Obama discloses that “Frank” is Frank Marshall Davis at about 8:37 in the video.
Posted on 04/13/2015 8:46:00 PM PDT by E. Pluribus Unum
Obama discloses that “Frank” is Frank Marshall Davis at about 8:37 in the video.
Has Obama previously denied knowing Frank Davis?
Anybody know what happened to the video called “Dreams From My Real Father”?
You could watch it on the internet for free and them it was gone.
It did a great job of telling the story of his childhood. It claimed Frank was his real father.
I’ve just listened to a little of it but the man is full of rage. He hates whitey.
I can’t stand to watch, he’s so physically repulsive.
Yes, he is and coupled with what’s inside, he’s totally repulsive.
He is one sick creature.
I missed that revelation, gross.
Wow! He is one bizarre freak show.
Obama oozes hate and anger.
“I think this is pre-nose-job. The end of his nose looks a little more bulbous than it does today.”
Plastic surgery would explain why his medical records are sealed.
This was before he got his nose done to look less “black.”
“I can’t stand to watch, he’s so physically repulsive.”
Yeah, I can’t bring myself to click on the sound or watch much.
Can someone sum up what he is saying?
Probably “Frank was a true comrade in the cause of world revolution.”
This was also before he learned how to speak and mesmerize his audience.
I never saw any of these videos before...
For later
Is it too much to expect that a reporter somewhere might investigate this?
Nothing will ever bring him down.
-- DL
PopSitting 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
Two fingers.
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
Of possible interest.
Disclaimer: Opinions posted on Free Republic are those of the individual posters and do not necessarily represent the opinion of Free Republic or its management. All materials posted herein are protected by copyright law and the exemption for fair use of copyrighted works.