Barack Obama's Diary

Dear Diary:  My tolerance for endless  jokes about my eating dogs is wearing very thin. It rips me inside to see my exalted self mocked by bottom-feeding bloggers, MSM hacks and other primordial creatures. A sample:
Q: What does Obama call a  mutt? 
A: Trail mix.
 Marv my marvelous body guy usually notices when I'm down and suggests shooting some hoops. He's always careful to  lose against me which restores my self-esteem.The Secret Service debacle  rages on. I'm not sure how long we can shield Director Sullivan before throwing him under the campaign bus that's ready in the driveway (not idling, of course)
Well...it's been a long and tiring day,  Marv has laid Boo-boo, my blankey, under my pillow so I can rub my cheek with the satin edging after wake in a sweat from my recurring nightmare of  Romney measuring the Oval Office for drapes.  Boo-boo... um-num-num, always making Barry feel  better.  Michelle is calling me. After a quick prayer to myself, I will close the lap top. And so bed.