The Communist Fruitcake

Remember the fruitcake your mother's second cousin mailed to the house every Christmas? It sat there moldering in the tin on the dining room table until well after New Year's Day had come and gone. Maybe one or two small pieces were cut out with a chainsaw by the more adventurous of your friends and relatives. It always disappeared before the Superbowl or as soon as Dad figured he could get away with trashing it.

Obozo is like that. He is here for a season and we will get rid of him as soon as possible without offending the relatives. We're all gagging on the Hope n' Change seasoning that congealed into a slimy coating covering the cake and the &%#ing retarded nuts scattered around in the cake are really obnoxious but, gee, it's Christmas and Cousin Edwina really means well.