Barack Obama's Diary: I'm lovable, I truly am

Dear Diary: I appeared today for a press conference in the East Room. The toads of the media had the temerity to croak that I am remote person, which hampers my ability to negotiate with the GOP [those racist swine who constantly accuse me of being a big spending socialist.]  "Au contraire, I'm a likable guy who likes to party," I told them. I reminded them of the round of golf I once played with Squeaker Boner. "I like the Squeaker," I said, omitting the fact that negotiating with him is like trying to squeeze juice from a prune, and I'm not referring to the color of his spray-on tan.
Like Jodie Foster, I'm a private sort of person: what I smoke in Hawaii is my business (OK, if you insist on  knowing, Kona Skunk from the Big Island is my Chateau Lafite Rothschild, and Mauie Wowie is my vin ordinaire --that's 'everyday wine' for those who lack my extensive education) and what went on in Chicago's bathhouses is nobody's business but mine.
The media toadies seem to think they have the right to question my judgement. Today, a couple of critics have even shown the temerity to question the suitability of a faux marble table between the  fashionably retro polyester velour sofas in the Oval Office, and suggest they it don't match the quality of the ancient hand cabinetry in their surroundings. Pretentious nonsense! They are high-quality designer pieces that would be the envy of our Chicago neighbors, which Michelle cleverly discovered at a discount furniture mart and the table is the perfect height for me to put my exquisitely shod feet upon.