The Real Truth About President Obama

Much attention has been given in the media to the so-called "birther" movement, who allege--for various reasons, many of the contradictory, many others contrary to established law--that President Obama isn't eligible to be President, due to alleged foreign birth or other supposed defects on his citizenship pedigree.

A few on the political right wing of the US take this stuff seriously (as does a significant fraction of the US public, though far from a majority)--most of the rest of us though consider it whacky.  (And racist to boot).  And I suspect that rather than be offended by some of the more ridiculous (and transparently bigoted) notions peddled by World Nut Daily and other birther publications, President Obama actually enjoys all of this--it makes the opposition (even those who consider birther conspiracies to be nonsense) look like fools.

Plus, the birther conspiracies obscure The Truth.

(Cue timpanist:  Dum-Dum-Dummmmm!)

[Louder, Maestro.]

(DUM-DUM-DUMMMMMM!)

[Thank you.]

You see, ladies and gentlemen--and please read this quickly before my computer is vaporized, all electronic records of my existence are deleted, and all memory of me is erased from the brain cells of everyone I ever met--the birthers, in truth, have a point.

Except President Obama wasn't born in Africa.  No, he was instead born in--Alpha Centauri.

That's right--the President is an Extra-Terrestrial.
And no, not this kind:

THIS kind:

All won't be revealed, of course, until November 2012.  Here's how it will go down:

Late in the evening of November 6, 2012; after the polls close on the West Coast and all the networks call the election for GOP nominee Sarah Palin (you thought it would be someone else?), Obama will stand in front of the cameras in the Oval Office for his concession speech.  Only he won't concede--at that time, he will unzip his human suit, reveal his True Reptilian Form, and announce the imminent destruction of our puny planet.  There won't be any Will Smith or Tom Cruise or Steven Spielberg (did I just say that) or friendly harmless-to-us-but-deadly-to-aliens bacteria or Slim Whitman music to save us from doom--we'll be toast.  The Mayans will have gotten the date right; just not the means.

And poor Sarah Palin--elected to assist God in bringing about the Apocalypse (as if He needs any help), her fingers only inches (and eleven weeks) away from The Button--won't get the chance.  In the darkest and deepest possible of ironies, her dreams of a starring role in the End of the World will be swept aside by a giant green lizard from outer space.

Now you know.