suit coat from his office and joined me in my walk. I could see Kissinger sneer at me as we left.

On the top of the Sears Tower, alone. No tourists here. Only the Senator and Lanny the custodian knew about this little treasure in the middle of Chicago. As we looked out over the picturesque city-scape, we took deep, pensive breaths of smoke. The Senator and I were in a tranquil state of mind, separated from the frantic shuffle of urban activity 114 floors below.

Y'know kid. This town- this crazy, mixed-up, busy town- there's a lot more to it than meets the eye.

Oh yeah. I know what you mean.

Somebody's gotta grease the wheels of commerce, if you know what I mean. And you know what- theres a lot of powerful people out there. A lot of wealthy people with a lot of influence.

Barack-

Please, call me Barry O.

Ok- Barry O. I don't think I get what you're saying.

What I'm saying- What my consultants are saying- is that I need to take this big bribe from Ray the Snake Liotta. They are saying I cant pay for the TV spots without it. That I can't be president unless I sign this bill into law allowing oil pipeline drilling in the south side of Chicago.

But Barry O-

I know... I know...

You can't! You simply can't! After all that you've worked for-

Don't think I don't know that. But Kissinger says-

Listen. Barry O. You tell me who your most senior adviser is- Former Secretary of State Henry Kissinger... or your heart?

Barack broke down. His sobs were only punctuated by the words "I'm sorry. I'm sorry." Over and over again. And as I held him, in that humid, summer air, all I could do was tell him- "It's ok, Senator. Everything is gonna be...ok."

The next day, Barack vetoed that bill. His signature killed Liotta's cynical ploy, which is, by the way, how the US Senate works.

A couple weeks later, Barry O, my close friend, became President of the United States of America.