President Obama watching Lost Boys: The Tribe earlier this month.
WASHINGTON — The White House on Sunday defended President Barack Obama’s scathing response to the death of actor Corey Haim last week from what is believed to be a prescription drug overdose.
Senior adviser David Axelrod and press secretary Robert Gibbs refused to retreat from Obama’s Wednesday remark that “the wrong Corey died,” made just a few feet from a gaggle of fans in serious mourning. The two White House officials defended Obama’s suggestion that America on the whole preferred Haim to his onscreen partner of eight films, Corey Feldman.
“Regardless of his acting talents, I think we can all agree Corey Feldman is an insufferable prick,” Axelrod said. “I mean, did you see him on ‘The Surreal Life’ that one season, refusing to go fishing with all the other has-beens? He was acting like Gandhi, for Christ’s sake. Get over yourself already.”
Supreme Court Justice John Roberts said this week that Obama’s unusually harsh criticism of Corey Feldman was “very troubling” and questioned whether the president was familiar with the actor’s work in The ‘Burbs.
“I’m not sure the President ever saw that particular film,” said Roberts. “Feldman turned in a top notch performance, one that almost makes you forget about that terrible song he wrote for his wife a few years ago.”
Roberts, a well-known Corey Feldman fan who keeps several autographed photos of the Goonies star in his chambers, said anyone is free to criticize the actor and that some have an obligation to do so because of their positions.
“I think even Feldman himself could accept criticism from a former teen star higher up on the ladder, like a Scott Baio or a David Cassidy,” he said. “President Obama, however, at least to the best of my knowledge, has never even done any community theater, let alone landed two Spielberg movies before the age of twenty while simultaneously befriending Michael Jackson.”
Obama was overheard discussing Corey Haim’s death with a member of the Secret Service on Wednesday while taking the family dog Bo for a walk around the South Lawn.
“Man, I’m telling you, I just watched that Lost Boys sequel, and the wrong Corey died,” Obama said.
GIbbs defended Obama’s remarks.
“What’s important is that, in the coming months, we remember all the great work and honest performances Corey Haim blessed us with, and although he may have abused prescription drugs, he never really acted like he was too cool for school like that other squinty-eyed, pasty nightmare named Corey,” he said.
GOTHAM CITY – Robin the Boy Wonder, who for years has aided mysterious crime-fighter Batman as part of the so-called “Dynamic Duo,” has announced his retirement from caped crusading, capping a dramatic year for the vigilante pair and leaving Batman without a sidekick for the first time in several decades.
Robin made the decision based on “some personal struggles,” including his eighteen hour entrapment inside an oversized hour glass at the hands of nefarious super villain the Riddler in January.
An official announcement is expected to come Sunday, when a TV advertisement taped by the Boy Wonder is set to air in Gotham City. In that tape, circulated by the media last night, Robin says his “life is taking a new direction, one in which I no longer risk my physical and mental well-being by chasing criminally disturbed assholes who always seem to outwit me anyway.”
In the two-minute ad, with soft music playing in the background, he says he has recently battled depression, addiction, and post-traumatic stress disorder caused by his current position and wishes to go back to anonymous civilian life.
“Batman taught me that crime-fighting at its very core is about serving others,” Robin says in the video as black-and-white images of him and the Dark Knight flash across the screen. “For several decades I’ve been humbled and honored to protect the people of our city, but seriously, I’m starting to lose my fucking mind. Every night I lay awake in a cold sweat wondering if tomorrow will be the day the Joker finally blows me to smithereens. I can’t fucking handle that anymore”
Robin’s decision will mean that Batman will be working without a sidekick for the first time since 1947. That was the year the masked teenager was first spotted aiding Batman in his nightly escapades to thwart crime in Gotham City.
Given the time span and the fact Robin does not appear to age, it has been theorized that several young boys have been employed as the Boy Wonder over the years. An official investigation into the matter has never been launched as Gotham City police have yet to successfully pinpoint the location of “Bat-Cave,” the subterranean hideout Batman, who top scientists all agree is a mutant hailing from another dimension, allegedly calls home.
Several sources close to Robin said last night that he had been mulling over the decision for as long as a year.
“Faith and begorrah! This is sumtin’ tha Boy Wunder has been thinkin’ about fer a while!” said an unnamed Gotham Police Chief. “He and I talked about it nearly tin months ago over a pint a Guinness and some darts, we did!”
Robin’s struggles with depression and drug addiction were apparent last November when he appeared disheveled and distracted on the steps of City Hall during a ceremony honoring visiting dignitary Commodore Schmidlapp. A Facebook status update the following day from Robin suggested the teen hero had checked himself into an addiction treatment center in neighboring Metropolis.
In 2006, after he pleaded guilty to a charge of driving the Batmobile under the influence of the Penquin’s knock-out gas relating to an early morning car crash outside Wayne Industries, Robin checked himself into the Mayo Clinic in Minnesota.
