Did I Say That Out Loud?

Now, look.

It's been a dynamic summer, if I do say so myself. It didn't start out so hot, what with me offing that bug on the air. (LOL! Who gets mad about killing a fly? Like I'm going to waste my valuable time trying to encase an insect in a plastic contraption. That's about as retarded as it gets.) Then there was the day that the teleporter came crashing down. Man, I was sweatin' that one for a sec. Good thing I had a back up or I'd have been speechless! (Ho--get it? Speechless? Ha! Good one, B!) Of course, everyone has forgotten by now that I was checking out the oh-so-fine booty of that Brazilian delegate. Come on. Who's not going to sneak a peek at that? And speaking of hot women, I also kind of forgot where I met my wife Melissa, so I just made some crap up. What's the big deal? She's married to the president. Straight up! Like she's got anything to complain about.

So, all in all, the past three months have been pretty sweet. And the fall promises to be even better. I've actually had time to chillax a bit and watch the tube. The other night I got to see the Video Music Awards. I can't believe that asinine rapper took the mic from that attractive country singer. I even told some reporters my thoughts on that. But it's off the record so we all cool.

The economy's doing better than ever and Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs is coming out in 3D. Man, I'm livin' the good life now.


I soooo look better than Kanye,

President B.O.

I heart fibs

Now, look.

The word on the street is that I'm not keeping my promises. Frankly, people, I'm a little tired of hearing it. Want it straight up? I didn't lie. I had my fingers crossed.

Hello?!

If I cross my fingers it doesn't count!

Think about it. There's, like, no way I could ever do all that stuff I talked about. As if! So I got with my homies to come up with a way to keep the masses happy. It's brilliant, really. Even better than my magic marker idea. (I know--hard to fathom, right?) Check out this picture of me. You think I'm just chillin'. But see those fingers tucked under my pit? That's right. They're crossed. And you'd never even know it. I'm telling the photographer that I'll cover his Grammy's mortgage, but at the same time, I'm cancelling it out. It's so clever, I can barely contain myself.

And that's the 4-1-1. Any pledge you think I've reneged on, it's covered. No pork projects? Fingers crossed. Open and transparent government? Digits entwined, baby. 16-month Iraq pullout? Kriss-Kross in the mix. (OMG, that band so totally rocks!) A 5-day waiting period for public review of legislation? ROFL. That's a good one. Like, I can't believe anybody fell for that.

Besides, let's get reals. My peeps are gonna keep on lovin' me cuz I'm the man. We all know it. It's time you got on board the Barack Express. You're all gettin' taken for a ride!

Folks, it's as simple as this. I can't really be counted on for anything. But I look good. And I sound convincing. And I'm the President. What more could you ask for?


(Not) Keeping lobbyists out of the White House,


President B.O.

Telephoto? Telephony? Telephant? Wait, what's that thing called again?

Now, look.

I'm a big, important man. There's no getting around it. But sometimes--just sometimes--I need a little help. Is that too much to ask? I mean, really. I'm, like, running the country here, and remembering the lines of my speech is just not a priority for me. That's why they have that scrolling machine with the words I'm supposed to read. Makes it simple, right?

Don't be fooled, folks. Reading the words from the telegraph is not as easy as it looks. Fo shizzle. I have to stand behind a podium looking handsome as the devil, remember to flash my pearly (er, not so pearly) whites, and decipher all the letters coming at me faster than King Abdul Jabbar's introduction. I'm a multi-tasker (Check it--I can brush my teeth while I'm in the shower; I know, right?) but this is getting ridiculous. I'm expected to do so many things at once. It shouldn't come as a surprise to anyone that I occasionally screw up my lines.

So I've been thinking about some solutions to this problem. Actually, someone else should be coming up with ideas, but it doesn't look like that's going to happen any time soon. I guess I'm on my own here. I am taking matters into my own hands. And, OMG, I have some totally brilliant ideas that can assist me with the telemeter!

1) Let me wear a tiny secret earpiece where I can listen to someone else reciting the speech while I am reading it out loud. Maybe it could be my hot wife Michelle, since she doesn't really do much all day.
2) Make the letters bigger. Yeah, that's it. The letters are just too freakin' small. Bigger letters, bigger letters.
3) Have two telemarketers. That way, if I lose my spot on one, I can just look over at the other one to save me. Man, I am a one-man brain trust!

