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There has been a great deal of confusion, outrage, and discussion over Senator Barack Obama’s statements during a speech in San Francisco this past week. Rather than present some finely-crafted opinion to you, we instead offer this actual transcript of the exchange.

Greetings, San Francisco comrades. I can’t tell you how great it is to be back among my people after my recent travels.

Welcome, Dear Leader. We are anxious to hear about your expedition to the hinterland.

I’m sure you are. And I am anxious to unburden myself. I saw… things. Unspeakable things.

Yes. We have heard from the Goracle that “the part of the country that must not be named” is populated by climatically-challenged freaks, mutants having only one set of sexual organs, and the intellectually incurious. Is it so?

If it were only that simple, my friends. No, what I saw would turn your double latte frappuccino sour in a nanosecond.

Gasp! Enlighten us, Chosen One.

Brace yourselves. These…creatures engage in a host of rituals that range from the simply bizarre, to the egregiously vile. For example, a vast majority of them hunt on a regular basis.

You mean they hunt for multiply-gonaded sex partners with whom to engage in such universally-practiced acts as the Bay Area Blackout, the Chomsky Chiller or, my personal favorite, the Modesto Manhole Cover ?

I’m afraid not.

Perhaps they hunt pre-aborted fetuses from the host female’s containment area?

No, they actually hunt our four-legged Earth cohabitants, which they call “animals.” And in real life, not video games (like this one and this one). Deer primarily, but none of Gaia’s creatures are safe.

Nooooooooooo!

I’m sorry brother Furry, but yes.

Sister.

Really?

Care to see my breeding apparatus?

Not necessary, costumed-one.

Costume?

Allow me to continue. Apart from slaughtering and eating defenseless animals, they also claim that they use their weapons for protection from, among other things, burglars.

Burglars?

Undocumented nocturnal visitors.

Ahhhh.

What else, Enlightened Leader?

Bowling. This is when they roll a large black orb down what appears to be an old runway from an exotic dancing club, with the aim of knocking over ten large, white pins.

How senselessly violent. Still, I love the racially egalitarian nature of this ritual.

I concur. Better still, they clearly have no cognizance of the symbolism inherent in this game. It is refreshing to see racial justice meted out by unwitting heathens.

Here, here. We beg of you, regale us with more!

If I must. I found their drinking habits too, to be beneath contempt. They only drink beer, but I could not find a single imported wheat ale no matter how hard I looked.

Arrrgh!

Oh, yes. And the topper is when they drink this low-grade swill, not out of a glass mind you, their pinkies never leave the side of the can!

How uncouth! How un-European! Blasphemy!

All of the above. But it gets even more distressing. They hold some of the most radical views on underdocumented Americans that I have ever witnessed. They want to prevent their fellow North Americans from obtaining drivers licenses, silence their voice through the denial of voting rights, and perhaps most disturbingly, they are firmly against the “Eleven Strikes And You’re Out” policy I’ve proposed to protect the underdocumented who have been viciously entrapped by law enforcement and charged with laughable felonies.

Un-progressive! Un-progressive! Un-progressive!

Preach on, my friends. So I present to you that these, and a host of other similarly atrocious customs, contribute to the overall feeling of bitterness among these unfortunate souls. But we can effect change here. There is hope, rather audacious hope, but hope nonetheless.

What would you have us do? Arm them with protest signs and show them the calm enlightenment that comes with endlessly protesting this country’s fascist military recruitment centers?

Possibly.

Compel them to see the truth through the powers of my magic lasso?

Now you’re thinking.

Use my influence in Hollywood to create films devoid of the blubberingly naive pro-American sentiment that’s been prevalent in Tinseltown the last few decades?

Yes! Yes!

Did you bring us anything from the back country?

Of course, my children.

Oooooh! I hope it’s the new k.d. lang CD!

No, even better, if you can imagine that. I’ve brought back live specimens.

Hooray! A carnival of freaks!

Here is the first, riflus assaulticus, from the phylum clinginus excessivum.

