Skip to comments.Obama's Indonesian gay nanny and other things from his past
Posted on 11/09/2010 11:39:37 AM PST by Second Amendment First
With Obama visiting Indonesia today, the New York Times has a story that is just chock-full of interesting tidbits about Obama's time living there as a child in the late 1960s. For example, the Times reports that back then Obama was "chubby" and that some of the locals referred to him as "the boy who walks like a duck."
Then, of course, there's this:
His nanny was an openly gay man who, in keeping with Indonesia's relaxed attitudes toward homosexuality, carried on an affair with a local butcher, longtime residents said. The nanny later joined a group of transvestites called Fantastic Dolls, who, like the many transvestites who remain fixtures of Jakarta's streetscape, entertained people by dancing and playing volleyball.
Finally, the Times relates a story from one of Obama's boyhood friends that some might say presaged the future.
One time, recalled the elder son, Slamet Januadi, now 52, Mr. Obama asked a group of boys whether they wanted to grow up to be president, a soldier or a businessman. A president would own nothing while a soldier would possess weapons and a businessmen would have money, the young Obama explained.
Mr. Januadi and his younger brother, both of whom later joined the Indonesian military, said they wanted to become soldiers. Another boy, a future banker, said he would become a businessman.
"Then Barry said he would become president and order the soldier to guard him and the businessman to use his money to build him something," Mr. Januadi said. "We told him, 'You cheated. You didn't give us those details.' "
"But we all became what we said we would," he said.
(Excerpt) Read more at voices.washingtonpost.com ...
Was Obama the victim of gay sexual abuse?
He can lie...and so can they....They’re all looking for their 15 minutes...
Can his background get any more bizarre? No wonder he can’t relate to normal people.
An angry absent Muslim Marxist radical father.
A gay transvestite nanny.
A wacko mother.
Did nobody look at these things before voting for Obama?
(Similarly for Clinton. Do not elect a president who didn’t have a healthy, stable relationship with his father and mother.)
There really was absolutely NOTHING typical about Obama’s upbringing.
No wonder then that he views America as an outsider does, and can’t connect with average Americans.
Don’t forget Franklin Marshall Davis, family friend and commie pedophile.
Homosexuals are normally child abusers so I’d guess yes.
There seems to have been quite a few expose’s of Obama by the LIBERAL news media in the last few weeks. It is almost like thy are turning on their fair-haired-boy.
Ok, his hair isn’t fair but you get the point.
They can’t keep the lid on details “forever”.
Best to get these things out there before 2012.
Journolistgate showed 400 journalistas conspiring to shield Obama from negative coverage in the press in 2008.
Besides, once he’s out of office, they can all put pen to paper and white “shocking, tell all” accounts of Obama’s background.
Barack Obama was not vetted by the press in 2008. Then again, the press hid news of JFK’s scandals and tried to keep a lid on BJ Clinton’s.
That might be why obama kept putting off his trip to the homeland until after the midterm election. He knew that these type of stories would be revealed.
Freud thinks he was rejected when Uhbamma made advances to his nanny, Now what about your mother?
Have you read Obama’s poem, “Pop”?
He is a seriously mutilated person.
Sitting in his seat, a seat broad and broken
In, sprinkled with ashes,
Pop switches channels, takes another
Shot of Seagrams, neat, and asks
What to do with me, a green young man
Who fails to consider the
Flim and flam of the world, since
Things have been easy for me;
I stare hard at his face, a stare
That deflects off his brow;
I’m sure he’s unaware of his
Dark, watery eyes, that
Glance in different directions,
And his slow, unwelcome twitches,
Fail to pass.
I listen, nod,
Listen, open, till I cling to his pale,
Beige T-shirt, yelling,
Yelling in his ears, that hang
With heavy lobes, but he’s still telling
His joke, so I ask why
He’s so unhappy, to which he replies...
But I don’t care anymore, cause
He took too damn long, and from
Under my seat, I pull out the
Mirror I’ve been saving; I’m laughing,
Laughing loud, the blood rushing from his face
To mine, as he grows small,
A spot in my brain, something
That may be squeezed out, like a
Watermelon seed between
Pop takes another shot, neat,
Points out the same amber
Stain on his shorts that I’ve got on mine, and
Makes me smell his smell, coming
From me; he switches channels, recites an old poem
He wrote before his mother died,
Stands, shouts, and asks
For a hug, as I shink, my
Arms barely reaching around
His thick, oily neck, and his broad back; ‘cause
I see my face, framed within
Pop’s black-framed glasses
And know he’s laughing too.
Barack Obama is no Maya Angelou.
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