In his taped message, the Boy Wonder thanked Gotham City for its support throughout his good times and bad.
“When I made missteps or suffered setbacks, like the time King Tut trapped me in that sarcophagus and threw me into Gotham River, you responded not with contempt, but with compassion,” he said. “Thank you for all the times you lifted me up, pushed me forward.”
Robin has been widely seen as vulnerable, particularly for his uncanny ability over the years to fall victim to so many of the criminals he is supposed to be apprehending with Batman. Gothamites have tended to forgive Robin, though, usually citing the fact that the Boy Wonder is just that—a boy—and probably isn’t as experienced as his older, more dashing, and clearly much smarter partner.
Robin was also a flashpoint recently when he clashed with Superboy, who denied him entry into the Hall of Justice for a formal event due to inappropriate attire. Robin was wearing his usual green slippers; Superboy insisted the event scheduled was “boots only.”
Word of Robin’s decision spread through the superhero world last night.
Wonder Woman said she feels Robin has made the right choice since the crime-fighter has had such a “bad year” and is still reeling from the hour glass incident.
“He feels terrible about being stuck in that stupid hour glass while the Riddler kidnapped Commissioner Gordon, and to carry on while he’s still popping pills and tweaking out is probably not in his best health interest.”
She said second-string superheroes of all stripes could make a serious run for the vacant sidekick position.
Kato, the Green Hornet’s lithe Asian assistant, had harsher words for Robin. Kato stated the Boy Wonder has always viewed crime fighting “like a part-time fry cook job” and that “he was never up to the challenge.”
“Listen, the Green Hornet makes me drive his fucking limo, like I’m his goddamn personal chauffeur,” Kato said in a phone interview. “Meanwhile, who does the lion’s share of ass-kicking when we’re in a pinch? Me. You’ll never hear me complain, though, because my heart is really in this. I have dedicated my life to this art, and I’m grateful for any opportunity. Robin, on the other hand, whines like a bitch every time he stubs his fucking toe.”
Criminal mastermind Catwoman, currently serving a life sentence in Gotham State Prison for infecting all of Gotham’s veterinarians with feline AIDS, said he was shocked at the news.
“What a purrrrrfect surprise,” she said. “Cats don’t like birds anyway. Now there’s plenty of room for me to sink my claws into Batman, meow!”
Aquaman, the rakish hero who spends most of his days chatting with kelp, said he can understand why Robin is quitting, adding that crime-fighting is a “tough business” that takes a toll on superheroes and their families.
“I mean, granted, my gig is pretty good—I stay in great shape ’cause I’m swimming all day, and you wouldn’t believe some of these women I’m savin’ from killer barnacles! But Robin, he probably had it harsh on that land scene. I think the people of Gotham dig his groovy vibe, and we’ll all miss that ‘Holy Whatever, Batman!’ thing that he liked to do.”
Batman did not respond to the Bat-Signal before press time.
It had been a fairly typical Thursday night b.s. session up to that point. Just four guys sittin’ on some bales of hay in your run of the mill Kansas barn, talking about girls and football and how long it would take to skateboard the entire length of the Great Wall of China. Then, as if it was just another piece of straw from the floor, ol’ Merv pulled out a little baggie of fluorescent green powder and started cutting lines like Tony Montana on an old Smurf TV tray that had previously been resting horizontal against the wall to his right.
Everyone else tried to act cool, but tense looks were definitely exchanged. This was quite the foreign element in both the figurative and literal sense (the powder seemed to be glowing somehow despite the dim light of the barn). After some precision cutting with his trusty matchbook, Merv slowly bent down to his lap and unleashed the most ungodly pig snort you ever heard. He took a moment to drink in whatever rush this narcotic provided. Then Merv exhaled slowly and passed the tray to me.
“Shit…I don’t know, Merv,” I began. “Pot is one thing, but this stuff…what is it, anyway? Clorox?”
“Naw, this ain’t no man-made chemical or nothin’. No one brewed this shit up in a lab or anything. It’s all natural. It’s from that meteorite that landed here about a month ago. Scraped it off the thing myself.”
“Oh, that’s fuckin’ great,” Paul retorted sarcastically. “You want us to get fucked up on space dust? How do you know that stuff ain’t loaded with Commie poison from Sputnik?”
“I don’t,” replied Merv casually. “But I do know I’ve been doin’ it on and off for a coupla weeks now and I ain’t dead. It’s just like really weak acid. Shit gets you buzzed enough to think you can shoot lasers out your eyes, but there’s no chance of a freak-out…unless you go try and snort the whole meteor.”
Merv chuckled at his own joke. Paul shrugged and reached for the tray, mumbling under his breath the golden teenage rule of trying anything once. He took a conservative bump, blinked a couple of times, and passed it over to me.