Crowd: ooooooh.

Can we approach the cage?

Sure– OH MY GOD WAIT I FORGOT TO LOCK IT!

AHHHHHH!!!!! HELP, POLICE!!!!

Just kidding. Hey, who called for the police?

Not me.

Me neither.

I think Mayor Newsome has some splainin’ to do.

Uh, sorry. It just… slipped out. Hunters…frighten me.

We’ll let it slide. OK, onto exhibit 2, simpletum inbreedicus, a species I saw quite a bit in the aforementioned bowling alleys.

Crowd: Ahhhhh!

And finally, a heart-breaking creature, sodomus maximum.

No one sodomized me, dill-weed.

ARRRRGH! IT SPEAKS!

I should have warned you. And this specimen is clearly suffering from a repressed memory disorder, no doubt a coping mechanism after years of relentless abuse at the hands of so-called men of God. We didn’t get to him in time.

Hey, look, it’s the fat guy from All In The Family.

No, I’m the critically-acclaimed director, Robert Reiner.

Whatever, Meathead.

I must be going, my friends. Thank you for your rapt attention. I hope you now understand just how much small-town America requires our guidance and influence. It is no small task.

We are up to the task, Open-Minded one.

In maple leaf land roams a man most unique

So sit back and relax, for your interest he’ll pique.

He goes by the handle Richard Warman, Esquire

But others might call him a professional crier.

Yes, Richard has endured greetings far less than warm,

Why? Many say it is simply poor form.

Or maybe it’s just that he’s misunderstood,

For in his heart Richard only strives to do good.

I am quite perplexed by these terrible letters,

From those not accepting their Islamic betters.

Are burkas so bad? Must women learn?

Why make flags flammable if they weren’t meant to burn?

“Free speech” is always their rallying cry,

But please, is it “free” if your words make me cry?

For that is the crux of the matter you see,

Richard has a soul far more gentle than thee.

He holds housefly funerals, gets choked up by rain!

Far more than Bill Clinton, he does feel your pain.

He hugs the crushed chips in the big bag of Lays,

When he heard Waldo was lost, he sobbed nine long days!

And if there comes a time that you must controvert him,

Please use sticks or stones, ‘cuz words surely will hurt him.

More likely to sip a cosmo than a lager,

What really gets him verklempt are those neo-con bloggers.

Oh the words that they use oh those words, words, words, words!

Each one that they write gives me fits, flots, and flurds!

Don’t they realize just what their scary ideas might do

If there were no Richard Warman protecting you?

That Ezra Levant published Mohammed cartoonies,

Free Dominion is chock full o’ right wingy loonies!

Kate McMillan’s mean prose always gives me a frown,

And Kathy Shaidle maintains that I pee sitting down!

Did you know Jonathan Kay of the National Post

Is Hitler’s first cousin, far more vicious than most?

With his pluck and his grit, Richard takes on these cads

Else their cruel words leave hapless folks feeling quite bad.

At the top of the heap is that villain Mark Steyn,

Who I’ve chosen to let slide just this one time.

That Steyn is a scoundrel, he fills me with dread,

But damned if I can get that man out of my head!

That distinguished beard, oh-so-perfectly groomed

The accent that’s made many mere mortals swoon.

South African? British? I can’t quite detect,

But when he speaks, ‘neath my belt the blood all defects.

That hiney, those pecs, fairly make me scream out,

“Hey there big guy, you been working out?”

But alas, as you see, I’ve begun to digress

(As often happens to me from his pure Steyninesss).

Though briefly distracted from his most noble of causes,

Richard Warman, Esquire takes the shortest of pauses.

Then quickly returns to the business he should,

Filtering mean speech for the far greater good.

Tis a burden quite great, to you I confess,

Having always to judge for my country what’s best.

If I let my guard down for even a sec,

Why your minds would be filled with the most vile dreck!

What, you might ask, drives this warrior on?

What makes him right wrongs from late dusk until dawn?

