Yeah, an Obama-nation! That's what you call a play on words.
I'm so tired of hearing about Obama running around Europe acting all presidential and appearing to be presidential and then saying things like, "I'm not the President." It reeks of Jesus asking his disciples, "Who do they say I am?" If it looks like s#%t and smells like s#%t, it's s#%t. And Obama's pulling some dog s#%t. Look at me, the French love me, the Germans love me, the Spanish love me. Anyone who isn't G.W. the Europeans will love. I mean how great must it be to speak to someone who can actually converse in their native tongue? G.W. can't even tell you what he's thinking in English, let alone trying to convey a thought to someone who then has to translate your pigeon-Texan ramblings into numerous foreign languages. And then think of the poor European leader who is getting a translation of broken Texan which no good linguist even recognizes as a proper English dialect. No offense to the English.
Obama must seem like a genius. And to make matters even better, it's not like he's Jessie Jackson or Louis Farrakhan. I mean with Jessie you have the same linguistic problems you do with Bush, and with Farrakhan, if you're European you know he hates you too. And you don't have to worry about him coming to your country and having his entourage f#$K up your police like Snoop Dogg. So, I guess, things could be worse.
On a positive note, today I heard the raspberry's heartbeat. And though it was brief, it was awesome. I have never been more excited about anything in my entire life. So, on that, I'll end for today.
It is Friday. And I'm home writing a blog entry at 9pm drinking a PBR and flashing a big middle finger to the haters. (That's something I think Tucker might say.)
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