DEAR PRESIDENT OBAMA: Can You Finally ADMIT IT? CLOCK BOY PUNK’D YOU…

Dear President Obama,

VIA| Can we all be real for a ticking time-bomb second and just admit that Ahmed “The Clockster” Mohammed was a giant hoax now? The little terrorist-in-making pulled the wool over your eyes, and everyone knows it. I watched as the #IStandWithAhmed hashtag was lobbed from Palo Alto where Zuckerberg tried to shield the tiny terrorist from nonexistent online-flack to allllll the way up to you, Mr. President, who invited little Ahmed to the White House for some cheese and home made bomb making. Now it turns out – and this is unilaterally agreed upon – that the kid is just a really big douche.

Now that Mohamed and his parents have moved to Qatar so Ahmed could join a school with ties to Hamas, President Obama, can you at least admit that the kid maybe, sort of, kind of con’d you? Oh, I know you won’t. I know you that if you had a son, he’d probably build assemble put clocks in suitcases just like little Ahmed. It’s just there’s so much evidence that Ahmed was never what he pretended to be, I wanted to give you this opportunity to make it right.

Let’s recall the events.

Kid pulls apart a built clock and puts it in a suitcase. For what purpose? He says to show his science teacher. We’re calling bovine feces. His teacher sees the clock and thinks that maybe it looks like a bomb. At the very least, it doesn’t look like a clock. Also, why take a clock a part and put it in a suitcase? That question cannot be asked enough. I know, I know, you demand it never be asked at all, but I digress.

Kid gets detained. Twitter blows up. “ISLAMAPHOBIA” cry people who have no idea what the heck actually happened, tweeting pictures of actual clocks, without knowing Ahmed brought a suitcase-bomb look alike to class. Then Mr. President, you insert yourself like a PC Plague, riding the wave of PC culture to earn pot-brownie points with your sycophantic supporters. The world cheers. The Twitter twits teeter over the edge of glee.

Then the details, they radiate out of the car bomb-sized hoax like a… well like a car-bomb, and people start to question. Bill Maher says Ahmed never built a clock, gets annoyed with idiot Jorge Ramos and says, hey, this kid, he brought a thing to school that looks like a bomb. You ignore.

A dutiful engineer points out on Facebook that Ahmed took apart a functioning alarm clock and put it into a case. You ignore.

Another YouTuber decides to see just how “genius” little Ahmed is…and replicates the “clock” in 18 seconds. Still, you ignore.

Oh, and let’s not forget one key little detail. Ahmed Mohamed’s father has political aspirations to be president of Sudan, and in his 2015 run, “the would-be Sudanese president pledged that within 100 days of being elected he would negotiate the lifting of sanctions the U.S. imposed in the late 1990s because of alleged sponsorship of terrorism.” Holy crap, dude. I mean, I’m a comedian/blogger with Google. Shouldn’t you, the President of the United States, know these sorts of things?

But that’s not the biggest bomb (last pun, I swear). Ahmed has open ties to the Council for American-Islamic Relations (CAIR) and appeared in a promotional video with Nihad Awad, who has ties to Hamas. Both Awad and CAIR, like Ahmed “The Clockster” Mohamed have one thing in common: they’re more than what they seem. CAIR isn’t all benign wires and cogs that tell time. Unless the time being measured is how long until Israel gets wiped off the map. Because that’s an hourglass they’ll never step watching. And rattling to make it go faster.

And now Ahmed is going to a school in Qatar which just so happens to have ties to Hamas.

So, Mr. President again I ask you… what does it take to admit that maybe, just maybe you were wrong? Here’s the thing, nobody’s right all the time. We don’t expect you to be. But it sure would help build some trust with the American public when you admit to screwing up.

Especially when screwing up involves inviting little suitcase-clock-wielding, tiny-terrorist fraud to the white house. That one’s kind of a doozie.