Yes, the raid was well before Obama's time but Davis was a life long perv and Gramps was no prize either. Gramps must have known Davis was a weirdo perv and a communist he hung out with him anyway. Not only that, he wanted a young boy to be influenced by him.
Here's Davis at 76 year old in 1982:
The 1982 letter confirms his propensity for underage sexual relationships. Then 76 years old, Davis provides details to Burroughs of a sexual relationship he was then having with an underage girl in Hawaii.
“Currently my No. 1 woman here is a gorgeous and sexy girl with a face like Brooke Shields who became 17 two weeks ago today. But girls here develop early and rapidly. I have had my eye on her since I first saw her at 13. I knew she would be a mind blower. I didn’t see her again until March of this year and then things began. We had a real wild time for 6 ½ months despite her youth. It has now calmed down but we still maintain a ‘working’ relationship. This girl is Hawaii, Chinese, Portuguese, Spanish, Swedish and Irish.”
Dreams from my father:
“’Don’t tell your grandmother,’ he would say with a wink, and we’d walk past hard-faced, soft-bodied streetwalkers into a small, dark bar with a jukebox and a couple of pool tables. Nobody seemed to mind that Gramps was the only white man in the place, or that I was the only eleven- or-twelve-year-old. Some of the men leaning across the bar would wave at us, and the bartender, a big, light-skinned woman with bare, fleshy arms, would bring a Scotch for Gramps and a Coke for me. If nobody else was playing at the tables, Gramps would spot me a few balls and teach me the game, but usually I would sit at the bar, my legs dangling from the high stool, blowing bubbles into my drink and looking at the pornographic art on the walls—the phosphorescent women on animal skins, the Disney characters in compromising positions. ….”
Dreams from My Father, 77.
Anyway, getting back on topic. --
“’Don’t tell your grandmother,’ he would say with a wink, and we’d walk past hard-faced, soft-bodied streetwalkers into a small, dark bar with a jukebox and a couple of pool tables. Nobody seemed to mind that Gramps was the only white man in the place, or that I was the only eleven- or-twelve-year-old. Some of the men leaning across the bar would wave at us, and the bartender, a big, light-skinned woman with bare, fleshy arms, would bring a Scotch for Gramps and a Coke for me. If nobody else was playing at the tables, Gramps would spot me a few balls and teach me the game, but usually I would sit at the bar, my legs dangling from the high stool, blowing bubbles into my drink and looking at the pornographic art on the walls—the phosphorescent women on animal skins, the Disney characters in compromising positions. ….”
So, Obama was conceived in a Soviet whorehouse.
