I was just reading an article on the Federalist site titled, “Why We Will Always Need To Own Guns,” but the photo image that headed up the article is what really caught my eye. It was a familiar one – the one where Obama is supposedly “shooting skeet.”
It was published on August 4, 2012 to show that president Obama really did enjoy the shooting sports and was an avid hunter. This was supposed to counteract the anti-gun label he’s been saddled with by the pro-gun people. But there was a problem … Valerie Jarrett released the wrong image (the one above) to the press. The copy that accompanied the image explained that Obama was an gun enthusiast and really didn’t want to take away people’s guns.
This is the REAL story of the White House press release that was supposed to establish Barack’s bona fides as a hunter and sportsman. But first, the story behind that image and how it came to be:
Secret Plumbers and Shooting Skeets
Five men and two women were ushered from the black SUVs into Building R-uh by a half-dozen Secret Service bodyguards. They were Obama’s plumbers, a covert team of Photoshop experts, called up for another project: Obama had to be shown shooting a skeet (whatever that was).
They were called “plumbers” because they were a special secret unit, not unlike President Richard Nixon’s plumbers. For those readers too young to remember, the group that was responsible for the Watergate break in (and resulting scandal) worked for Nixon and were known as the White House “plumbers.”
A candid snapshot shows all of them wearing disguises to hide their identities.
They were an elite team, the best of the best when it came to creating or editing any kind of document or photograph. They could work miracles, and their work defied detection by non-expert citizens (though some experts labeled them as forgeries). Truth be told, although no one would admit it, it was rumored that they were responsible for Obama’s birth certificate, Selective Service card, college documents and more.
They were guarded 24/7 and had sworn fealty to their lord and master, B. Hussein Obama. In exchange, they were handsomely paid and lived in palatial comfort, but were not allowed to communicate with the outside world – that was verboten. Their main enticement was that their families also lived like kings. Even if some freaky “accident” were to befall them, their families would be taken care of – it was like a fabulous living insurance policy. They were the elite of the specious document world, living like rock stars or professional athletes, but only in the controlled surroundings of Stalag Barack.
The compound’s only identification was a simple sign showing it to be a Cook County Correctional Center, and it looked just like you’d expect a prison to look (from the outside), complete with barbed wire topping high masonry walls and guard towers at strategic points surrounding the facility.
It was also the plumber’s home, workshop, studio … and prison.
They were initially recruited (ostensibly) to correct discrepancies in commercial imaging and to create complex legal documents for a fictitious company. Competition was fierce and testing was stringent – only the best survived. The few who passed all of the functional tests were then subject to security testing.
They were required to pass the highest level of security. That’s ironic since prior to his election, Barack Obama could not have passed any security investigation. A new security level (called Sigma) was created specifically for the plumbers unit. It surpassed all other levels of security, even those granted to members of Obama’s cabinet and the Joint Chiefs. That was not surprising, since public exposure of the unit’s projects could literally bring down the Presidency.
In the end, each was offered an iron-clad, lifetime contract – much like selling one’s soul to the devil. A leak of any kind was designated a treasonous act (a secret Obama Executive Order says so), punishable by life in prison, or death.
They would work directly for the Office of the President and answer to no one but Valerie Jarret. She was the PDF (President de facto) and set out the particulars of what they were to do and when.
Today, they were the backup in case anything went amiss while photographing Obama shooting skeets (whatever they were). If anything prevented actual pictures from being taken, the plumbers would have to create composite images of the president confidently blasting away at those pesky skeets with his favorite shotgun at Camp David.
Jarret had decided that several pictures of the president would endear him to gun enthusiasts and soften their opposition to his new gun control measures.
Perhaps they’d even show the president holding up several skeets that he’d bagged. She wondered if it was appropriate to mount a skeet – perhaps they could show one mounted on the wall in the president’s quarters? Did skeets have horns?
Could they be mounted to appear vicious; snarling – mouth open showing fangs? Did they run in packs? Prides? Pods? She needed to know more about the elusive creatures.
When Valerie had first approached the president about his “skeet shooting all the time” remark, she suggested that they should validate the remark by actually staging some pictures of the president really shooting a skeet. Otherwise, real skeet hunters would be skeptical and would want some hard evidence that Obama truly did often hunt skeet. Jarret wanted to establish that he did, and noted sometimes he even skinned and gutted the animals himself. To flesh out the deception, they’d even mention that White House Executive Chef Cristeta Comerford did a marvelous job on the skeet and the Obama’s often served Fricassee of Skeet with Creamy Leeks to guests.
But Jarret knew that they could spin all they wanted, without pictures as proof, he’d be ridiculed (again) and be called a liar (again).
Unfortunately, our fearless leader didn’t react well to being told that he’d have to shoot a gun and reverted to street language: “Are you shittin’ me?” “Ain’t no way Ahm gettin’ close to no gun, Ah might shoot mah eye out.”
Later it was learned that Obama’s mama was scared by fireworks the night before he was born (it was at one of those typical Kenyan tribal celebrations), and to this day, he loses control of his bladder whenever he hears a big BANG nearby. So, actually operating any kind of thing that went BOOM was vetoed.
So Barry wee-wee’d out and refused to hoist a shotgun, that pretty much shot Plan A to hell. On to Plan B.
Plan B was to create “evidence” that the president did actually shoot some skeets (whatever they were) and by golly, he hit one of those little buggers right below the antler – great shot! He quickly got his bag limit and graciously allowed the other hunters in his group to continue without him hogging all of the shots on the elusive skeets.
When PDF Valerie explained what she wanted to the plumbers, they admitted that they didn’t know anything about skeets. One, Barb Dwyer, was the only one who was skeptical that a skeet was even an animal.