Okay, hold up. Now that I think about this, here's the best plan yet:

4) Ditch the telescope altogether. Bring back the giant cue cards and have someone cross out all the words with a jumbo Sharpie as I'm reading them. Holy Joe Biden, that is genius if I ever heard it!

Wow. I've gotta go. I need to tell these amazing ideas to my peeps, like, right now. They're all gonna want to be the guy who holds the magic marker. LOL! This is gonna be sweet.


Take that, telepathy!


President B.O.

Wax on, wax off

Now, look.

I meet a lot of important people. Sometimes I am super excited about what fabulous person gets the opportunity to see me face-to-face, but most of the time the honor is pretty much theirs. So, OMG, I was really taken by surprise when some staff guy told me that I was scheduled to meet a king. Like, wow. (I think this one is actually related to Paula Abdul--bonus! At least they have the same last name.) Anyway, I was totally stoked, but so nervous! I can't adequately express how I felt waiting for this encounter. It was sorta like I had to pee reallllly bad, even though I'd just gone like six times in a row.

Wouldn't you know it, before I had a chance to think about what I'd say, the guy was standing right there in front of me! I realized that no one had told me what I was supposed to do. You people don't understand how much I have to think in this job. It's getting quite ridiculous. Geez, I said to myself, Should I high five it? But I knew that wasn't right. I was starting to internally panic when, suddenly, I realized what I would do if I were facing my real hero--Mr. Miyagi. Dude, that guy was old and he could still take out a bunch of punk-ass teenagers all by his lonesome. What would Daniel-san do? Bow, of course! So that's what I did. It was smooth as silk, baby. I would've patted myself on the back if I hadn't been busy figuring out what brand of footwear the King was sporting while I was down there.

So even though I once again pulled through a very stressful situation without a glitch, I've been hearing through the grapevine all sorts of bogus reasons why I bowed to the Saudi King. Like I'm secretly a Muslim or I'm trying too hard to restore good relations with Saudi Arabians or something. But the reason is more basic than that. I still don't know what the hell I'm doing. But I gotta tell you, I think I'm covering up that fact pretty well. And if shaking hands would've been more appropriate--hello!? Next time tell me these things! I'm not a mind reader. Although I am working hard on my meditation skills. Don't be surprised if you see me with a pair of chopsticks trying to catch that fly. Because we all have priorities. And being as cool as Pat Morita definitely tops my list.

Miyagi have hope for me,

President B.O.

Lookin' good!

Now, look.

Everyone should know by now what an incredible specimen of man I am. There are soooo many things about me to love. But if you've yet to fully realize the awesomeness of my being, check this out. I was just a guest on Leno. That's right, folks. Jay Leno. LOL. Take a moment to let that sink in. I know, right? You wish you were me.

First of all, I looked good. I mean, my late night appearance has been all over the news the past couple days, and it's totally because I'm smokin' in that suit. Not to mention the tie. It's red. Red hot! I topped off the look with some really shiny shoes. Nothin' says class like shoes that glisten more than my forehead when I'm minus the teleprompter. Kevin Eubanks had on a suit. I told him he looked good, but really I was thinking, Not as good as me, girlfriend!

I'll have to admit, I was a lit-tle nervous. I mean, I was on T.V.! But I so had nothing to worry about. I was brilliant! I related to the common people by mentioning American Idol, and I totally sounded like I knew what I was talking about on that AIG stuff. Plus, I was hilarious. I mentioned one of my bowling scores from the White House alley, and joked that it was like the Special Olympics or something. Jay looked at me kinda weird, but I think he was just jealous that I had the best zinger of the night.

All in all, I'd have to say it was an unprecedented success. I thought I'd really pulled it off with the corned beef comment, but this, my friends, was pure, unadulterated genius. Let's face it-- with me as head honcho, we are going places. I don't know what I was freaked out about. This President stuff is so easy, even a tard could do it.

Nailed it!

President B.O.

Being the President is too hard

Now, look.

I know it's been awhile since I've posted. This whole leading-the-country gig's turning out to be a bit more work than I thought. I mean, this is like, really hard. I figured I'd be sitting in meetings, signing a few papers, bossing people around, you know. It's so not like that. I've got to make big decisions. Like decisions that affect people. Their lives and stuff. And I could really mess things up. I am starting to feel super stressed. And people wonder why I want to smoke. OMG.

