Hello. I shred Barack Obama’s trash. I’m invisible to him, you know? He doesn’t realize the service I provide, you know. If it wasn’t for me shredding his trash there’d be big scandals in this country, you know.
I pick up and shred the documents that prove he was born in Kenya.
I pick up and shred the documents from his male lovers.
I pick up and shred the documents that prove he wrote most of Jeremiah Wright’s sermons.
I pick up and shred the documents that prove that he knew about Fast and Furious.
I pick up and shred the documents telling the Black Panthers to intimidate voters.
I pick up and shred the documents that prove Joe Biden is mentally retarded. Differentially abled I guess you call it now.
I pick up and shred the documents that prove that the Libyan Ambassador begged for extra security but was denied.
Other people in the White House do come out and shake my hand. Rahm Emanuel used to give me money and say, “Now you keep quiet, you hear?” I like him. He hugged me once. He even gave me a bottle of water. Once he gave me Gatorade and tickets to see Jay Z and Beyonce.
I like people from the White House who hug me.
People tell me I’m doing a good job and keep up the good work. Shredding documents by hand, you know, takes a toll on the body. When I’m 55, 60 years old I know my body’s going to break down.
President Obama doesn’t care about that.
Not once has he invited me into the White House to be a part of his “Choom Gang.“ I like pot too! It might make my older years less painful.
But he don’t care.
When I’m trashing documents I can smell the pot coming from the White House. I hear him giggling. I wish he would share some pot with me.
I like Pakistani men too. But not once has Barack Obama invited me into the White House for a threesome.
Barack Obama has never hugged me. Or kissed me. Or laid me on his bed and pleasured me.
He has never given me a Pakistani man to make merry with.
Barack Obama. He don’t care.
I am Barack Obama’s garbage man. I am invisible to him. (101)