Some say as a child he received one wedgie too many

From Dalton, Ned, Zeke, and that one-legged dwarf Benny.

He limped home that night, quite embarrassed and swollen,

And commenced extracting his briefs from his colon.

And when he was calm, and his insides undressed,

He looked in the mirror and whispered one word: “unless.”

Unless I fight back, unless they all pay,

Other kids might get super-wedgies today!

Or-even worse- someone might speak to them curtly,

And leave them with feelings all injured and hurtly.

Or, horror of horrors, disagree with their themes,

Rendering their lives battles ‘gainst low self-esteem.

So pay they all must, for I will make a stand

How much? I’d say roughly ’bout fifty grand.

PLEASE SUPPORT OUR CANADIAN FRIENDS

Per Potfry’s previous post, “Word today from Kathy Shaidle that a new lawsuit has been filed by Canadian schoolgirl Richard Warman (picture below) against a group of conservative bloggers including Kathy’s Five Feet Of Fury blog, Ezra Levant, Mark Steyn, Small Dead Animals, Free Dominion, and Jonathan Kay of The National Post..”

As Potfry noted here: “Warman alleges that the group conspired to steal his fanny-pack, pull his pigtails, and create a mildly disturbing atmosphere that forced him to go potty more frequently than normal.”

We’ve dug around and discovered a bit more about this mysterious human rights crusader.

9. Has never been able to recapture the glory he achieved after he defeated Bobby Riggs in the famous “Battle of the Sexes.”

8. Once played lead air guitar in a Milli Vanilli tribute band.

7. Only needs to file 137 more lawsuits to finally gain complete and utter revenge on the ruffians who used to steal his lunch money in grade school.

6. Performed an interpretive dance entitled, “The Genius of Alan Alda” for his high school talent show.

5. Coined the phrase, “You can’t spell ‘team’ without ‘m-e’.”

4. Is perpelexed that his former employer refuses to change their name to the Human Lefts Commission.

3. Is so sensitive that after watching prescription drug commercials on television, frequently comes down with at least two of the major side effects.

2. Would never admit it, but secretly wears Mark Steyn footie-pajamas.

1. Feels very inadequate because…because…well, let’s just say that if he had a blog it would be named “3 Inches of Fury.”

9. Couldn’t find his white head scarf, and wasn’t about to commit fashion suicide by wearing black after Eid ul-Adha.

8. It was all a big misunderstanding. People thought he called for a “massive demonstration of force, using extreme violence if necessary, to protest the continuing American occupation force in Iraq.” What he really said was that he wanted to “get a few guys together at his place to hold a candlelight vigil for Brittney and pray that she has a successful stint in rehab.”

7. The lead actor became ill, so he had to fulfill his obligations as understudy for the role of Bluto in “Animal House: The Musical.”

6. Realized that it was “dimey’s” night at “Muhammad’s Not Here” tavern.

5. Had a severe flare-up of the gout after a practical joker replaced the coffee he normally drinks with goat urine.

4. Scheduling kerfuffle. Realized too late that he was set to speak at The Daily Kos’ “Let’s Show Our Support For The U.S. Troops” rally.

3. Didn’t know that Al Sharpton was planning on smearing a black, quadriplegic leper with feces that same day, and wasn’t about to compete for media coverage with that.

2. That New York Times editorial gig finally came through.

1. Timing of the march coincided with the E! True Hollywood Story on David Hasselhoff.

Dear Islamic Rage Boy:I am a young Muslim woman living in Pakistan, and I desperately need your advice. My father recently gave me to one of his friends as a bride. I was not thrilled with the choice, but being a devout follower of Allah and the Qu’ran, I have decided to make the best of it. I find that if I breathe evenly through my mouth (depending on where he is in his shower cycle, it can get rather odorous) and concentrate on a spot on the ceiling, it’s usually over pretty quickly, praise be to Allah.

