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I know it’s unpopular to say this right now, but I’m a Ben Carson birther. As a registered voter in the United States, I DEMAND to see his birth certificate. I hear some people are saying that his mother is from Norway and he was born in Albania. While we’re at it, let’s also DEMAND to see Donald Trump’s birth certificate. I hear that some people have said he was born and raised down in Alabama on a farm way back in the woods. That’s a waaay different story that we’ve been getting.

Born Again Birthers

The New Birther Movement: Born Again Birthers—H. Scott Prosterman

If nothing else, we want our next president to have a credible background story. Carson made up a back story that he used to have a violent temper. Increasing scrutiny indicates that Carson is having difficulty backing up this claim. OK. I claim that I never had a temper or much passion for anything. I’m funny that way, ha-ha.

Trump led the howls and cries challenging Obama’s American citizenship after it became a craze on Fox News. So let’s also demand to see HIS birth certificate as a turn of good gamesmanship.

Trump led the howls and cries challenging Obama’s American citizenship after it became a craze on Fox News. So let’s also demand to see HIS birth certificate as a turn of good gamesmanship. He acts indignant, but deep down he’ll really likes that.

Trump is running for president, but I think this guy is just in it for the laughs. I mean, he’s one rich dude and he can do what he wants. He probably woke up one morning and said, “You know what? I’m going to really f*** with America; I’m going to make them THINK I’m running for President and say a lot of stupid things just to see what happens. Kind of like Redford in that movie that was kind of about Jerry Brown in the 70’s. I know I don’t have a prayer, but this’ll be fun. And if they really want to nominate me, I’ll give that speech about ‘won’t run if nominated – won’t serve if elected.’ That could really bugger the Republican party.”

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And . . . wow, you know what? Maybe Trump is really a Trojan Horse bent on finally de-constructing the GOP once and for all. I get it now: “No Reconstruction? Time for De-Construction!” Maybe the faint light of the Ripon Society has a glimmer of hope. But let’s not get delusional.

This birther movement is inspiring. I challenge every American to fess up on Facebook, Linked-in or Twitter as to where they were born. When is not important, and most people would lie anyway. But only the most unpatriotic scoundrel of scoundrels would lie about where they were born. As a matter of national security and American political purity, they must be found, rooted out and be declared unfit for public office.

As a good citizen, I’ll step up to the plate right now and fully disclose that I grew up in Memphis and was born in 1955, when rock ‘n’ roll was being conceived and incubated. However, I was not actually born in Memphis; but rather, at Tinker Air Force Base in Midwest City, Oklahoma, where my dad was stationed. I moved my family to Memphis around my first birthday, but rock ‘n’ roll wasn’t born in Oklahoma, or Cleveland for that matter. So I get vague about where I was born, and tell about growing up in Memphis knowing Stax and Sun Records icons. That reflects better, especially if I decide to run for president.

President Obama was born in Hawaii. That has been part of the United States since two years before he was born. Had he been born before that he would be an alien and unfit for our nation’s highest office. I believe that with all my heart, to the core of my soul. Such is the impact of national boundaries, the evolution of colonialism and American History. History can be funny that way, ha-ha.

In the meantime, my concern about the fitness of Ben Carson and Donald Trump for our nation’s highest office is unabated. I won’t be satisfied until they both share their birth certificates with the American media. The people must know the truth about these leading contenders along with Jeb, Marco, Ted & Carly. They opened this can of worms – let them put it all back. Or not – hey it’s not my party.

scott prosterman

H. Scott Prosterman