Once upon a time, in a District called Columbia, lived an Obama named Barack. He was a halfling — half white, half black. One day, he was visited by an old friend, the political wizard Nathan the Silver.
“Why so down?” Nathan the Silver asked.
The Obama gave a long and weary sigh, as if the weight of the free world rested on his frail shoulders. How he longed for a good pipe of tobacco!
“Oh, it’s this election coming up. The original fellowship that carried me to the White Hole is broken, and I don’t think all the emails in the world can put it together again. And I don’t know if I even want to serve a second term. My first term hasn’t exactly been tea and cakes, you know.”
“Nonsense!” Nathan the Silver cried. “You will easily win reelection! It’s written in the polls! If one fellowship is broken, then we will assemble another. Behold!” He waved his magic slide rule, and suddenly the White Hole was filled with thirteen dwarfs. The dwarfs were of every size, shape, color, and sexual orientation — save one.
“I don’t see any straight white male dwarfs,” the Obama said, peering at the company closely.
“We’re still working on that demographic,” Nathan the Silver said. “Relax, I’ve got my fellow political wizard, Willie the Slick, on the case. In the meantime, we’ve got enough votes right here to carry you back into the White Hole for a second term.”
And so, the company set off on a quest across Middle America. But as they attempted to pass through the Misty Mountain states, they beheld a gross and hideous sight. It was Rushbogg, the Goblin King of the Airwaves. He exuded a foul miasma that reduced all who inhaled it into his mindless thralls:
“If the Obama wins a second term, then he will turn America into a failed socialist state from across the waters. He will take away our magic swords and impose Sharia law, single female elves will fornicate in the streets with illegal Gondorian aliens, and liberal Rivendell intellectuals will feast on the corpses of freshly aborted humans!”
“Run!” Nathan the Silver cried. “If you breath too much of his noxious fumes, you are doomed!”
And so, the fellowship ran; but in the resulting confusion, Barack the Obama got separated from the rest. He wandered for a time alone in the wilderness, wishing he was back home with his pipe, until he stumbled upon a shiny object. He bent and picked it up. It was a golden ring. There was a faint inscription on the inside, written in ancient runes; fortunately, he had studied ancient runes at Harvard law school. It said “One ring for all the states, and in the darkness unite them.”
He was just puzzling over what this might mean, when a strange creature appeared. It resembled a man in contours, but its shape kept shifting, as if it contained no moral core, and it made a weird, unpleasant, flip-flopping sound as it moved from left to right, there and back again.
“Mittum! Mittum!” the creature hissed. “My Presidency! It’s mine! Give it back!”
“How do I know it’s your ring?” the Obama said. “Anyone could have dropped it here.”
“It’s made out of solid gold!” Mittum cried. “Who else would have a solid gold ring?”
Thinking fast, Barack the Obama replied: “I know, let’s have a riddle contest. Whoever wins gets to keep the ring. What are 47 percent of the American people?”
“Mittum knows the answer!” Mittum said excitedly. “Worthless parasites feeding off the public trough! Takers, not makers!”
“Wrong,” the Obama said, “it’s my base.” He slipped the ring on his finger and disappeared, leaving Mittum dumbfounded.
“My presidency! Come back!” Mittum wailed in despair. “We hates the Obama! Nasty, stinking, cheating Obama! We will seek the presidency forever — or at least until 2016!”
Meanwhile, behind the scenes, Nathan the Silver had been busy. He had wandered to a lonely, barren hilltop somewhere in the middle of Ohio. There, in the moonlight, on Election Eve, he called out to the surrounding darkness: “I know you are there! Show yourself!”
Suddenly, there was a smell of brimstone, and he appeared. It was Karl the Rove, an evil political wizard. He had sold his soul to the Koch brothers, Sauron and Saruman, in exchange for contributing 300 million gold pieces to his Magic PAC, Mordorian Crossroads.
“It is time,” Karl the Rove said, “for a duel of political wizards. I will match my punditry against your polls, my dark arts against your bright science, and we will see who the more powerful wizard is!”
And so the epic battle began. At first Nathan the Silver seemed to have the mathematical advantage; but even when the numbers were against him, Karl the Rove refused to yield. “Your polls are skewed! I just need to find a few more straight white male dwarfs, and victory is mine!”
Just when all seemed lost, help arrived from a most unlikely source. A vixen — a female Fox employee — darted out of the woods. She was a comely maiden named Megyn, clad all in kelly green. “It’s true, Karl. Obama won Ohio. It’s over.”
“NOOOOOOOOO!” howled Karl the Rove, like a warg impaled through its own entrails, and disappeared in a puff of sulphurous smoke, never to be seen again — or at least until the next election cycle.
And so, after many more adventures — the spider web of sexual intrigue at the Pentagram, the Pledge of Idiocy in the Grove of Norquist — Barack the Obama, Nathan the Silver, and the thirteen dwarfs of various sizes, shapes, colors, and sexual orientations were eventually reunited, and a great victory celebration was held.
“Well, that’s that,” Barack the Obama said, “Now to put up my feet, and have a nice smoke to relax.”
“Nay,” Nathan the Silver said. “It’s just beginning! You must still scale the fiscal cliff, slay the dragon Climate Change, bring peace to the Armies of the Middle East, prevent the Dark Ayatollah from acquiring nuclear weapons, fairly distribute the tax burden of Thorin…”
Barack the Obama sighed as if the weight of the free world rested on his frail shoulders. “Don’t adventures ever end?”
“Mittum! Mittum!” a voice hissed in the darkness. “Mittum will seek his presidency forever!”
To be continued in The Obama II: The Desolation of Budget Deficits