Some keep calling Obama weak, particularly in dealing with foreign policy. He is seen as a vacillating and indecisive person who always opts to run away from problems rather than take a stand and solve them. Now, these are all perceptions. In the interest of fairness, we should go with facts. A good case that clearly refutes these allegations about Obama is the way he is handling the Crimea crisis.
The minute President Obama was informed about the Russians' invasion of the Crimean peninsula, he tossed his putter into the sand trap, kicked his golf bag so hard that it tipped over and then yelled, "that damned Putin. I'll learn him a lesson." His entourage became really alarmed. Even the tough Secret Service guys looked at each other with visible apprehension.
"Yeah, I'll learn that sonofobitch a lesson he won't ever forget," he then kicked the wheel of his golf cart and screamed, "ouch. That god damned wheel. I think it broke my toe."
Two Secret Service guys rushed forward and each grabbed the fuming and cursing man's arms and gently set him on the golf cart.
"Where's Joe? Where's my Vice President? Where is he when I need him? I bet he is in bed for his two-hour mid-day nap or someplace giving a speech, getting his damned foot in his mouth and saddling me with the chore of taking it out for him.
Damned, do I need a helper like him? Like I need this darned broken toe, I do."
"Mr. President, here is the Vice President," a Secret Service man hands Obama a phone, saying "he's a bit groggy and sounded very agitated when he was awakened. He yelled at our man, "doesn't Barack know this is my nap time? Couldn't he have the decency of waiting until I woke up? Just another lousy hour?"
"Hey Joe, get your sleepy behind over here, on the double. Hear me? On the double" screams the still highly agitated Chief Executive and as he throws the hand phone in the sand trap next to the putter.
By this time, a couple of medical people, headed by a doctor, arrive and got busy taking his shoe off to immediately minister to the victimized toe.
"Ouch, damn it. Easy taking the sock off," the injured president yells at the nurse who was a bit rough in doing his job.
"Yes sir. Sorry sir," sheepishly apologizes the offending nurse, holds his breath as he keeps on trying to remove the sweaty sock that seemed determined to continue cradling the Chief's foot. The clinging sock reminded the nurse of some of the Leader's adoring public who love him so that they never want to be separated from him.
"Sir, it's your pinkie."
"What?" Yells the chief.
"Your small toe, sir. Not broken. It is a bit swollen. Do you want me give it a shot of painkiller, sir?
"No. Save that damned shot, triple the dose, and give it to Joe, if he ever shows up. He is the big pain I need to get rid of, understand?"
"Yes sir," replies the doctor grinning.
Suddenly two helicopters materialize overhead. One was a medivac, just in case the Chief needed hospital care. The other copter disgorged the still groggy Vice President.
"Where the hell are you Joe, when I need you?"
"You know darned well, where I am at this time of the day, just as I know where you are. To each his own. Me, and my nap, and you the golf course."
"Crap, Joe, get serious. We are in deep doo doo again."
"What do you mean, ‘again,' never knew we were out?"
"Get serious Joe, I said. This is serious. That damned Vladimir is at it again."
"Who's Vladimir, BB (Big Barack; Big Boss)?"
"How many damned Vladimirs do you know?"
"Come to think of it, none."
"Well think. Think hard."
"Okay, BB, but give me time. To think, I need time."
"Yeah, you always say give me time to think. Is that why they call you ‘Slow Joe'?"
"Well, people call you all kinds of names too, BB. But, I admit it. I am not the sharpest knife in the drawer and I am not all that dumb either. But, help me out. Give me a hint. Who is this damned Vladimir who has gotten you so agitated?"
"Putin. Putin, that's who."
"Well, why didn't you say so? You mean the Russkie guy? Is his first name Vladimir? What is he up to now?"
"He has sent Russian forces into the Crimean Peninsula..."
"Did you say the Arabian Peninsula? No, no, we can't have that. You want me to call Admiral Johnson, at Okinawa, next door to the Arabian Peninsula, to take on the damned Russkies and expel them?"
"Joe, Joe. Don't want you do any damned thing. Just stick around and give the impression, public consumption you know, that we are right on the job together dealing with this crisis. The press is already here. Just look pensive and grit your teeth from time to time. But, Joe; be careful. Don't overdo it gritting your teeth. You might drop your dentures. Just do what I told you, I'll do the rest. Okay?"
"Yes, BB. Whatever you say."
"Get that damned Putin on the phone," yells the President at one of his dozens of hangers-on.
A half dozen suits scurry like rats that have seen a big cat to do what the Boss wanted done.
"Here you are, Mr. President," a beefy guy hands him a secure phone line saying, "President Putin is on the line."
"Hello, Vladimir, this is Barack."
"Da" a belligerent-sounding voice assaults the President's ear.
"I mean, this is President Obama calling."
"No, it is not dad, it is Barack Obama."
"God damn it, it is not dad, it is President of the United States of America. Your dad wouldn't be calling you on this secured line, would he? So, stop fooling around and talk sense."
The President hears some loud chuckles and a bunch of garbled talk that he surmised to be Russian, then "Yes, President Putin hears you. He wants to know what you want. He is in the midst of stalking a tiger that he wishes to trap personally. He is not in a mood for any lengthy conversation. Can you call tomorrow?"
