Dear Diary: I am so utterly exasperated that I cannot think straight. Michelle has locked Bo and Sunny away from me, lest I kick their furry Portuguese butts. The source of my frustration is the usual culprit: Vladimir Pootin. Just as my campaign to win support for attacking Syria reaches its peak with pre-recorded interviews with me on all the major networks and a massive lobbying effort by Joe Biden with Congress, Pootin has made an offer to Assad that Assad can't refuse: Russia will take over Syria's entire stockpile of chemical weapons and gradually destroy them. This completely undermines my effort to look decisive and statesmanlike, and renders pointless a US attack. Putin called this morning, sounding unbelievably smug and chiding me for not foreseeing his Syrian plan. "Obamavitch, it's not my fault that your IQ is below room temperature. In Siberia. In winter. With no stove. Try playing chess. it will train you to think ahead." Bastard. But enough about me.
