Alright, diary. I don't have much time so I'm just gonna go over the major points. I snuck off in the middle of dinner because I had to get out of there for a little while. The White House Thanksgiving Dinner (tm) is absolutely bonkers. The table is bigger than my first apartment, everybody's asking me tons of questions and they all look at me like they're waiting for me to keel over from poison every single time I take a bite. I mean, I know the death threats against me have basically tripled lately, but come on, you think the Secret Service doesn't check the freaking turkey?

Anyway, it's been insane all day. A bunch of people running around the house like their heads are on fire, a pile of papers a mile high for me to sign about every stupid thing like ice sculptures and approval for a gluten-free pie crust because Geithner's been having more of those weird intestinal fits. God, I can't wait to get rid of that guy. If we were in the fifth grade I'd be giving so many noogies to Little Timmy he'd have a bald spot.

I miss just having the usual dinner at home in Chicago. Man, that was nice. It was quiet, small, simple. I had to use the damn secret passage behind the portrait of James Madison just to get five minutes to myself, and even that was too complicated and President-y. Those Republican bastards are probably sitting around in their houses eating endangered whales and laughing at me. They're always laughing at me... calling me big-ears... being jerks.

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Oooohhhhh... so much food. So much. I feel like I'm gonna burst. Stupid White House chefs and their awesome freaking recipes. It's 5:00 AM and I can... I can still taste everything. I think it's all just stacked up inside me and it's all still touching the back of my tongue. Why? Why did I eat so much? Was it because I was nervous? Since when do I get nervous? Michelle had to get two marines just to help me to the lounge. She wouldn't even let me go to bed. She was like, "If we put you on your back you'll crush your spine, Barry." Yeah, but what about my stomach?

Oh, my stomach...

I guess I overreacted a bit. When I got back to the table I just couldn't stand listening to everyone anymore. I kicked them all out. Everyone. I called in a Black Ops team and they extracted the entire guest list. I'm not sure but I think I might have sent the German Premiere's aid to a re-education facility in Cameroon. Oh, crap, was that a button? Did a button just pop right off of my shirt? This was a mistake. I sat there in the dining room and I just ate, alone, for hours. I don't even know when I stopped. I blacked out after that third turkey leg, but I don't think I stopped eating. Something happened to me back there. I think I might have done terrible things.

Freaking Thanksgiving.