Barack Obama Stole My Puppy

In recent days, the increasingly erratic McCain campaign has begun to recycle shop-worn smears about Barrack Obama's alleged connections to Dr.Evil and the Legion of Doom that first surfaced during the hard fought Democratic primary season. The central proposition raised by the Hottie and the Nottie is that we don't really know enough about this fellow with the funny name and the shady past.


As an enthusiastic Obama supporter (multiple $ donor, phone bank and swing-state canvasser), my first reaction was to immediately dimiss these accusations as ludicrous. But then I decided to reexamine some troubling events from my recent and not so recent past. This blog is the result.


The title of this blog comes from one of the most traumatic events of my formative years. When I was twelve years old, I found a puppy. Not just any puppy, mind you, but the cleverest, happiest dog that I have ever had the fortune to meet. I loved animals of every kind, but dogs best of all, and in the way of twelve year olds, I had my life all mapped out. I was going to be a veteranarian, so that I could dedicate my life to the four-footed among us.


For a girl whose favorite books were Old Yeller, Sounder, and Where the Red Fern Grows, finding that puppy was like a gift straight from Heaven. I took that puppy to the vet, played with her constantly, and fretted over her like a worried mother hen. No dog was more loved, and no dog was ever a better friend.


One day when my mother was away, a stranger came to the door. He asked if I had found a puppy. As a properly brought up young lady, I answered yes and opened the door to let the puppy out. The man reached down and picked up my dog. He claimed she was his and turned to walk away. My puppy struggled and yelped in his arms, trying to get to me. Despite my entreaties, begging him to wait until my mother came home, the hard-faced stranger silently stowed my puppy into his car and drove away. I collapsed in the driveway, completely undone. To this day, I still feel such a wash of sadness over the loss of that puppy and can hardly believe the cruelty of that grown man, who never even thanked me for the care of his dog.


And it is only now with the help of professionals that I recognize and can say with absolute certainty that the cruel stranger was Barack Obama. What this means for my continued advocacy of the Obama campaign, I simply cannot say. But now that I have found these newly discovered memories, I urge my fellow Americans to examine their lives for similar encounters with Barack Obama.


For example, did Barack Obama steal your 8th-grade girlfriend, cut in front of you in line at Starbucks, slip you any pot filled brownies just before finals, or embark on a profanity laced tirade at your local PTA meeting? In your responses, I urge you not to be constrained by the false limits of truth, reason, the space-time continuum or commonly accepted historic accounts of events.

America, I want, no, NEED to hear your stories.


"Barack Obama, I wish I knew how to quit you."


P.S. I'll be collecting the best entries and sending them along to the McCain campaign to be used in their upcoming rockumentary, Obama The Impaler.