The hardest part is the back-stabbing. That really hurts. For real. I just don't get it. It used to be that everyone was like, "Oh, Obama, we love you! Be our President! We worship you! You the man!" Now just because I've broken a few promises and my stimulus plan has no possibility of actually helping the economy, some of my peeps are getting sorta hostile. I used to think this Messiah thing was pretty sweet, but now it's dragging me down. I am only human, after all. I'm allowed to make a few (dozen) mistakes, right? I don't have experience to speak of. Cut me a little slack, people.

And I just have one question for you. What the hell is an earmark?

On the up side, I'm learning so much from my BFFs. Like about stem cells (just use them in research, it's no biggie) and financial bonuses (dude, everyone at AIG is loving on me now).

So, you know, I might do okay after all. It could happen. Like Bill Pullman said in Independence Day, "We will not go quietly into the night! We will not vanish without a fight! We're going to live on! We're going to survive! Today we celebrate our Independence Day!" Okay, maybe not that last part.

Peace and love,

President B.O.

I got the corned beef...

Now, look.

I'm an amazing, amazing rock star of a man. But even I have my heroes. Yes, there are people out there who I look up to, people in whose footsteps I long to walk. For example, take Ashlee Simpson.

Now Ashlee knows exactly what I'm going through. She's the little sister of pop star Jessica Simpson. Ashlee doesn't have any singing ability. She can't dance. She's tone deaf. She's completely ill-equipped to be a pop star. And yet, she wanted nothing more than to out-do her famous sister. Of course, if you watch E! as much as I do, you know that this came around to bite Ashlee on her oddly bony tush... While performing on Saturday Night Live, Ashlee's lip sync track started playing at the wrong time, revealing to the country that even her mediocre radio hits have been so tweaked in post-production that they no longer resemble anything that might actually come out of her mouth.

The same thing sort of happened to me. Like Ashlee, I badly, badly wanted to win an important contest, but instead of wanting to outdo an accomplished sibling, I wanted to beat out an incredibly qualified and experienced opponent and land the most important job in the land. Now, realize I didn't really want to do the job (remember, I'm laughably ill-prepared); I just wanted to win! I did win and, like Ashlee, have found myself in over my head. I've been so nervous about all this that I've mostly just been hiding from the public lately.

But then, the other day, I was at a deli getting some lunch, absorbing the praise of my mindless minions, when a bunch of reporters showed up and wanted me to actually talk about what I'm going to do as president. When I first saw them with their mics and me without my teleprompter, I froze for a moment. But then I thought: What Would Ashlee Do?

When Ashlee Simpson was exposed as being unqualified and ill-equipped and found herself in way over her head, she did a jig that resembled a retarded leprechaun, then wandered off stage. How could anyone recover from that? No problem...not for Ashlee. She reappeared at the very end of the show as the cast was saying goodbye and whined, "I'm soooo sorry. My band started playing the wrong song and I didn't know what to do. So I thought I'd do a hoedown." OMG! Brilliant! She thought she'd do a hoedown! I've already mastered the whole blaming everybody else thing, but saying something stupid to detract from my own ineptitude? This I had to try.

I turned and looked at the expectant reporters. "I got the corned beef," I said. A couple of them tried to laugh as if I had said something funny. But then one of them had the hopeful audacity to ask me about some auto industry crisis or something and what I planned to do about it. I mean come on! Don't they know that the press is only supposed to lob me softballs like, "What kind of dog are you getting?" and, "Why are you so fabulous?" Luckily, I was thinking quick on my feet. "We got the corned beef," I repeated, and returned to greeting my fans. Whew! That was a close one!

But the near-misses weren't over. Returning to the counter to get my order, I accidentally told the clerk, "Rahm Emmanuel sends his regards." Crud, I thought. I'm going to bring attention to the fact that I ran as the ultimate agent of change and promised all this fresh blood, only to almost completely replicate the tired old Clinton war room crowd with all their politics-as-usual-dirty-tricks. Having already uttered Emmanuel's name, I tried to subtly bring the conversation back into neutral territory. "Yeah, I, um, ordered his corned beef," I said.

Not a bad day for me. In fact, my corned beef line was such a hit, the press even reported on it.

Yeah, I'm pretty good at all this public relations stuff. I think I'm gonna be ooookay.

Ashlee Simpson, eat your heart out.

I had the corned beef,
President B.O.