Anyway, the reason I’m writing is concerning the beatings. While I understand this is his way of showing his love for me, I find it difficult to tend to my wifely duties with broken fingers. Is there a way to bring up this subject without incurring his wrath?

Sincerely,

Cowering In Kandahar

Dear Cowering:

Please take the following steps.

1. Turn-off and unplug your computer.

2. Throw it over the edge of the nearest cliff.

3. Making sure to first cover yourself, go outside.

4. Find a round rock that fits comfortably in your palm. Nothing too smooth.

5. Say the following: “I am sorry, dear Allah, for using modern technology,” over and over again.

6. Bash the rock repeatedly into your skull until unconscious.

Thank you,
Islamic Rage Boy

P.S. If by chance you survive the encounter, do not even consider the possibly of having your laptop repaired. We will be monitoring you a bit more closely from now on.

Good day everyone. Today I will be speaking with Senator Hillary Rodham Clinton about her recent difficulties with “misspeaking” as she relayed details of a trip to Bosnia in 1996. Welcome Senator Clinton.

Hi Brit, it’s great to be here today. I’ll be glad to finally clear the air over this very unfortunate incident.

Now Senator Clinton, you claim that you simply misspoke when you said that you came under sniper fire during the trip. Yet, you provided vivid details of the incident and even described, quite convincingly might I add, how you had to duck for cover. Isn’t this more than simply misspeaking?

Is it Brit? Are we going to parse words here today? Is that what this is about? Because if that’s the case, I have a few examples of times you yourself have misspoke. January 23rd, 2005, during a segment on global warming, you pronounced “arctic” as “ar-tic.” On national television. Twice. So which was it? Were you lying or misspeaking? You can’t have it both ways.

Senator Clinton, that is hardly the same…

March 9th, 2006, during an interview with John McCain you pronounced his last name “Mah-cane” instead of the more widely accepted, and might I add proper, “Mick-cane.” What do you have to say about that?

I think we’re getting off track here, Sen-

Not much fun to be put under the microscope is it?

Senator, I hardly think swallowing the first “c” in arctic and your fanciful creation of a riveting drama involving snipers on a dangerous Balkan runway fall into the same category.

Tom-a-to, tom-ah-to, Brit.

Okay, for the sake of argument, and my rapidly fading sanity, let’s say that the recollections of your trip to Tuzla simply involved “misspeaking.” What many people find disturbing is the fact that there seems to be a pattern of extreme exaggeration at best, and outright deceit at worst with regards to your handling of truth and facts. In fact, let’s take a look at a photograph from your website under the section,”Hillary’s Heroic Deeds.”

Yes, that’s one of my favorites.

The caption reads, and I quote, “Showing a strong willingness to cross the aisle to help a fellow human being, Hillary Clinton fearlessly throws her body in the way of gunfire to protect former President Reagan. FBI experts agree that her actions likely saved the president’s life on that fateful day.” Do you honestly expect people to believe that you were present during the attempt on President Reagan’s life?

Pictures don’t lie Brit. And quite frankly, the memory is a dark one for me, so I’d prefer not to discuss it in any detail…

Of course you wouldn’t. Well then what about this next one?

Well that one certainly brings back memories! Good ol’ TR. I still remember storming the hill with him that day. Only at the time, it was known as “storming the mount.” Teddy changed it to “storming the hill” out of respect and admiration for my bravery during the battle.

You know, you don’t even bat an eyelash when you say these things.

Thank you. I’ve been told I have excellent control over my facial muscles.

Surely even you must admit that this next picture stretches the limits of credulity. Your website claims that you were a very influential senior aide to General Grant during the Civil War.

I am really glad you brought this up, Brit, because it will give me the opportunity to clear up two huge misconceptions. First, I clearly have a vast repository of military experience to draw on. And second, it proves that I was a huge Yankee supporter even before I began my Senate run in New York State a few years back.

Senator Clinton. Your presence in the Civil War would mean that you’re…what…165 years old?

I think you know better than to ask a woman her age, Brit.

