Originally published by drfaustroll under Invective, Literary Terrorism, Pataphysics, Poopadoodle, Sedition February 19. 2008

As the extremely late Mild Bill Wordsworth once noted, poetry is the spontaneous ejaculation of powerful human emotion that take flight over the masses and deposits strings of richly luxurious spiritual spooge onto the hair and the upturned faces of those who are reciting the serenity prayer.

Literary criticism is the act of reflecting upon such emotional observations in a state of complete apathy. 

Literary tarotism, on the other hand, revels in spewing great gushing gobs of pataphysical love juice into the Kindles of enlightened readers, causing them to violently regurgitate disgusting words they were not even aware they had hidden inside them like extra sets of keys to locks to houses and cars they only dreamed of breaking into or stealing from the Walmart parking lot.

So it is in that shockingly awful sense of the Great Spirit that we here at the Portland Pataphysical Outpatient Clinic, Lounge, and Laundromat embark upon an in-depth examination of the Obama legacy and what went wrong.

Over the next several months, Phyllis Stein, Crazy Ernie Hemingway, Stephen Cranefool, Dick Nada and other staff and patients in and out of restraints will examine where we have arrived in the denouement of the Obama administration after groping and grunting and sweating and screaming Oh Yes, Oh Yes, Oh Yes! now that we have sunk back on the soaked and steamy mattress spent and sated and lit our cigarettes, now beginning to wonder why it wasn’t as good as we had originally imagined.

And then the horror of reality sets in. Could it be that George W. Bush accomplished more during his first thirty days in office (26 of which he devoted almost exclusively to his spiritually grueling vacation schedule) than Biraq Hussein Obama has managed to accomplish in his three months as savior-elect and a full four weeks as saintly workoholic?

You don’t need to answer that. It was a rectumhoracle question that winks at you while you shave or put on your make-up in the morning, or the evening, for those of you on swing or graveyard.

We should have seen it coming. Bush hit the ground on January 20, 2001 with a clear mandate to establish a Christian theocracy and avenge the honor of his father who had been called Poopyhead by Saddam Hussein and stupid by William Jefferson Clinton, a man who hailed from a state where alleged adults suddenly congeal into incoherent phalanxes of pig-festooned paroxysms of fervent fandom screaming woo-pig-sooie! until God visits tornados on nearby states.

During the eight years Bush spent in office, the liberal media and the nation of miserable phucks (NOMPH) conspired to make the pretenses put forth in The One Minute President a reality by proving that anyone can grow up to be president, even a developmentally defective war dude decider.

Up Next: How the NOMPH sprang full blown from the head of Turd Blossom!