This afternoon, we choppered out to Joint Base Andrews where Air Force One was waiting to fly the family to Hawaii with Valerie Jarrett, my shrink Dr Rink, and my secret service detail, plus a couple chefs and my tour director and golf buddy Marvin Nicholson. As the bright lights of DC receded to pinpricks below I could not resist emitting a merry "Ho, Ho, Ho," as I left the Federal beehive for the balmy shores of Oahu. I held a press conference at the White House before we left, with news of last-minute insurance changes that will muddy the waters so no-one can assemble a rational attack on ObamaCare while I am away. No sooner had I sat at my in-flight desk when the onboard communications chief called, saying "Sir, Vladimir Putin is on the line. "Very well, I said. "Put the bastard" through.
Putin said: "I heard that, Obamavitch, you rude person." For that I shall call you "Boris Obamavitch" from now on. While it will further inflame your vanity, it would make a splendid name for a novel."
