Obama’s Kids’ Lunch Menu

By Dallas VonKillbot on January 5, 2009 in Blog

Legally I’m not allowed to post anything negative about President-elect Obama due to the contract I signed when I officially became part of the liberal media, but Rene just found this and it made me chuckle/die a little inside. TMZ got a hold of the Sidwell Friends School snack and lunch menu, and it seems more like a 5 star restaurant than a kid’s meal.

Back when I was in grade school, we got a hot lunch that consisted of cold, stale pizza, a bag of Doritos, freezer burnt ice cream and milk that was 3 weeks past it’s expiration date. Up until this point, I was just fine repressing those memories until I learned that on Thursday, for example, Obama’s children will be offered “Local pumpkin & sage soup, salad du jour, FFY caesar salad, BLT chopped salad, spaghetti with either meatballs or marinara sauce, roasted butternut squash and fresh organic strawberries”, while the youngins are offered “Bagels and cream cheese, all natural shepherd’s pie, garden vegetable pie, steamed brussel sprouts and fresh organic strawberries”.

Great. In other news, I’m going to be dining on a stale, moldy artichoke that I bought 3 weeks ago. Fucking recession…

Rating: 3.5/5 (6 votes cast)

Obama's Kids' Lunch Menu , 3.5 out of 5 based on 6 ratings

About Dallas VonKillbot

San Francisco in the middle sixties was a very special time and place to be a part of. Maybe it meant something. Maybe not, in the long run . . . but no explanation, no mix of words or music or memories can touch that sense of knowing that you were here and alive in that corner of time and the world. Whatever it meant. . . . History is hard to know, because of all the hired bullshit, but even without being sure of "history" it seems entirely reasonable to think that every now and then the energy of a whole generation comes to a head in a long fine flash, for reasons that nobody really understands at the time â€” and which never explain, in retrospect, what actually happened. My central memory of that time seems to hang on one or five or maybe forty nights â€” or very early mornings â€” when I left the Fillmore half-crazy and, instead of going home, aimed the big 650 Lightning across the Bay Bridge at a hundred miles an hour wearing L. L. Bean shorts and a Butte sheepherder's jacket . . . booming through the Treasure Island tunnel at the lights of Oakland and Berkeley and Richmond, not quite sure which turn-off to take when I got to the other end (always stalling at the toll-gate, too twisted to find neutral while I fumbled for change) . . . but being absolutely certain that no matter which way I went I would come to a place where people were just as high and wild as I was: No doubt at all about that. . . . There was madness in any direction, at any hour. If not across the Bay, then up the Golden Gate or down 101 to Los Altos or La Honda. . . . You could strike sparks anywhere. There was a fantastic universal sense that whatever we were doing was right, that we were winning. . . . And that, I think, was the handle â€” that sense of inevitable victory over the forces of Old and Evil. Not in any mean or military sense; we didnâ€™t need that. Our energy would simply prevail. There was no point in fighting â€” on our side or theirs. We had all the momentum; we were riding the crest of a high and beautiful wave. . . . So now, less than five years later, you can go up on a steep hill in Las Vegas and look West, and with the right kind of eyes you can almost see the high-water mark â€” that place where the wave finally broke and rolled back. -Hunter S. Thompson

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Obama’s Kids’ Lunch Menu

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