Dreams from a writer
A fellow named David Kahane has a premise for a screwball comedy:
What if a guy nobody’s ever heard of, from Hawaii no less, with a Muslim African father and a Muslim Indonesian stepfather and a mom from Kansas named Stanley inexplicably glides from Punahou to a short sheep-dip at Occidental to the Frankfurt School’s favorite Ivy League haunt, Columbia, to Harvard Law? What if he’s such an arrogant, aloof suckup of no particular ability or accomplishment that his fellow students openly ridicule him with the invention of the “Obamamometer,” which measures epic brown-nosing on a scale from one to ten? What if he’s blissfully unaware of his own deficiencies, and instead comes to believe that he’s earned everything that’s come his way — or ever will?
And what if this guy — let’s give him a patently implausible, comically grandiose name like “Barack Hussein Obama II” — moves to . . . New Jersey? Arkansas? No, I’ve got it — Chicago, Ill. — falls in with . . . wait for it . . . former domestic-terrorist fugitives, adopts a racist pastor to burnish his hitherto-nonexistent “Christian” credentials, and becomes, say, a state senator? Even better: a U.S. senator! And what if he gets a guy named . . . Jake Lingle, yes, that’s it! — to use his Chicago Tribune connections to destroy not one but two opponents, both over divorce records! And what if this obscure senator, after less than two years in Washington and with a grand total of one speech to his credit, decides to run for president on a platform of “fundamental change?”
What if his opponent is a creaky, cranky, cantankerous old fart who hates his own party and then — I know this bit is unbelievable but we’re still spit-balling here — out of the blue selects some dizzy moose-hunting dame from . . . Alaska! . . . to be his running mate? And what if she electrifies his doomed candidacy (heck, even he doesn’t really seem to want to win) and sends him vaulting into the lead in the polls? What if he’s on the verge of actually defeating BO2 when Barry’s media pals lay down some serious covering fire and then, mysteriously, the booming U.S. economy collapses almost overnight as George Soros strokes a white cat and chuckles menacingly?
And then, what if the “change” this Hussein guy’s been preaching actually turns out to be real? Imagine the yucks of disbelief we can get as he nationalizes the banks, takes over two of the three auto companies, appoints a host of unconfirmable “czars” to supplant the Cabinet and make policy? What if he skyrockets the deficit, sends the unemployment rate soaring, demolishes the dollar, tries to ram trillion-dollar “health-care” and “cap and trade” bills through a collaborationist Congress, has his Speaker of the House — let’s call her “Maerose Prizzi” — float a VAT tax, hires a new general in Afghanistan and then hangs him on a clothesline, soul-shakes with Hugo Chavez, cracks down on those pesky Israelis, and plays footsie under the negotiating table with the Iranians?
What if he then flies to Copenhagen with . . . Oprah! . . . and single-handedly secures the Olympic Games for his beloved hometown of Chicago? Nah, too easy. What if he then . . . after less than two weeks of eligibility . . . wins the Nobel Peace Prize? Top that!!
Roger Simon says that the author of this premise for a screwball comedy is a well known Hollywood writer, but that seems unlikely — after all, just look at how implausible that his script is.