"Tomorrow? Okay, tell him to pull his goons out of the Crimean Peninsula by the time I call back tomorrow, Okay?"
Big laughter hits the President's ear, so harshly that he forgets the pain of his little pinkie.
Foaming profusely at the mouth, he suffers one of his stuttering attacks, seemed to be debating about something. Should he slam the phone on Joe's bald head standing next to him? That's what he really seemed he wanted to do-just by the way he was looking at Joe's head. But the television cameras were already rolling and the nation was glued to radios and televisions to see what the Commander in Chief was going to do about this naked aggression of the Russians.
So, he reached a compromise and flung the phone into a puddle ten yards to his left.
Tomorrow came none too soon for the President with Putin luxuriating in his tiger-hunting lodge on the phone.
"Hello Vladimir. I hope I am not messing up your tiger hunting. Hope you did get the cat, the way you wanted it. But, I want you to do what I want also."
"Get your military out of Crimea. You and I are buddies. We work together trying to keep this damned world from going up in smoke. So, why start something like this? I mean, why in the hell you want to take over the darned place? It's a basket case and you know it. Why, why, why?"
The Chief was stuttering again.
"See, I charitable. Vee like help basket case. We helped Georgia not long ago, nyet? Vee try help Afghanistan. No goodofsky people. No vant our help. Vee leave. You also trying help them, they kick your behind for thank you, da?
"Hey Vladimir, don't shit me, da? Get the hell out of Crimea or else..."
"You make me do things in my pants, fearing," followed with roaring laughter that sounded like the bark of a Husky with a bad case of laryngitis.
"Hey, not funny. I mean it. Get the hell out or costs to pay."
"Vaat costs? Vanting to know. Vaat costs? Give me indication. I may change my mind if costs heavy." Again, a big laugh.
"Okay, no, no violence. I am a man of peace. I am not going to order our military to shove your boys into the isthmus. Sanctions. Sanctions are my trump cards. See how I have used them to prevent the Islamic Republic of Iran from acquiring nuclear weapons? I will use them against you. I have already started them..."
"Da, tell me vaatyou already doing. How you like my English? Ha? You speak no Russian. I speak English, ha ha ha."
"No, I don't speak Russian and I don't intend to learn it. But, I want to learn you a lesson. I have already started the sanctions."
"I have issued an executive order limiting the White House staff from eating Russian Caviar with their daily dinner to only four days a week. If that doesn't persuade you, I will completely ban the Caviar from the White House."
"Nyet. That is no big. Vee sell Caviar to others. Vaat other sanctions you thinking, big-sanction President?"
"Well, there are a number of Russian restaurants in Washington. I personally patronize them from time to time. I will talk with the mayor and see if we can close three of them for failing to comply with our required sanitary standards."
"You close three Russian restaurants, da?" You must convince mayor to so doing? No problem. Vee close all McDonald grease spoons in all Russia. I no have talk to any mayor doing this." A huge roar of laughter.
"I told you Vladimir. These are for starters. I have ordered my staff to draw a list of other sanctions. They already have. We are going to sanction your cronies. The speaker of your parliament, your vice prime minister, and four others. Their assets will be frozen and they will not be permitted to travel to this country."
"No problem Presidente! For every person you make black list, vee do two or maybe more. Crimea is Russia. Vee stay. Da? God judge the Bolsheviks. Giving Ukraine big part of south Mother Russia."
"Listen Vladimir. Don't give me historical justifications for your adventurism. I am not interested in the past. Let's deal with the present. I am also getting our NATO allies to impose sanctions. How's that?"
"First. No call me Vladimir. I am Mr. Putin and Mr. President. Your NATO allies live on my energy giving them. They sanction Russia, they freeze and they factory stopping. Da? Goodbye. Have more important work. Must go hunt tigers."
"The goddamn sonofabith." Obama fumes.
"Who?" asks Joe.
"My uncle Fudge, Joe. That's who."
The Russians indeed started their tit-for-tat game of sanctions. For one, they blacklisted Senator John McCain. When the Senator was informed of it he mused, I guess that ruins my spring vacation in Siberia.
FamilySecurityMatters.org Contributing Editor Amil Imani is an Iranian-American writer, poet, satirist, novelist, essayist, literary translator, public speaker and political analyst who has been writing and speaking out about the danger of radical Islam both in America and internationally. He has become a formidable voice in the United States against the danger of global jihad and Islamization of America.
He maintains a website at www.amilimani.com.
Imani is the author of the riveting book Obama Meets Ahmadinejad and the thriller Operation Persian Gulf.
Imani has been educating Americans regarding the danger of radical Islam, and has encouraged democracy for Iran and helping the Iranian people. His numerous articles about radical Islam have been published in many newspapers and magazines around the world as well as in thousands of Internet magazines, websites and blogs. Imani's writings can be found on his website Amilimani.com. He is a regular go-to-guy on the Iranian issues on BBC World News. He is also 2010 honoree of EMET: "the Speaker of the Truth Award" at the Capitol Hill.