Dear Diary: I think I may have discovered the root of my current depression. I happened upon an article on the Internet about Seasonal Affective Disorder -- a depression that is said to be caused by a combination of cold temperatures, precipitation and shorter days. Myself, I think it may be more to do with a lack of golf. I don't think it's anything thing that a fat toke of Blueberry Yum Yum won't cure. I ruminated, as I was chewing my Froot Loops this morning, that Vlad Putin has been conspicuously absent from the phone since the Sochi games began and the snow there started melting. By an odd coincidence as I scooped up my last Froot Loops, my iPresidentophone burst into a rendition of Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy. "Good morning, Vlad," I said, for it was he. I cracked wise: "I hear your winter games have turned to glorious summer."
"Nonsense," he said. "Obamavich, you are saying that only because your athletes are performing so badly." But enough about me.
"Nonsense," he said. "Obamavich, you are saying that only because your athletes are performing so badly." But enough about me.
