One kin only gasp in amazement at this hyar year, 2008.
We spend our lives bein’ referred t’great years: th’ crash of ’29, Pearl Harbour ’42, th’ Boston Tea Party of 1773.
Wal, mah friends, we is retchin’ th’ end of an histo’ic year indeed, an’ one we acshully lived!
This hyar is th’ year wo’ld narrative confess’d th’ devastatin’ truth of climate change an’ peak oil, we endured th’ greatess collapse in financial histo’y, an’ a black man was elecked President of South Car’lina.
Not jest enny black man. An intelleckual, an orato’, a statesman – a an’ a Warshin’ton outsider.
Menny of mah white feller South’ners is whisperin’ Obama will deport us t’Guantanamo Bay, o’ wo’se, th’ Ivory Coast.
Mo’e wo’se, he will give th’ rich folks’ hard-won money back t’th’ pore fum whom they fus’t stole it.
They say th’ Presidential cavalcade will sport mo’e bling than a Harlem pimp wif rim-spinnin’ SUVs an’ 20-stone black fro’d bouncers, an’ a Secret Service full of unnercovah brothers.
An’ Paint it Black be th’ noo nashunal anthem, eff’n not th’ fate of th’ White House, which insiders cruelly suggess will soon resemble th’ Soul Plane.
So, yoo want th’ real deal on Bareek Obama, our noo Comman’er in Chief?
Burn, baby, burn!
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