Dear Diary: Our Middle East embassies are closed, not for an al-Qaeda threat as the lapdog media have suggested, but the threat that I might miss my golf and have to spend my 52nd birthday in the Situation Room. Yesterday, I was able to motorcade to Joint Base Andrews early in the morning, with 11 golfing buddies. After our golf, we moved on to Camp David and put a substantial dent in a fridge full of Dos Equis. Stay thirsty my friends. We all slept late as a result, but being the workaholic that I am, I was back at the White House by noon today after an exhausting chopper flight. No sooner had I taken my seat at the Resolute Desk when chef Sam Kass and other aides wheeled in a massive birthday cake. They stood behind the huge confection and sang "Happy Birthday." I was hoping Beyoncé would leap out, jiggling her wiggly bits and I composed my face into a suitable mixture of surprise and Platonic delight, so White House photographer Pete Souza could record the moment for prosperity, without incurring the wrath of Michelle. Champagne was poured, the top of the cake flew off and-- ta-daah!-- a figure leaped out, dressed in a white feathers, a tutu and ballet shoes. "Brava, Nancy!" I yelled. For it was she. Who better to play a dying swan than Pelosi, a woman whose face Botox has fixed in a rictus of death?Eventually, I was able to sit down again at the Resolute Desk. The phone immediately burbled. It was Vlad Putin calling with his usual perfect timing. [There is, without doubt, a turncoat among us.] "Happy birthday, Barack," he said. "Did you enjoy Nancy Pelosi's tribute? I'm calling because I thought you would like to know that the milk-skinned little twerp, Snowden, is already singing like a canary and we haven't even hung him up by his leg irons yet." I assumed a menacing tone: " Just you wait, Vladimir Putin. Just you wait. We will catch one of your spies and subject him to water dripping on his head and highly amplified speeches by Joe Biden on a permanent loop. After two days of water-boreing, your spy will crack and we'll learn all your secrets."
"You wish," said Vlad, "Da vesdanya." Then he hung up on me. Uncouth bastard.
