I Can’t Help But Notice All Of The Similarities Between Me and Barack Obama, Except for the Lack of Poise, Wife, Job and Being Not-Black

Me, right?
This is getting eerie folks. Just plain creepy if you ask me.
I knew it then, in 2006 or so, and I know it now. Me and this Barack Obama guy are almost the same exact person. I mean, with the exception of a miniscule handful of different character traits, features, and facts, I can barely tell us apart. It’d freak me out a little bit if I were able to be freaked out by anything. Just like my boy, Barry.  
I thought it was just a mere bit of happenstance, these similarities, when he first started showing up, but coincidence after coincidence after coincidence are piling on top of one another. As Obama first took the mic on the steps of the Illinois state capitol, a place I had frequented a mere 15 years earlier on a field trip, I felt a chill. It was like seeing myself on TV in a place I had been before, like we were embarking on a historic journey together; we were going to be the first black president!
I know I’m white, but you know, he’s half-white. It’s like I’m twice as half-white as he is, so it all balances out.
But to hear him speak is something that, quite frankly, is a bit unsettling. You know that voice inside your head? You know how it always sounds like you? Well, now imagine your smooth voice, perfect vocabulary and calming tone being sound-bitten on every media site, all the time! Plus, we’re so together on most of these topics and issues from the thing where doctors do stuff and the thing where people have guns, that I’m sometimes concerned that I’m not going to be able to tell MY personal thoughts with what I hear in the air. You know, we ought to do something about green house emissions…now was that me or Barry?? You get it.
Slightly strange, because most people say I sound like Jerry Lewis after a tracheotomy. But even stranger that there’s a clear-cut example of them being wrong, and the sleeps  in the White House, just like the hotel I’ve been living out of these past few months. White.
And don’t get me started on his beautiful bride, Michelle. I gasp when I see her, audibly gasp. Her grace, charm, kindness. Just like my girlfriend. I know, she’s not my wife yet. But we’re getting there. She has that same sparkle, everytime I see her from my judicial-mandated 100 feet away. Sometimes, we end up on the same bus together and we’ll talk and talk until she cries. It’s a healthy relationship, just like Barry and Michelle’s.
And you know what? I don’t know her name isn’t Michelle. I think I’ll go ahead and call her that next time I see her. I bet I won’t be the first.

The paths we’ve walked in our lives practically mirror one another: He, a law professor; me, constantly dealing with officiators of the aforementioned law. He, a family man, father of two beautiful daughters; me…I’m sure I’ve got a few. Apparently, he spent a lot of time on a basketball court, shooting hoops with his classmates. I used to sleep in a gym for awhile when they left the back door open, and sometimes the coach would leave a spare volleyball or something out. I’d love to hoop it up with him, and I’m sure he wouldn’t mind a pick-up game or two with me.

People say the lack of a left leg is a disadvantage to my game. My retort: “Bright it on!” That’s something Obama would say, right?

Guess I’m going to have to endure it, the comparisons and what not, for the next seven years at least. I doubt it will die down once he’s out of office. People made a lot of comparisons between me and Clinton, until Tiger Woods came along, but every now and then I get a “Hey, you kind of remind me of Clinton, are you him perchance?” I bet Barry’ll do something similar, you know, be a big deal after he’s done being President. I’m just glad someone in my likeness is doing some good for once. You know, I’ve been compared to worse. My grandpa is German, so immediately, everyone thinks “Hitler,” which is kinda funny because before my beard grew out, I had a kinda-similar stache. Oh yeah, and I hate Jewish people, but that’s more of a me thing than my grandpa.

God Bless America!

Published by Zack Stovall

Writer living in New York, NY.

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