“Alright,” I said. “I’m in. But if we all die, I just wanna go on record as saying I was goddamn peer pressured, it wasn’t my idea, and Merv is fuckin’ Satan in the flesh.”
The dust burned as expected going up my left nostril, but it wasn’t the most painful thing I’d ever put up there. The effects were not immediate. My heartbeat felt normal. I took a long sip of my beer and mentally crossed my fingers that my heart wouldn’t pop later that night while I was on the toilet.
“One man left standing,” Merv said matter-of-factly. “What’s the story, Big C? You wanna go green?”
Now, the Big C wasn’t like the rest of us. Paul, Merv, and I were basically these shiftless lumps of dough with no feasible future outside a combine or a corn field. It didn’t really make a difference if we fried our brains with meteor residue. The Big C, on the other hand, was like those guys you see in movies – endlessly smart, super popular with the girls, and undoubtedly stronger than all of us put together. The world was his oyster. Hell, he had already been offered some big-shot newspaper job in the city. All this guy needed was a lottery win and everyone in town would have motive for first degree murder.
Yep, the Big C had the most to screw up, and he seemed to know it. I hadn’t even moved the tray of space gunk from my lap before he began hemming and hawing.
“Ah, you know, it’s just…” C stammered. “If I take this job, they’re probably gonna give me a drug test, and, well, you know…”
“Cut the horseshit, you fuck!” Merv interrupted with a laughing holler. “You’re gonna take the rest a’ this shit and you know it. Ain’t like this is new to you.”
An awkward silence filled the barn. C looked around the room.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Listen,” Merv started, lowering his voice and fixing his gaze on C. “We’ve all seen you out there in that field, runnin’ and jumpin’ around like you’re all whacked out on PCP. Swear to God the other morning I watched you jump over Bug Stintson’s tractor trailer. A damn tractor trailer! And you went over it like it was a motherfuckin’ fire hydrant. So don’t sit there and act all innocent and shit. We know you’re more juiced than Tropicana.”
“What? No! You’re crazy! I don’t even know what you’re talking about!” C’s voice cracked as he haplessly defended himself. “You’re the one on drugs! I’ve never even—this is crazy!”
Merv may have been joking, but he had a point. We had all thought at one time or another the Big C was secretly amped up on something. For a guy who walked home four miles every day after school in long pants and heavy flannel (even in those unrelenting summer months), he had some ridiculous muscle mass. C wore glasses, but he never seemed to have any trouble seeing without them (one time, C spent the night at my house, got up in the middle of the night, and made the most perfect flapjacks you ever tasted without his glasses, a cook book, or any kind of light at all). And you know what? I don’t think that boy’s hair grew the whole time I knew him. I never remember him getting a haircut. Ever. Was he cutting his own hair every single day? Probably not if he was strong enough to keep it from growin’.
Anyway, the tension in that barn grew to prize hog size as I nervously held that Smurf TV tray. Big C stared at the remaining green lines, brow soaked with sweat, like it was physically hurting him just being next to them.
“Aw, C, we won’t tell anybody if you’re juicin’. We’re pals. Even if you’re not, we’re not dead yet, so just do this junk so Merv’ll shut up.”
“Yeah, come on, buddy. Just bump it and we’ll go down to the field and have a catch.”
“Do we hafta call you like your Mama calls you? Hmm? We gotta call you Clark? Come on, Clark. Take this nasty green shit already like a big boy and make yo’ mama proud.”
The impression of C’s mama that we thought was so funny was too much for our angry and giant friend. He exploded, flipping the Smurf TV tray out of my hands with such a force I swear it messed up my hair. C jumped up, and—this is the real fuckin’ crazy part, the part I’ll remember for the rest of my life—the motherfucker did not land. Like, he jumped up and just kept going. C rose up into the air super fast with a tight grimace on his face, holding his arms out above his head with clenched fists, until he got to the top of the barn and literally smashed right through the roof.
If I’m lyin’, I’m dyin’. That son a of a bitch flew clear through the damn roof of the barn, leaving a big jagged hole like some kind of fuckin’ balls-out Pterodactyl.
Needless to say, our jaws dropped.
“What the fuck was that?” Merv shrieked with a look of utter disbelief on his greasy mug, eyes wide as saucer plates. “Did that just happen? Did that really just fuckin’ happen? Tell me that just fuckin’ happened, for real.”
Awkward pause again.
“Bro, his meteor coke is some serious shit.”
None of us died that night, which I guess was some minor stroke of luck. That hole is still up there in the barn. We’re all too lazy to get up and fix it. Musta been some lightening that night. Personally, I don’t remember. That meteor dust tore up my brain. All I know is we never saw Clark again after the “Green Coke” incident. Guess we spooked him too hard. Shame. I sure miss that guy. I hope he’s doin’ alright in the big city.