Notes of a Pre-pre-birther: Show me the dotted line with God's John Hancock

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For too long this nation has been swept up like fallen Corn Flakes by a feverish broom the handle of which is gripped by "birthers."

My hunch is the broom handle is old and dried out, and the birthers in their frenzied states got splinters and by now have oozing wounds which cause them to be crazier than their God-given insanity specified.

What I am is a Pre-pre-birther. I want proof of the spark in the eye of Barack's father and the spark in the eye of Barack's mother. I want written certification that Barack Obama was once a a little bit of universal consciousness waiting his turn at this thing called "being human."  "Being human" is a duty all bits of universal consciousness must fulfill even though most understand it obliges them to 0-100  (and change) years of misunderstanding and embarrassment, of forgotten anniversaries, of the opportunity to participate in colonialism as either a colonel or colonel-ee.

Sure "being human" does come with party gifts, those being the occasional heart-stopping sunset of colors which make your eyes spin and your toes curl plus at least a few personal moments of dizzying joy and connection, and yay for all that.  But basically it must be proven, to me, that humans are human.

So until you show me the dotted line with God's John Hancock, I will continue in my delirious understanding that Barack Obama is a global hallucination.  Ditto Dolly Parton.  Ditto me.  Ditto you.

*I love Dolly Parton and will fight to the death any who make fun of her.  Ditto Barack.  Ditto me.