Once upon a time, there was a man named Obama, who owned a Baloney sandwich restaurant, The House of Baloney. He served the very best Baloney sandwiches, made from the very finest Baloney, imported all the way from Hawaii, or Connecticut, and maybe even Kenya. People came from far and wide to get his Baloney. They would say, “Ohhh, but this is such Good Baloney!” They were so fanatic, people even started calling them “O-buts.”
Then one day, a little newspaper boy bought some baloney sandwiches, and when he got home, he discovered his change was $2.00 short! So he went back to Obama and he said, “I want my $2.00, please.”Obama said, “Get lost kid, you bother me!”
Undeterred, the newspaper boy sat outside the House of Baloney with a sign that said, “ I want my $2.00.” He sat there in the rain and the sleet and the snow, for months. At first, everyone thought the newspaper boy was just crazy. Obama swore he had given him the proper change. He put a PICTURE of the cash register tape and deposit slip on the Internet. He even had people swear it was a true picture.
But, as time went on, people began to get suspicious of Obama. Why was he letting this poor little newspaper boy, who might indeed be crazy, just sit out there in the rain, with his poor little sign, exposed to the elements, and sad. And what if, just what if, Obama had kept the $2.00 and not deposited it in the bank. People started not going to the House of Baloney.
The O-buts defended Obama. “It’s his restaurant”, they said. “He doesn’t have to legally give the kid the $2.00 if he doesn’t want to.” That was true enough, but by this time, Obama had already lost 25% of his sales. Some people said, “Just give the kid his $2.00 and quit being a jerk!” “No!” said the O-buts. “This kid is so crazy, that even if you give him the $2.00, he won’t go away!”
So it went on for over two years. People now began to wonder, “Was there really something wrong with Obama?” Because he had lost a lot more in business than the $2.00. They reasoned that even if he didn’t owe it, something fishy was going on, because there really was no good reason for a sane businessman not to just cough up the two bucks, and move on.
But still the newspaper boy sits there, with his ragged, little homemade sign, the “I want my $2.00″ smeared by rain, and running like two day old mascara, and the cardboard all wrinkly and fraying at the edges. Inside, Obama sits, twidding his thumbs, and hoping business will pick up.