Dear Diary: I was called upon to show my exceptional leadership skills again today when bombs exploded at the Boston Marathon. The Secret Service hustled me to the express elevator down to my bunker where Carney thrust a card with talking points into my hand. I took my place in front of a simulacrum of the backdrop of the White House briefing room so that TV viewers would think I was remaining cool at the helm of the nation in the rather than hundreds of feet below ground in a biologically and chemically filtered bunker. I spoke to the ready-prepared camera, of the toughness of Bostonians and how our thoughts and prayers go out to the families...you know the sort of thing... we will not rest until we bring the full weight of justtce onto those responsible. Michelle and the girls arrived soon after me and we will probably have stay down here for the night. But enough about all of us. This diary is supposed to be about me. I do hope Marv Nicholson has arranged for one of my blankies to be under my pillow down here. Boo-boo Two is my preferred alternative, although Boo-boo Three has worked before i
n extremis. Nobody knows the troubles I've seen.
