October 23, 2008
…”I worship Obama. There. I said it. I sacrifice birds to him. Chickens, mostly, but an occasional finch or starling. I have a shrine to Obama in my bedroom, with a statue of him I have fashioned out of wax and a hair clipping I am told was taken from Barack. I improvise songs in Creole and ply the effigy with rum and spiced candies, and bid it to do my doing. Sometimes groups of us dance naked around the Obama shrine to the insistent tattoo of a tribal drum, and then, smeared in chicken's blood, we have a profane orgy. Obama finds things I have lost, he heals my illness, he protects my possessions, and he curses my enemies. Obama makes women fall in love with me, and gives me the sexual stamina of a goat. Obama sends money my way, and makes me bulletproof. Obama appears before us in the clothes of an undertaker, smoking a cigar, and brings the dead back to life, and army of the undead that even now wait for their orders.
Obama is not God. Obama is better than God, because God is distant and strange. Obama calls us at night and sings us to sleep with songs of hope. And we will all worship him one day, or he will kill those that deny him with a sword made from the spine of John McCain…”
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