Once upon a time there was a ranch owner, named Gullible “Gully” G. Dubya, and he owned million’s of fleecy and fat animals called sheeple,
which were used to the good man always letting them eat his sweet grass on top of a grassy knoll. These sheeple seemed to love this particular piece
of his property, called Capitol Hill, out on the ranch he called by its abbreviation of D.C., standing for Don’t Change, because the rancher rarely
changes things except once in a blue Moon when things get bad for his image, at the cost of others no less. The rancher was a simple yet pragmatic man
who was used to getting his way at all times, and thought only of himself and family, the Senators and the Congress, and never of the surrounding
countryside around his ranch.
The sheeple would go to the hilltop every night at six o’clock in the evening to listen to the rancher’s wife, and her name was Media “Jive”
Dubya, and she would talk about the days events on the rest of ranch because the sheeple were really just too lazy to go exploring and learning about
how the ranch itself was, as all they wanted to do was wander aimlessly, eat grass, and bleat their complaints about the ranch hands who beat them
with sticks, chased them around, and terrorized them needlessly. The rancher did not mind what the ranch hands did as long as the sheeple were within
the confines of the ranch property. Due to the ranch owner’s apparently benevolent actions and lack of physical abuse, the sheeple trusted him
implicitly to do the right thing for them no matter what, because not only did he not hurt them, but he made the ranch hands protect them from the
wolves in the darkness, fill in the holes, and always herded them through the arduous journey from the farthest reaches of the ranch, to that sweet
grass beginning at four o’clock through the slow meadows which the rancher called the Grey Asphalt Lanes.
By the time the sheeple were herded to the grassy knoll, and met Media there with her stories of wonder, excitement, and unusual activities, they were
exhausted and would lay down passively, and nibble on the sweet grass, staring at Media with glassy-eyes and trusting her implicitly because, after
all, she as the wife of their benevolent owner, the ranch owner. This was a repetitive cycle, day after day, month after month, and year after year, a
cycle which was so blasé as to seem dull and controlled that the sheeple, well they just loved it, it was a system, which to them was not broken, it
worked, and they liked the way things were, because as we all know, sheep love safety, because the big bad wolf is outside of their collective pens
and could run in from the wild and eat them at any moment. Sheeple love one thing more than safety though, as a matter of fact, they love it so much
they will do almost anything to get it, and it is called petting. They love their simple-minded ways and to be told that they are great, and to have
soothing petting upon their .s, and to hear that no one can harm them because the ranch owner and his wife will protect them, no matter what, but
you must trust the ranch owner because he is what keeps the wolves at bay.
One fine day, as the sheeple were being herded back to the grassy knoll, they noticed that it was oddly different. They saw two strange objects upon
the grassy knoll, they appeared to be made of wood, just like the trees, but they were only four foot high and three feet apart, side by side, and
right in the middle of the grassy knoll. The timid sheeple were scared of these new things, since they were something different, and those fleecy
critters were not used to things being different, but since Media was there, and she was not frightened by them, they thought about it for a moment or
two, one or two sheeple bleating their complaints, but ultimately being baah’ed into submission by the other sheeple.
Media told the sheeple of this travesty called terrorism, and that it had happened right there in their very grassy knoll that fine day and that while
the sheeple were off wandering the meadows that the ranch hands had to take care of it, but it was gone now, and that the two objects, she said they
were what was called poles, which were barriers, and one was called “Safety” and the other was called “Freedom”, and she showed the sheeple
that the barriers were safe and that they in fact had the words that meant their safety inscribed upon them, but being sheeple they could not read
very well, and since the words were two far apart, not side by side lined all in a row, they had difficulty seeing them together, so they gave up
trying and trusted Gully and Media.
The sheeple went to these barriers, and they looked at them, and smelled them, even rubbed up against them, and they did not move. In fact, after a
few sheeple rubbed up against them, they began to smell just like the sheeple, and the ones who had not smelt them yet began trusting them implicitly,
because they smelled safe on top of being placed there by the ranch owners. As the sheeple were milling around the barriers, aimlessly wandering and
eating their grass, they slowly but surely forgot they were even there to begin with, after all they were just a part of the scenery, just like their
sweet grass. The days went by, as they often did, and the sheeple remembered the new additions to their grassy knoll, only because of seeing them anew
each day as they came back, and then they remembered that they were there because of some odd thing called terrorism, and that the owners and ranch
hands had them put there, and that they smelled just like the sheeple, because they were safe.
After several months of this dry and characteristically safe environment, the sheeple soon forgot the barriers were even there, they were no longer
new, nor did they smell like anything but the sheeple, and they never ever moved, so the sheeple did what all sheeple did, they went about their usual
business of wandering from meadow to grassy knoll every single day, following a set path, some might even call a repetitive pattern. This continued,
as most stories do, like a set routine, uncharacteristically for years and years. Media would tell her interesting stories about things called crime,
rape, and corruption, but nothing fascinated the sheeple more than when Media would return to her story about the day terrorism had happened upon
their grassy knoll, and the barriers were put upon the hilltop, and they would proudly beam the day they remembered that they had first seen them.
These sheeple wandered off on their daily pattern of going to the meadow, and throughout the day they ambled around and ate their grass, bleating
variously about little things from time to time, playing with carefree thoughts of going back and forth between the meadow and that grassy knoll.
One fine day, after eight years of this pattern, with relative safety and freedom in their environment, the sheeple came back to their grassy knoll,
and both Gully and Media were standing on top of the hilltop, with another man who was as yet unknown to them. Media introduced him to the sheeple as
Bairaq Whosmain Obama, and told the sheeple that she was in love with him now, and that Gully would be going away now, and Bairaq talked about
something called “change” and “hope” and how they were something that would benefit the sheeple, and while Bairaq remained talking and getting
the sheeple all agitated and excited, Gully remained silent for the whole time. He was destitute that his wife was leaving him and marrying Bairaq,
but what could Gully say that Bairaq would not say better and more gloriously that the sheeple would listen to?
Bairaq kept talking to the sheeple as they came to the grassy knoll, promising them all sorts of things that would change and bring hope to the
people, and the sheeple, well all they really cared about was their safety and that sweet grass on the hilltop. Bairaq noticed they were intently
listening, but that they seemed to lose interest, so he promised them more safety, change, and hope, and a sweeter sweet grass, called “The
Future”. The ears on the sheeple perked up and they listened to this intently, and Bairaq could tell that he had them supporting him in taking
Gully’s place, it would just take the divorce papers being finalized upon what was to the sheeple, apparently called “Election Day” on November
5th. As the day neared, the sheeple, well they remembered those promises that Bairaq made, and he told them he intended to change the way the ranch
was run, that the family members, Congress and Senators would do things differently too, and D.C. would now stand for Does Change. The sheeple seemed
to be happy with this, and when Election Day came, and Gully moved out of the house, which was really big and white, the sheeple remembered happily,
that change was coming, and that it would be for the better, and that there was a new kind of sweet grass coming, called “The Future”.
As November 6th came around, and Bairaq talked about this lovely new future of how things were going to be better, the sheeple soon forgot about their
worries, because after all, Media’s new husband, Bairaq, said there was nothing to worry about anymore because he would be a better choice for all
concerned. One fine day, as the sheeple were coming back from their wander in the meadow, they saw Bairaq there on the grassy knoll with Media, and
they were discussing something called a “bailout”, which the sheeple knew nothing about, a few sheeple bleated, complaining as sheeple are often
wont to do, and a few sheeple played carelessly around Media and Bairaq’s feet, as they discussed this new change.