Day Four

A veritable smorgasbord today: Dem corruption (actually, the appearance of the appearance of the possibility of the illusion of corruption, as a late update clarifies) and a double-bank-shot where Bush's auto bailout package somehow reveals both Obama's fecklessness and the UAW's Machiavellian scheming (at this point, of course, passing clouds remind Mickey of Obama's impotence in the face of all-powerful Democratic interest groups).

The gem of the group, however, is this little item:

Obama in a manger ... and they say he's burdened himself with messianic expectations. ...[But Carla Bruni is there too. And Silvio Berlusconi--ed Where's Greg Packer?]

Following the link, one sees a benign "aren't foreigners weird?" story about the Neopolitan tradition of including non-canon figures in with the nativity scene; Obama is among those being sold for use in such displays.

Mickey, however, turns this into (a) a revival of the Obama-as-messiah criticism that was fuzzy with mold in August, and (b) a shout-out to the closest thing the right-blogosphere has ever come to a joke. This spinning of amusing nothing into bilious something, kids, is what it means to be a professional. "Any weapon to hand", right?

Brief aside for the uninitiated: Greg Packer is a Long Island native and unrepentant publicity whore who has become the go-to guy for "man on the street"-type quotations in various newspapers solely by being first in line for various events. In the hands of, say, 4chan, this could have been a fantastic internet meme. Sadly, his endeavor was uncovered first by right-wing bloggers, who stomped all over the comedic potential by making him yet another exhibit (along with the RAND corporation and the reverse vampires) in their never-ending quest to uncover the MSM's conspiracy against them. All thumbs, those ones.

Anyway, remember when I was dreaming up scenarios that might make Mickey's head explode? Don't look now, but Obama's nominee for Labor Secretary is the daughter of a Mexican teamster. Please, for the sake of all the Southern Californian dinner party hosts and Starbucks baristas, do not mention this to Mickey. Blotting with club soda can only clean up so much.