Barb was one of the stars of the plumbers unit since “developing” an entire series of college transcripts from Occidental College, Columbia and Harvard showing Obama as 4.0 student who was consistently named to the Dean’s List for his grades. They’d not yet been released to the public; they were awaiting a serious assault on Obama’s refusal to release any school documents – that’s when they’d eviscerate any detractor by releasing the “transcripts” to refute the accusations and validate Obama’s elite intellect at the same time.
But in the meantime, the skeet research occupied center stage and time was short.
Cy O’narra was responsible for the research and quickly set to work. It only took one quick Google to learn that they’d been hornswoggled. A skeet wasn’t an animal at all, it was a clay disk that was flung out in front of a shooter to simulate the flight of a bird.
Damn. Damn. Damn.
O’narra quickly contacted Valerie and gave her the news. She was aghast (and apissed) – she had to get to Obama quickly before he made any other dumbass statements about skeets. Luckily, she had him on lockdown. He dared not say anything to anybody without her express consent; she had clamped down on his extraneous comments following the “all the time” skeet reference. Every time he opened his mouth, he wound up with Michelle’s size twelve brogan in it.
So, on to Plan C. They would stage a single photo of the president with gun in hand and layer in some shots from Camp David’s skeet shooting area. This would be simple since a full digital video studio had been created at Stalag Barack and they had access to thousands of stock images taken at Camp David.
When Valerie was inaugurated as PDF, she commissioned two professional photographers to take digital shots of all areas of the White House from varying angles and in different lighting conditions. She did the same at Camp David. Those stock images could be used via Chroma keying (green screen) to place anyone anywhere, doing anything at any time.
Valerie was not to be trifled with; she would stop at nothing to retain her power as the crone behind the throne – and she was prepared.
She could easily produce an image of Obama anywhere on the grounds of Camp David doing manly things like riding a horse, grabbing his crotch or whittling and spitting.
It was widely whispered that if negotiations with Congress made it necessary, the plumbers could easily produce an image of Speaker of the House Paul Ryan in the Lincoln Bedroom practicing husbandry with a sheep named Baa-baa-rella wearing panties and a bra.
But now, she had her work cut out for her. She had to (somehow) get Obama to hold a gun, a shotgun at that, in a shooting position as if he were shooting at a skeet (or whatever it’s called), all without wetting himself.
Later that day, she had the administration’s property master bring by a bona fide shotgun, a Browning Citori 12 gauge. She summoned Obama and convinced him to hold the loathsome killing machine by promising him a menthol Virginia Slim cigarette (his favorite). He wasn’t going for it, so she promised him a joint. He agreed to the weed. Michelle would slap him silly if she ever found out, but he decided to “be a man” and choom up.
Sharp woman that she is, Valerie had the official plumber photographer shoot the smoke exhaled by the president (without showing his face). They would use the smoke later to make it appear as if it was coming out of the gun when Obama shot at that clay skeet thingy.
The green screen was set up in Obama’s meditation room, a room designated as private and off-limits to even the Secret Service. The president required complete privacy to mull and ponder the difficult decisions he had to make as president. It was also where he kept his stash of “Big Uns” for when he felt the need to work on a “stimulus” program.
He was given the Browning to hold (Valerie had to help him hold it up) and told to aim at the target (a silhouette outline of Michelle) on the far wall. Obama grinned, maybe he had a use for the shotgun after all.
He grumbled when told that he had to wear protection, stating that he didn’t like those things and didn’t understand why he had to wear one, they never fit – they were all way too big. Valerie explained that protection meant eye and ear protection. “Oh, uhhh, ok.”
He was set. They shot several images of him from different angles and with varying lighting to cover all the bases. The shotgun was heavy and he had to stop and take a hit every now and then to regain his strength.
Finally, the deed (and the weed) was done and Obama went back to playing his latest video game “Super Mario Brothers Play House With Tinker Bell.”
Gray Poupon was the group member tasked with compositing Obama’s image with one selected from the Camp David image database. When he completed his work, he was both pleased and sad – pleased that his creation was “A work of art,” but sad that no one could ever know.
He notified Jarret and copied his work to a special folder on her personal computer. She was elated at the speed with which Poupon had completed his project.
She immediately sent an image to Obama’s press and media supporters at all of the major networks and big city newspapers.
All went well until someone noticed that the president’s finger was behind the trigger while the gun was supposedly firing. Additionally, the choom smoke was more dense than modern smokeless powders emitted, and if that weren’t enough, even though Poupon had deleted the smoke exhaled from Obama’s last hit, it was still there.
OMG, Valerie had released the wrong version of the composite.
She had accidentally missed the final version and attached an interim one that still retained a cloud of smoke being exhaled upwards by a reclining Obama. It ended up looking like it was coming from the right side of the gun barrel itself.
But it was too late.
In her haste to disseminate the evidence to Obama’s supporters, Valerie had attached the wrong version of the image and sent it to her entire “Sycophants of Obama” address book and it was now popping up everywhere … and being ridiculed everywhere.
Now, dear reader, in observance of common propriety, we find it necessary to censor Valerie’s comments when she learned that the image had gone viral. But know that even drunken sailors would be embarrassed by her tirade. The most we can pass along is:
In the end, even though the fault for releasing the wrong image was solely hers, there are three new openings at the White House for Photoshop experts again. What happened to Barb, Cy and Gray, you ask? They haven’t been seen lately – coincidentally not since the concrete slab was poured at that new Jiffy Lube down the street?
BTW, Doesn’t that slab look a little lumpy?
Rest in Peace, plumbers unit 4.0, we hardly knew ye.
Legal disclaimer: No skeets were harmed during the production of this narrative.
Categories: Humor & Satire