Our story thus far.
Obama is our first Affirmative Action President. We deserve what we got. The one open fact of his otherwise secretive provenance is his teenage mentor, a committed communist and pederast. From this alone it was soon clear we'd sent a boy to do a man's job, and not even a standup boy of the "pardon me" kind, but an androgynous adolescent satisfying his inner Caligula to applause from the perpetually misty eyed. Technically he's—it's?—wedded to a becostumed, stunningly dimwitted and often bizarre she-beast. We're almost relieved to know he's in fact wedded to himself.
Somewhere he and his armigerous playpals got the idea no comic opera is complete without a warzey. If nothing else it keeps the legions busy far from the Emerald City, and so, probable causes were scripted by the Official YouTube Corps and posted throughout the land. Alas, the laugh test was inexplicably left in place, from long disuse likely, and free-floating suspicions quickly attached themselves to it. It's become an indigestible lump. Its expulsion won't be pretty.
Now even his most fervent sphincter-lickers grow reluctant to endorse its issuances and, belatedly, embarrassed by the persistent odor. So Boy Obama and his kapitol kadets have gone all Kremlin to where only the tradesman's entrance sees significant traffic. Communiqués from the paladin inform us of appointments and edicts. Then we're dismissed.
The party continues within. How like a boy.
So here we are, thus far.
No one's surprised.