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BHO's sexually confused caretakers
Posted By Jack Cashill On 03/07/2012 @ 7:55 pm In Commentary,Opinion | No Comments
This past week, without really intending to, the Associated Press provided another clue into Barack Obama’s troubled identity with a sympathetic story on the president’s “transgender former nanny.”
As shall be seen, this was not Obama’s only sexually confused caretaker, but first a word on “Evie” of Indonesia, real name “Turdi,” which is reason enough to want to be called by another name.
In that Evie/Turdi was born a male, remains a male physically, has lived as a male for the last 20 years or so and attends a mosque five times a day as a male, I will use the pronoun “he.” The proudly politically correct AP uses “she.”
Apparently, Turdi took care of Obama when young Barry was 8-to-10 years of age, and Turdi was in his mid-20s. He would bring Obama to and from school and play with him afterwards.
Turdi watched over Obama as a male. It is pure newspeak to call him a “nanny.” Nevertheless, Turdi was not overly careful to conceal his inner yearnings at the time.
According to the AP, neighbors saw Turdi leave the Obama house in drag on occasion, but Turdi doubts Obama knew this. Still, as Turdi concedes, “He did see me trying on his mother’s lipstick, sometimes. That used to really crack him up.” I can imagine.
If you wonder what kind of mother would leave her impressionable, fatherless son with an obvious cross dresser and likely homosexual, it is same kind of mother who would leave him with a communist pornographer and likely bisexual a few years later.
Upon returning to Hawaii, Ann Dunham decided that young Barry needed an African-American mentor. Her father, Stanley Dunham, took the lead and introduced Barry to the aforementioned pornographer, Frank Marshall Davis, author of the salacious novel, “Sex Rebel: Black.”
Although written under the pseudonym “Bob Greene,” there is no doubt Davis wrote it. In his memoir, “Livin’ the Blues,” Davis took credit when asked. Writes he coyly, “I could not then truthfully deny that this book, which came out in 1968 as a Greenleaf Classic, was mine.”
“Sex Rebel” is decidedly a novel, not an autobiography – a good thing as the book documents his seduction of a 13-year-old girl. The girl’s name, by the way, is Anne.
The narrator of “Sex Rebel” does not limit his conquests to young women. He concedes that “under certain circumstances I am bisexual” as well as “a voyeur and an exhibitionist.”
In the introduction to “Sex Rebel,” an alleged Ph.D. named Dale Gordon goes further. He describes the pseudonymous author, Bob Greene, as having “strong homosexual tendencies in his personality.”
In one of those hot flashes that give liberalism a bad name, Obama biographer David Remnick describes Dunham’s introduction of his grandson to Davis as “one of the more thoughtful and consequential things Stanley did in his role as surrogate grandfather,” almost as thoughtful perhaps as when mom introduced her 13-year-old to Roman Polanski.
Never mind the communist part. Davis was an admitted “sex rebel” with at the very least a fictional taste for the underaged and the male.
The astute reader gets a glimpse of the troubling Obama-Davis relationship in the poem “Pop,” published under Obama’s name in the spring 1981 edition of Occidental College’s literary magazine, “Feast.”
Rebecca Mead, writing in the New Yorker, unhesitatingly describes “Pop” as a “loving if slightly jaded portrait of Obama’s maternal grandfather.”
Remnick makes the same point. “Pop,” he says as though a given, “clearly reflects Obama’s relationship with his grandfather Stanley Dunham.” I could find no mainstream publication that even suggests otherwise.
Obama called Dunham “Gramps.” No reviewer asks why he would call the poem “Pop,” a title with certain implications. The case for Gramps as subject is further weakened by the line in the poem, “he switches channels, recites an old poem/ He wrote before his mother died.”
Dunham was a dirty limerick kind of guy, not a poet. More to the point, Dunham’s mother died when he was 8 years old. Davis’ mother died when he was 20 and already established as a poet of promise.
The poem has any number of eye-opening lines, most notoriously “Pop takes another shot, neat/ Points out the same amber/ Stain on his shorts that I’ve got on mine, and/ Makes me smell his smell, coming/ From me.”
The most innocent explanation for the “amber stain” on the shorts of both mentor and initiate or “his smell, coming/ From me” is that Davis got the teenaged Obama drunk, and they both spilled whiskey on themselves. The private-drinking Obama owns up to in “Dreams from My Father.”
That reading does not explain, however, why the spill is specifically on their shorts and not on their shirts or how Davis’ breath now comes from Obama.
A therapist who blogs under the tag “Neo Neocon” has sensed a darker exchange. She cannot be certain about “outright sexual abuse,” but, she notes, “there is no question that the poem is describing a boundary violation on several levels: this child feels invaded – perhaps even taken over – by this man, and is fighting against that sensation.”
If the reader thinks this poem too sophisticated to have been written by Obama unaided, he is almost assuredly right. In style and content it closely resembles the Davis poem, “To A Young Man,” which the Davis estate has denied me permission to reprint.
After Hawaii, Obama spent 13 not-so-swinging single years on the mainland before he married Michelle in 1992. In “Dreams,” Obama mentions only one girlfriend from that period, a woman who looks and lived suspiciously like Bill Ayers’ old flame, Diana Oughton.
Obama biographer Christopher Andersen tried to confirm this woman’s identity but made little headway. “No one,” he writes, “including his roommate and closest friend at the time, Siddiqi, knew of this mysterious lover’s existence.”
Word to the AP: If you want to write a story about a sexually confused individual, you don’t have to go to Indonesia to find one.
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