A lot of people asked me why Michelle would go on vacation to Europe over my birthday. They all said they thought it was selfish and unthoughtful of her. Well, as for why I let it happen without putting up a fight... Presidential Birthday Extravaganza. Nobody knows about this except for a few living souls but it may just be the best part about being the President. Deep within the Constitution, on a page we only ever show to Presidents, there's a clause that says the President can do whatever the hell he wants on his birthday. I mean anything. The law protects sitting Presidents from prosecution no matter what they do during the 24-hour period of their birthdays and will automatically classify any accusations against him for things he did during that period as slander. That means for four days, maybe eight, out of my entire life I am untouchable. Last year I was pretty modest about it. All I did was drive a tank down the highway and crush every Smart Car I saw, even waiting for the people inside to escape. But this year I went all-out.

As far as the press knows, I spent my birthday in Chicago eating dinner at Graham Elliot. Well, I did do that, but that's not even half the true story. I cleared out the restaurant and decided I would rather sit on a waitress than a chair. She was a skinny little thing, too. I'm surprised her medical costs were so low. I dunno, she probably does pilates or something. Oprah and Gayle were on the guest list. The truth is, I can't freaking stand Oprah. I think she's smug, too rich for her own good and a little out of her mind. That's why I decided that I wanted to eat her dog. I had Graham slow roast the pooch like a Peking duck, which required ordering the CIA to kidnap the thing earlier in the day. To be economical, I had Graham make a special salad dressing out of Oprah's tears. In retrospect, a bad idea, what with the mascara. The dog was delectable, though.

Next I knew I'd need to let the meal to settle before I got really active, so I fired up a hot tub full of cognac at my favorite Chicago hotel and go totally buzzed on the fumes. That Secret Service idiot Tom damn near killed me by lighting a cigarette (hello, aerosolized accelerant?), so I had the boys shave his head and eyebrows and draw on his scalp so he looked like a giant dick. It was pretty hilarious. After my soak I had a little fight in me, so I decided I wanted to beat up a Republican. That's always been a dream of mine but I never had the opportunity to do it. All we had to do was put a fake Casual Encounters ad on craigslist for "a real truck-driving Republican man". When he showed up I punched him in his stupid face until he started crying. Then we took his picture and sent him home. Not like I lost his vote or anything.

To round out the night me and the boys went out for ice cream. They didn't have the flavor I wanted (cocaine caramel truffle), so we sent out for the ingredients and made it ourselves. I heard the shop got raided today after a drug-sniffing dog that just happened to be passing by with his DEA handler went nuts. I'll send out a quiet pardon tomorrow. We got to the airport just in time to raid the Duty Free shop before the stroke of midnight. If anyone asks where I got these 37 bottles of scotch, I'll just say it was a present from a Saudi prince or something.

And the best part? Michelle has no idea what happened.