Source: Family Security MattersExclusive: A Page from Barack Obama’s Diary
No, I Won’t Show Them My Birth Certificate!
Dear Diary,
It seems a handful of Americans aren’t getting on to the Hope and Change™ bandwagon along with those enlightened worshippers folks who voted for Me last November. Not only are they criticizing My policy of not meddling with oppressive dictators in Honduras and Iran while telling Israel what to do, but they’re also not happy with the way I’m causing the economy to tank so that socialism will seem like the only answer to our problems. Who do they think they are? Let Me be perfectly clear: I WON. Get used to it.
What’s even more upsetting these days – no, it’s not that Michelle wants to inch her way into the West Wing, although that comes pretty close. I mean, can’t I get a little time away from her? We all saw how well Bill and Hillary’s relationship fared when they worked together. I won’t stand a chance if Michelle throws a lamp at Me – she’s way more buff than I am.
But back to the issue at hand: what really crisps My bacon is that people are DARING to question My citizenship bona fides. Yeah, yeah, I know that the Constitution declares that a president must be born here in the United States, blah blah blah. I’m a constitutional lawyer, after all. Not very multicultural of the founders, but what do you expect from a bunch of dead white guys who wore wigs? I think my turban is much more attractive. Yet who are they, the unwashed masses who don’t get to enjoy Wagyu steak and vodka martinis on the taxpayers’ dime, to ask Me to prove where I was born? I’ve a good mind to bankrupt them so they have more important things to think about it. Oh wait, I’m already working on that! Yay Me!
Even that jerk Rush Limbaugh has been making jokes about the birth certificate at My expense, asking what God and I have in common. (By the way, I think I’m probably a lot better looking than God.) I’ve got to do something about this guy, and fast. No, not God, Rush. But maybe I’ll look into the God thing later. Here he is, raking in millions of dollars, flying around in his own plane as though he was the president or something, and influencing the thinking of millions of people. He gets almost as many listeners in one day than I had viewers for my healthcare proclamation town hall on ABC last week – and that’s just counting the major markets. By the way, he makes such a big deal about My middle name, I wonder what his is? Why is that such a big secret? It must be something embarrassing, like Elmer or Hezekiah. Well, he and his talk radio pals had better watch out. There’s a new sheriff in town, and let’s just say I’m not like that “honorable” sucker Gary Cooper played in High Noon.
Now back to the birth certificate: Frankly, it’s no one’s business but Mine where I was born. That’s why I had the Hawaiian governor put it under lock and key. Boy, was it convenient that Granny got sick when she did during the campaign. John McCain may have buckled under pressure to produce his proof of birth, but I’m not John McCain. I won, remember? Besides, I have something ol’ John didn’t have – my moral authority as the first black president. Who in their right mind would dare question me? These bitter clingers are a bigger pain than I bargained for.
That reminds Me, I have to place an order for those brown shirts for My pals at ACORN.
So do you hear Me, America? There’s no way I’m going to jeopardize the coolest gig I’ve had since My community organizing days by producing My birth certificate. I’ve got a lot of socializing to do, and I won’t let a ratty old piece of paper get in My way.
No, Diary, I won’t tell you if that ratty piece of paper is the Constitution or My birth certificate. I’ll let you try to figure it out.
That’s all for now, Diary. Time to check in to see where I’m flying off to next. I hope Air Force One has plenty of those little peanut packets with My face on them. Oh, and some fresh arugula. Heck, I don’t have to worry about how much it costs anymore!
P.S. Don’t tell King Abdullah that I made a reference to bacon, ‘k? He might not understand
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