Ba-lack Obama, Ba-racks the Vote

Okay, so Senator Obama was in our town again, yesterday, holding a rally. This time around he came to speak at a high school in our suburbs of Duncanville, Texas. The day before that a good friend of mine called and said he was getting us tickets to the event. Okay, not being much of a joiner, I wasn’t that hot to go, but then again how cool would it be to say that I was at a rally of the first black President of the United States of America? So, I cut my visit with my little nephew short and prepared to meet the Bama. So, here goes.

Senator Obama was scheduled to speak at 4:45, but they would open the doors to the school at 2:45 and no telling when the lines actually started the form. Since the door was scheduled to open at 2:45 I had to have my ass out of bed and ready to drive make the drive into Duncanville by at least two. I hate, despise, waiting in lines, so I was there at 2:45 thinking that I would still have to wait in line, but maybe not that long (did I mention that from 2 to 5 is my nap time? So, since I didn’t get my nap I was already old man cranky).

My friend calls me and tells me to park in the front of the school, but by the time I get there the only place to park is in a fire lane. I see other cars parked there, but I think they are just there to pick up their kids, but I park there anyway. So begins the first trail of Obama, because if my car got towed he could forget my vote. Anyway, after parking in the front I then had to make the three block trek around the school, towards the back, in order to get in line. During this trek I am bombarded with flyers and vendor hocking their wares; Obama t-shirts, face towels, buttons, mugs and g-strings. I bought one G-string and continued the search for my friend. C’mon, who doesn’t want Obama’s smiling face beaming from their crotch? (LOL)
I finally find my buddy, in the far back of a never ending line and collect my white ticket. Apparently there were two types of tickets, blue and white, the white was considered preferred sitting, which only meant that if you were in possession of one you were guaranteed a seat inside, for the rally. Now, considering the length of the line we were in and our position in said line I was wondering just how they were going to hold true to that promise. As it turned out, once they actually started to let folks into the building, they sent people along the line to tell white ticket holder that they could move ahead of the pack. Cool. So, as we are walking past the long line of people with blue tickets my blackness sets in and I realize that maybe I can make a quick ten bucks and scalp my ticket to one of the blue ticket holders. (I was trying to recoup some of my gas money, don’t you know). But I didn’t do it. After all, I had come this far.

We go through the metal detector and I get wanded down; for what reason. I have no idea. I didn’t bring my gun, although I would have been well in my rights to, but that was one battle I didn’t feel like fighting. Once pass the detectors it was inside of the building, up the stairs, into the auditorium, where we were herded to our hard metal, bench seats. We initially set in a pretty good spot, except for the fact that we were right in front of a big, ass speaker; playing some off the lamest, loudest, rally music I have ever heard. We endured this deafening music for about an hour or so, before my good friend got up to see if he could grab us some better seats. He is gone for less than a minute before I get a phone call on my cell. It is him, telling me he is over to my left, closer to the podium and there is a seat for me. So, I gather up my belonging, I brought comic books to read while I waited, and move over to our new position. Okay, how come our new position is where all the photographers are and I feel like I will be constantly jockeying for a look at Obama? Oh well, whatever.

Okay, now it is 4:45 and still no Barack. Now I am just gonna be real with you. I don’t have the best patience in the world. I hate to wait. I’m one of those people who get pissed when people take forever to decide what they want at fast food places. I go to church, listen to the sermon and get mad when the pastor says he is about to bring his sermon to an end and yet keeps on talking for another thirty frigging minutes. Yeah, I can’t tell you how many blessing I’ve lost mentally cussing the pastor and telling him to shut the hell up. Anyway, so the good Senator is quickly losing Brownie points as well as my support; because by now my ass is sore and flattened out by the bleachers, there is no concession stand in sight and not once have they played a song from his Grammy winning album. The term CPT is running through my head. Now, if you don’t know what CPT is you might not ought to be reading this blog, which was spawned from the pits of the ghetto.

Oh, and did I tell you about the sorry ass women they had out there to pump up the crowd. I didn’t even know people did the wave at political rallies. My favorite part was when they had one side of the room yell Barack and the other side would echo Obama. I had never wanted to yell Hillary so badly in my life, but I didn’t want to catch a beat down.
Finally, at lawd knows when, Obama comes out and the crowd goes wild. He hugs some of the VIPs sitting on the stadium floor and then goes up to the lector to make his speech. I will say, the man is a dynamic speaker and very charismatic. If he were to become president of the United States I think I would actually listen to him as he addressed the nation. He spoke about all of the things he was going to do, if he was president and I must admit that I liked what he had to say. I didn’t agree with all of it, but for the most part he had won me back over. I was feeling the love. I had the audacity of hope. Hell, if he manages to do half of the things on his agenda then we are all good. After he spoke he opened the floor up for questions. I stayed up till the last question was being asked and then I made a bee line towards the exits. I did not want to fight the traffic of people trying to get out of that joint.

Okay, now come the final trial of Obama. The thing that would determine if he won or lost my vote. I walk back towards the front of the school, turn the corner and there it is. MY CAR. It had not been towed away. Thank you, Obama. You might just get my vote after all. Although, I still like the name Mitt. I mean, who names their child after a glove?

-One Man’s Opinion. Peace.

Yeah, that is my picture so you can see where I was seated during the event. No more rallies for me. I'm not a joiner and I don't feel I should have to shake my pom-pom for you to know you have my support. That's just me.