Dear Diary, Here I am sheltering under the Resolute Desk, expecting a twister to ravage D.C. I was only told of this possibility a few minutes ago and, being the decisive leader that I am, I weighed my options and took the best available. I am using the time to make a few calls to check that the public are feeling the stinging lash of the shutdown. I have been particularly pleased with the Park Rangers , who are doing splendid work preventing people from visiting private businesses accessed from federal land. They have even evicted elderly home owners whose houses are on federal land at Lake Mead. They have also prevented overly-sentimental veterans from visiting The WW2 memorial, and the Vietnam memorial. I don't know why there's a Vietnam memorial because there is still a Vietnam. I must establish an award for these dedicated public servants. The Order of Obama the Great, maybe. Suddenly a thunderous banging filled the office.
Oh God! I thought,
it's the tornado! I retreated even further into the recess under the desk. The I heard a voice: "Barack, are you OK in there?" The thunderous noise was Joe Biden banging on the door. I quickly reseated myself at my desk, straightened my tie, picked up a pen and pretended to be busily at work. "Come in Joe," I said loudly. "Is it time for lunch already?" But enough about me.
