By DEXTER DUGGAN
The year of our Lord? It seemed the Messiah had manifested Himself, but we are left without a trace of Him under Emperor Barbaricus Obamus. Was He ever here at all? The emperor told the wise men from the East that he wanted to see the newborn baby. Did they point him toward Bethlehem?
At this time of year the dark is long and very deep. Silent nights over the olive trees beyond Jerusalem’s walls. But there’s pacing in the palace and oil lamps alight so the emperor doesn’t stumble over cracks he caused in his foundation.
Again. It won’t go away. Emperor Obamus suffers another sleepless night. Why is it so hard to rest when he has surpassed all else of humankind? Little people spend their lives scratching and scraping and clawing to get a little higher on the heap, but Emperor Obamus has it all. He was atop the mountain even before the mountain existed. Obamus is all-prevailing. He excels without effort.
It is known throughout the length and breadth of his brain that he is, and forever will be, the most supremely elegant and wise being ever to take a breath, or issue a command, or bestow a slight smile on those who labor mightily to please and fawn on him. Obamus lashes his foes to shreds regardless of guilt, his, or innocence, theirs.
Emperor Obamus is in control, in command. It’s not as if the system will fail if the hall of royal audiences lacks his glowering presence on the throne at every moment. His all-pervading powers guarantee continuation of his reign. Once a celestial body assumes its orbit, it doesn’t cease to march through the heavens forevermore. Is the throne empty? His schedule must allow leisure time for golf, and preening before mirrors, and hearing his voice echo, and banquets with celebrities celebrating him. Why can’t he sleep?
Perhaps someone somewhere in the land isn’t acknowledging his glory every moment? Someone refuses to grant him his full and much-deserved due? Like the princess who couldn’t sleep when one little pebble was under her mattress — even though this was under the bottom mattress and she was sleeping atop the 50th mattress — does Obamus’ all-pervading awareness sense an insult to his honor by one little peon out of 15 million worthless, obsequious beings?
They are only like the dirt beneath his feet, but — such a mystery! — he cannot comfortably stride over it unless it sings out his praises. He despises this dirt but expects its acclaim.
The emperor is troubled. He lies down and gets up again. He had peered out his high window and thought he saw the wise men travel off toward Bethlehem. But how could a ruler of his magnificence go stumbling along, following through the dirt to see some bawling baby in some alley? The very idea of Obamus humbling himself is so ungraspable to a ruler who understands all.
It seems the baby means trouble for Emperor Obamus. The astrology column in the Jerusalem Post says so. The answer seems obvious. To see a live baby is to confess that the emperor’s sword-twirlers at Planned Barrenhood had failed to carry out his orders in this particular instance. What disobedience! What chagrin!
Surely the wise men will obey his every word, to return and inform him more about the baby. Then he will tell them to go back and bring the baby to him! His magnificence will remain intact, not having to walk through the farmland gutters, and once Emperor Obamus has the baby alone in his secret palace room, he will decide what should happen.
Reports in the Jerusalem Post note that Obamus is starting to refer to his graying hair here and there in remarks he makes. The remarks aren’t caused by vanity, although he has plenty, but puzzlement. Gray hair? How could a being of his magnificence have traces of mortality? Of limitation? Of insufficiency? Perfection is self-propelling. It can’t end.
With a snap of his finger, men are made and unmade. Laws are enacted instantly or erased immediately. How could there be inadequacies in the emperor?
Why can’t Emperor Obamus sleep? That is a kind of imperfection of its own. Is that a gray hair fallen out on the pillow?
A little nap! Obamus managed to nod off! He had a dream. Something about turning to that baby for an answer.
What could a baby ever teach Emperor Obamus? This is strange. That’s like expecting to be enlightened by looking at stars. Oh, but Obamus does believe in astrology. Anything that smacks of non-traditional religion is worth attention.
When the wise men come back, the emperor will suggest, without seeming to be too eager or emphatic about it, that it’d be a good idea to do the baby the honor of bringing it to the palace of Obamus. Surely the baby’s parents will fall all over themselves with gratitude that the emperor deigned to pay them any attention.
Of course Emperor Obamus will tell the sibyls at Planned Barrenhood to caution the parents against birthing any more useless babies into the world.
What troubles the emperor’s sleep? Why does that little baby burden his mind? What gives the tiny thing such power over the mightiest monarch in creation?
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