Thanks, Obama: My Hopey, Changey White House Years

by David Litt

Below us, Luther the Anger Translator strode onstage. Keegan hadn’t been kidding when he promised POTUS he would go for it. His veins bulged. His eyes bugged. As he screamed his opening line, the one about butts, my eyes darted to the president. Please don’t break. Please-don’t-break-please-don’t-break-please-don’t-break. To my horror, I saw POTUS swallow a laugh. It looked like he was about to lose it. And then, an instant before the point of no return, something clicked. It was like a bicycle changing gears. The president’s solemn expression snapped into place. When he continued, it was in the calm, backyard-trampolines tone he used for the weekly address: “We count on the press to shed light on the most important issues of the day.” “And we can count on Fox News to terrify old white people with some nonsense!” Luther was as loud as ever, but I no longer needed to worry. POTUS wasn’t breaking. For the next five minutes he was flawless, his timing impeccable, his body language perfect. When the subject turned to climate change denial, President Obama’s anger was, as promised, real.