Forgive my absence yesterday, but I’ve been so busy ruining a presidency I hardly had time to blog. It’s been a whirlwind, really. The BP robots finished my vasectomy, then put a broken condom on my pipe. BP seems to think they’re going to capture most of me, but geophysicists are quietly saying I will eventually make Chernobyl look like a lightning strike. That’s because I’m still gushing, and could be for years. If BO and BP had just asked, I could have told them that snip and cap will end up like Massachusetts electing Scott Brown to stop Obamacare. You can’t stop me; you can only hope to contain me.
Meanwhile, that movie director, James Cameron, has been making some noise. First he says he offered to help BP fight me, only to be “graciously” refused. Then he called the people in charge of plugging my damn hole morons. Afterward, BO said this on Larry King’s Still Alive! on Thursday — “My job is to solve this problem.” I’m with Cameron: BO is a moron.
I’ll give you the real scoop on Cameron’s offer. An expert on underwater filming (last I checked my employer had a pretty good handle on this aspect of the crisis), Cameron offered to send three-dimensional horse-faced blue animations to the bottom of the Gulf, but BP didn’t think it would help. Then he offered to buy a tanker of little blue pills to plug my damn hole. I’m really glad BP declined because, if you’ve seen any of the action on my web cam, my libido is still pretty powerful. Just think of the trouble BP would have on its hands right now for running the world’s most popular porn cam.
So then, smart guy that he is, Cameron gave all the little blue pills to the Oval Office. I’ve since heard that in the past few days alone Larry Sinclair signed the White House guest register more times than Andy Stern. Cameron, instead, has decided to start production on his next movie, predictably about BO and me. It will be called Dereliction of Duty.
Not that BO isn’t trying. He made another visit to Louisiana yesterday and rolled up his sleeves so he could make me all about him, shedding his visage of collected cool in crisis to declare in anger: “We’ll keep on coming back until we have dealt with an unprecedented crisis.”
“We,” of course, meaning “me.” Him, always with the me, myself, and I.
Last I saw, BO was jetting off to Cauli-for-nia on Air Force One, where in-flight staff served him tar ball shots.