When you need to see people act like idiots, remember that Ann Althouse’s place is a raucous Monkey Bijou. Far from her readers, Ann’s posts remain homages to Punch n’ Judy: “Ann Althouse: Althouse attacked again in Madison [h/t Ann Althouse].” For your entertainment, the assaults of myself.
The comedy is robust; today is no different. Having heard that 18 y.o. Mitt Romney was a gay-bullying charmer back in 1965, yes, Ann posted the story. But she then sat quietly for a few minutes, stumped. How to beat this? The truth is an Althousian construct after all. There must be something I can do to make everything right.
I know, she thought: I’ll go after Barack Obama. Fair is fair, after all:
ADDED: Obama bullied a black girl:
BINGO. “Dreams from My Father.” What a terrific pile of oppo that’s become, huh?
Her name was Coretta, and before my arrival she had been the only black person in our grade. She was plump and dark and didn’t seem to have many friends. From the first day, we avoided each other but watched from a distance, as if direct contact would only remind us more keenly of our isolation.
Finally, during recess one hot, cloudless day, we found ourselves occupying the same corner of the playground. I don’t remember what we said to each other, but I remember that suddenly she was chasing me around the jungle gyms and swings. She was laughing brightly, and I teased her and dodged this way and that, until she finally caught me and we fell to the ground breathless. When I looked up, I saw a group of children, faceless before the glare of the sun, pointing down at us.
“Coretta has a boyfriend! Coretta has a boyfriend!”
The chants grew louder as a few more kids circled us.
“She’s not my g-girlfriend,” I stammered. I looked to Coretta for some assistance, but she just stood there looking down at the ground. “Coretta’s got a boyfriend! Why don’t you kiss her, mister boyfriend?”
“I’m not her boyfriend!” I shouted. I ran up to Coretta and gave her a slight shove; she staggered back and looked up at me, but still said nothing. “Leave me alone!” I shouted again. And suddenly Coretta was running, faster and faster, until she disappeared from sight. Appreciative laughs rose around me. Then the bell rang, and the teachers appeared to round us back into class.
So you wonder about this tale. The kids all seem awful young, don’t they? You do a little digging, and you find out that the school, Punahou, was in Hawaii. And Barack transferred into it when he was all of 10 years old.
Coretta is Joella Edwards, who now lives in Florida. In interviews, she recalled the day Barry Obama arrived as a fifth-grader, having returned to Hawaii from four years in Indonesia with his mother. “He had a brown and white weird-design shirt, and just kind of stood there,” Ms. Edwards said. “I remember thinking, ‘Wow, there’s another black person here.’”
By the time ‘Coretta’ started chasing him, and he shoved her, what do you think Barack would have been? 11? Maybe? Nice try, Ann. ‘Coretta’ got so sick of Punahou that she left when she was 15.
Anyway, this isn’t even “bullying.” It’s embarrassment. When you dig up the incident, Ann, where 18 year-old Barack gets a gang of his buddies to hold down a lesbian teen so he can cut off her ponytail, call me. You idiot.