Wow. Just, wow. You know, I’m going to take a little different approach for the remainder of our time, partially because I’ve lost the will to speak. I’m simply going to put up a photo and let you tell our viewers what it is we’re looking at.

You could have saved yourself a great deal of aggravation if you had simply employed that strategy from the get-go, Brit.

Someone just run the pictures, please. For the love of God.

D-Day. Ike thought my experience at San Juan Hill and Gettysburg would be valuable.

Ah, Saddam’s spider hole. Do you have the photo of the delousing I performed shortly afterwards?

The Miracle on Ice! Boy, we really shocked the Ruskies.

I see you lost a tooth.

Actually, goalie Jim Craig still has that tooth in a locket he wears around his neck.

Sweet mother of Jesus. Kill. Me. Now.

OK….here I am discovering fire. That’s Gorg in the background poking the fire, or as he called it, “ARRGGGHHH!”

Jimmy, can I get a double arsenic, neat?

Dear Islamic Rage Boy,

I am an enthusiastic young jihadi living in the vanguard of the new caliphate; London, England. Even though I am only seventeen, I have a wealth of experience as a Holy Warrior. To wit, I have recruited eighteen suicide bombers; I’ve filed a multi-million dollar “defamation of Muhammad” lawsuit in international court against noted Islamophobe Mark Steyn; and I have personally removed the heads of no less than eleven non-believers.

But therein lies the problem. My carpet cleaning expenses have become astronomical. My friends are always saying that I should perform these decapitations at a neutral site; like an alley or a public square. I have tried both of these, but felt more than a little uncomfortable each time.

When I sawed off the head of a non-believer in the alley, I felt…sneaky. Like I was doing something wrong. And the time I practiced my craft in a London park, almost everyone avoided eye contact. When I caught the attention of the few who did look my way, they clearly had disapproving looks on their faces.

No, I prefer the “home field advantage,” as the American devils are fond of saying. Which brings me back to my original point: how can I continue to perform Allah’s work, and maintain a clean, stain-free carpet all at the same time? And please do not recommend over-the-counter products. I have tried all of them before with no success. I anxiously await your response.

Khalid of the Clotted Carpet Clan

Dear Khalid,

My hat is off to you my friend. You truly have a resume that would be considered impressive by any standard. I must say, you remind me of myself in many ways. I too was once young and ambitious. You are surely on your way to accomplishing great things. However, stubborn stains have been the undoing of many a Holy Warrior with great potential. You were right to come to me.

I still recall one time during the early days of my career when my ambition was writing checks my machete couldn’t cash. I had a ridiculously busy schedule this particular Saturday: a 5:00 pm decapitation in my living room, followed quickly by the clitorectomies of the Hassan triplets at 6:00. To top it all off, I had 100 guests arriving at my hut at 8:00 for a party to celebrate the anniversaries of me and six of my wives!

After completing my duties, I looked down and saw several embarrassing stains on the rug. I tried cold water with no luck (even though I blotted and did not scrub). I tried several OTC cleaning products, but each one seemed to only add more depth and color to the stains.

Finally, I swallowed my pride and called in a professional. It was the best move I ever made. The staff was knowledgeable, professional, and quickly converted to Islam with only a minimum of coaxing. The carpets came clean, the celebration went off without a hitch, and I can now perform a wide range of religious ceremonies at home with complete confidence.

I learned a valuable lesson through the humiliating sequence of events that day. You may be able to get away with inferior products in some instances, but not all the time. When it comes to the cleanliness and beauty of your home, accept no substitutes.

Production Notes: During the filming of this video, the Potfry twins witnessed their father frantically trying to extinguish Raggedy Ann, likely providing ample fodder for their future therapist. Mrs. Potfry spent most of the proceedings taking notes and talking with her attorney. Contrary to the ravings of the on-set veterinarian, we remain hopeful Jake the Dog’s fur will grow back. Script, recording, and editing supervision by Buckley and Bruce Dickinson. Voice over by Dan Pardo. Poor final mix by Potfry.