No, Really, I'm Fine

Things have been tough lately, if by "lately" you mean "for the past two years". It seems like every single day now I've got somebody checking in with me to make sure everything is okay. I mean, jeez, I'm made of tougher stuff than that. It's really not a big deal that I'm going through a rough patch. There's no need to be all like, "Are you sure you're not too stressed? You can take a break if you want." How many times do I have to say it? I'm the freaking President. Stress is what I do.

So, yeah, okay, Chicago didn't get the Olympics. BFD. It would've been nice, but then again, there's a lot more to the Games than just pretending to give a damn about the pole vault and making jokes about what Bob Costas is wearing behind that desk. For the record, I think it's old-timey schoolboy short pants and prescription shoes. The Olympics are to terrorists what moldy fruit is to bugs. Ever since Munich every thug with an AK wants to take out a team or dirty bomb a stadium. Seriously, you don't even want to know how many horrible death plots are thwarted every four years at the Games. It'd make your freaking hair stand on end.

And, yes, I'm aware that my current approval rating is hovering around 50%, but that doesn't faze me. First of all, at least 25% of the folks who don't approve aren't ever going to approve. I could float down from heaven with a brand new infrastructure and a can of Insta-Democracy for the entire Middle East and these yahoo teabaggers would still get uppity about immigrants or health care. The other 15% (because there's a margin of error and a bunch of no-response types) are just people who are still pissed off at the entire country because their lives didn't instantly turn better in January. From the office of the President of the United States, I hereby make this decree: Boo-freakin'-hoo. This job is hard, so be patient.

Anyway, I've learned how to handle the hard days. Hell, every President with half a brain had a secret for taking the edge off. Grover Cleveland had a secret stash of Rocky Road ice cream in his office. He had to pretend to buy a warship just to hide the cost at the end of his run. Gerald Ford converted his desk into a ping pong table at least once a week and Andrew Jackson hunted squirrels with a pistol in the rose garden. We all know what, or rather who, Jack Kennedy did to unwind, and Jefferson... well, let's just say that in Thomas Jefferson's administration there were suspiciously few meetings at twenty minutes after four.

Me? I slip on a pair of moccasins, mix up a banana protein shake and have a slam dunk contest with anyone arrogant enough to go toe-to-toe with the Commander in Chief of Rattling That Backboard. Speaking of which, that thing about Jewish athletes is way off. Rahm Emanuel's got some killer air.