See, conservative politicians and their media mouthpieces have gathered around a cauldron in the middle of an oil patch and they’ve filled it with Kenyan dirt and pelican blood and Muslim eyeballs and a whisker from Karl Marx’s beard. They’ve danced nude around the giant pot, with flames licking its sides from the fire beneath it, Grover Norquist and Andrew Breitbart and one Koch or another and Karl Rove and others, adding their own spit and semen to the potion. They madly chanted to gods and ghosts of their crazed conservative forefathers, Reagan and McCarthy and Goldwater and Thurmond, willing into existence a horror, a phantom Obama that fulfills all their rhetorical needs. Oh, no, it doesn’t look like the real Barack Obama in any way, but that’s not the point. Surely, the creature that emerged from the viscous liquid of the cauldron, contorted and grotesque, bears enough of a resemblance that those who merely glance at it will be convinced that it is the same as the real President.
From The Government That the Right Needs to Hate Is Not the Government That Exists by The Rude Pundit