Barack Obama's Diary: Don't Mess with Me, GOP

Dear Diary:  I flew by Air Force One to Kansas City today and  before an audience of  burly auto workers who stamp  out truck panels for F150s, I scared the hell out of the GOP.  I drew myself up to my full height and excoriated Republicans  for trying to "mess with me."   In my mind's eye, as I bit off the words like bullets, I pictured prominent Republicans turning pale at the prospect of even thinking of  messing with the great Me. I can't blame them; it's a formidable prospect.
Late yesterday I took the dogs out on the South Lawn and threw a Frisbee for them while filling my lungs with Maui Wowie.  It worked just as I had hoped.  Unlike Dr Rink's medication which has been ineffective, the weed immediately calmed me down. The mices that had been dogging me, vanished to be replaced by my old buddy, the moose. "Don't mess with me Mr. Moose," I cautioned him. "I am  the legendary Barack Hussein Obama, Destroyer of Worlds." The moose sank onto his front knees like a camel, clearly hugely impressed and grateful to be in my presence. But enough about me.