In a Perfect World

In a perfect world I wouldn't receive no damn auto-dial recorded messages from Campaign Volunteers.

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But Barack "Barry Oh!" Obama would pick up the damn phone hisself and wake my ass up to tell me how pretty my eyes are and that he was thinking about me. In his smoky, nondescript kind of midwest baritone, he'd mention how the sunset reminded him of me and how he'd like to drop by, but he's no longer in Maryland right now. He's in Wisconsin or Texas or Ohio. But, he'd tell me that I am his America.

Barry Oh! would say, "Baby. I'll be back in November for a little Booty Barry Call? Let me swing by, baby." And, damn if I couldn't tell him no because he has that spell on me. I know he can't get enough of my love, shit.

And, no. No. No! He doesn't just want my vote. That's what Heather and Clair and Bayleen say though. What he really wants is me, and if I could just wait for eight years.... Until after he changes America.

He's counting on me! Barry needs me. Barry, I'm here for you baby. I love you. Call me!