Wednesday, February 6, 2013



Secret Plumbers and Shooting Skeets

by garnet92

Three men and one woman were ushered from one of 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).
All of them were wearing fake Groucho Marx glasses with fake nose, eyebrows, and moustache attached 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 (except when other experts dissected it).

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. The 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 razor wire topping high masonry walls and guard towers at strategic points surrounding the facility.
Multiple guards and a ram-proof vehicle gate was the only entry point into the compound. It was a fortress.

It was also the plumber’s home.

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 a Sigma level of security (absent his election, Obama couldn’t even pass a Confidential level). The Sigma level 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 the public exposure of any of the unit’s projects could literally bring down the Presidency.

In the end, each was offered an iron-clad, lifetime contract – it was not unlike selling one’s soul to the devil. A leak of any kind was considered a traitorous act (an 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 EIC (Executive in Charge) and set out the particulars of what they were to do and when.
Today, they were tasked with creating several pictures of the President shooting at skeets (whatever they were) while at Camp David. Jarret had decided that several pictures of the president confidently blasting away with a shotgun 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 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; 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 want to see some hard evidence that Obama truly went skeet hunting often and sometimes even skinned and gutted the animals himself. Without pictures as proof, he’d be ridiculed (again) and be called a liar (again).
Unfortunately, our fearless leader didn’t react well. “Are you shittin’ me?” “Ain’t no way Ahm gettin’ close to a gun, I 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 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 and by golly, he hit one of them 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 (President de facto) 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 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.

Barb was eager to see her work published. It would be akin to a gallery showing of her art.
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 – she had to get to Obama quickly before he made any other dumbass statements about skeets. Luckily, she had him on lockdown. He dare 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, crotch-grabbing, whittling and spitting.

It was widely whispered that if negotiations with Congress made it necessary, she (and the plumbers) could easily produce an image of Speaker of the House John Boehner in a guest bedroom practicing husbandry with a polka-dotted sheep named Baa-baa-rella.

 But now, she had her work cut out for her. She had to (somehow) get Obama to hold a gun, a big shotgun at that, in a shooting position as if he were shooting at a skeetie (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 could use the smoke later to make it appear as if it was coming out of the gun when Obama shot at that clay 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. Valerie explained that protection meant eye and ear protection. “Oh, uhhh, ok.”

The dark safety glasses were no problem, but Valerie had a devil of a time finding ear protection that would fit Obama’s ears. Finally the propmaster found a set of Pro Ears jumbo, model grandé muffs that fit the president’s “generous” appendages.

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 was done and Obama went back to playing his latest video game “Super Mario Brothers Play House With Honey Boo Boo.”

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 pleased and thought that his creation was “A work of art.”

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 - 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 if 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 “Friends of Obama” address book and it was now popping up everywhere ... and being ridiculed everywhere.


Now, dear reader, in observance of common propriety, we must 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 openings at the White House for four Photoshop experts again. Get your resumé ready!

Rest in Peace, plumbers unit 4.0, we hardly knew ye.

Legal disclaimer: No skeets were harmed during the production of this account.

garnet92 | February 6, 2013 at 2:44 PM | Categories: Political | URL:

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