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25Mar
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15Mar
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12Mar
As I pondered, weak and tearful,
over the Nanny State that looms ahead,
I saw Barack as mommy fearful, force-feeding America the stew we dread.
But then my art became too ethnic and began to take on a racial tone.
My Mama Obama waxed all poetic and started rapping with a cajun drone.
Lest my toon offend, and we miss the point, I quickly drew another.
Cuz here’s the end: Our nation can’t stomach Medicine by Big Brother. -
05Mar






