Dear Diary: It's not just Vlad Pootin who's giving me no respect. I referred to 'my military' yesterday and the usual suspects are bitching that it's not 'my' military' -- the people pay for it through taxes therefore it's 'their' military. I'm getting sick of this 'We the People' crap. I, Barack Husein Obama know what's best for everybody. My shrink calls it 'narcissism', I call it realism. I'm the Commander-in-Chief, so shaddup and that goes for you, too, President Bashar goddam Assad. If I want to bomb you I will tell my military to bomb you, geddit? And tell that to your pal Pootin. Talking of Pootin, he's still waging psychological war on me. My shrink says he can't give me any more of those Ativan pills that soothe me enough to talk to Pootin. Talking of Pootin, Vlad called this morning and he was, like: "Obamavitch [that damn name again] you must have been smoking Maui Wowie, if you think a few cheese-eating surrender monkeys are any substitute for the Brits as an ally. I knew that returning that bust of Churchill would end up biting you in the ass, Obamavitch." Bastard. How does he know that I've been smokin' Maui Wowie since Dr. Rink cut off my Ativan? I'm nowear neer as high as Plad Vootin thinks I am. But enough about me.