First day of deer season, and Harry was up before dawn and on his way to to a favorite upstate hunting ground. Once there he settled in, drank a cup of coffee from his thermos—and promptly fell asleep. He woke some hours later. Even before he opened his eyes though, he felt the presence; could smell, and feel the heat, from something very close. He opened eyes to behold a very large, and very menacing black bear looming over him. The bear's left foot rested on the stock of his Remington 700. Harry had heard enough tales about predatory blacks targeting humans in this area to know he was in very, very deep trouble.
Now, he was not a religious person. In fact, Harry had zero exposure to praying and church stuff of any kind, but in this moment of sheer terror he closed his eyes and blurted—No, screamed, at the top of his lungs—Jesus, please! If you're out there, please at least make this a Christian bear who will listen to your command. And FLASH! Harry opened his eyes and beheld the beast on bended knees, paws clapped together in prayer, and clearly intoning:
"Bless us, O Lord, and these Thy gifts, which we are about to receive from Thy bounty, through Christ our Lord. Amen."
'You
heard me right. My mother had a brief love affair with him in the
prairies of Wyoming. She made me promise to keep it a secret and it
sounded cooler anyway to say I was born to a Kenyan tribesman.' 'But
you tell everyone you were born in Hawaii,' Rahm spat out. 'If it gets
out that you were born in actual Kenya or Kenya fucking Wyoming,
wherever the hell that is, who the fuck will trust you anymore? Not to
mention the Malcolm X shit. I mean, if any of this gets out, your
presidency is fucked—along with all of our careers. This is the
craziest shit I’ve ever heard. Why did you go around telling people you
were born in fucking Honolulu?' 'Because I was,' the president
responded. 'That’s where I found Jesus. I was born again in Honolulu.'"