There has been a lot of talk recently about how no one can seem to find a joke (or at least a tasteful one … New Yorker, I’m looking at you) to make about Mr. Democratic Nominee. How can that be true? I have plenty to eccentricities to play off. I’m not some polished figure that’s simply smart, responsible and a symbol of much needed change. So, I’ve done you all a favor and compiled a list of ways to make fun of me if the occasion arises. No need to continue to laugh at how old Mr. McCain looks, acts and administers government. In no particular order:

1. I’m pretty tall, not that tall… but taller than most people. I’m also skinny, in good shape really, but skinny in the eyes of most Americans.

2. I didn’t go to Yale, Harvard or Princeton for my undergraduate degree. Sure, I went to Columbia, but even President Bush went to Yale and look at that guy.

3. I was born in Hawaii… that’s a weird state, right?

You know, it's one thing to be the victim of a cruel media attack by some conservative wing-nut publication, but now I have to look out for--The New Yorker? What a great idea, David Remnick. Put me and Michelle on the cover dressed as Muslim terrorists! What--you didn't like the mock-up of us killing baby seals?

I had never seen The New Yorker until I arrived at Harvard for freshman orientation. This guy "Ian" who lived down the hall from me--very artsy, wore a Japanese bandanna--walks into my room reading a copy. He's laughing his ass off and says "Look at this."

It's a sketch of two people sitting on bean bag chairs in an apartment, talking to their guests. "We're not rich, but we're comfortable." A real knee-slapper.

You know, sometimes I just can't catch a break. Except from the news media and the people who've given $300 million to my campaign.

A new AP-Yahoo poll shows me trailing John McCain by 5 points among the 63% of you idiots who own pets. In other words, I could lose the election because of people who spend their weekends buying hamster wheels at Pet World.

You want to get the influence of money out of politics? Then how 'bout stopping former prisoners of war from buying up every dumb animal in creation? McCain's got two dogs, two turtles, a cat, a ferret, three parakeets, a rhinocerous and a partridge in a pear tree.

It just isn't fair. I work hard in school, go on to Harvard Law and now folks are gonna choose between me and a guy who gets the senior citizen discount at Olive Garden on the critically-important issue of--pets?

Look, I moved around a lot. My mom never let me have a pet. I just never learned to warm up to those little dime-store turtles. That's why we don't have a pet. Does that mean I'm a bad person?

Okay, the gloves are off now. (Unless you're a food service worker or a proctologist.)

Religious fundamentalist James Dobson, a cat's paw of a lap dog for John McCain, has said I have a "fruitcake interpretation of the Constitution." Me--a former professor of Constitutional Law at the University of Chicago!

Not that "University of Chicago" and "fruitcake" don't normally go together quite well--sort of like an academic peanut butter and jelly.

No, what frosts my ass is that Dobson couldn't get into one of my Con Law classes with a crow bar. The guy'd be lucky to be accepted at the Oral Roberts School of Law and Chiropractic. And what's more, he knows nothing about fruitcake. So here's my "fruitcake" interpretation of the U.S. Constitution, just for the record:

You get a fruitcake for Christmas, you put it in the pantry and forget about it. Sort of like the Bush administration and habeas corpus. That's Article I, Section 9, if you're keeping score at home.

I launched a site today to debunk myths that have been flying around. Because the best place to debunk internet rumors is a website. And the type of people who believe these myths are tech savvy enough to know about the existence of websites other than AOL.

I'm not entirely pleased with the domain name: Fight the Smears. It sounds like an ovarian cancer prevention site or a place to post pictures of queers that have been smeared.

Still, the information presented is important, and it's presented in a format that the kid who had to repeat first grade can understand. We print the lie, then in much bigger, prettier letters say the truth. But on this website of undeniable authenticity, I'll elaborate on some of these rumors:

LIE: Rush Limbaugh says a tape exists of Michelle Obama using the word “whitey” from the pulpit of Trinity United.

TRUTH FROM WEBSITE:  No Such Tape Exists.

ADDITIONAL TRUTH: Because we destroyed it. But really is this such an offensive term? Anything you add a "y" to automatically becomes cute. Like the name Buck. You probably picture a tough redneck guy clinging to his guns. But Bucky is a soft teddy bear type who cries during sunsets.

Apparently, Representative Dan Boren doesn’t endorse me for president.

Well, I’m glad CNN ran that story because, frankly, I’d never heard of Dan Boren before.

I hope he’s happy, though. He finally got his face in the papers and on the news! Dan Boren’s a man now! Someone necromance Andy Warhol out of his grave, because Dan Boren’s getting his 15 minutes of fame! I wonder if, right now, he’s strolling through the streets of Oklahoma City and saying to all the eight women in town, “Hey, there, darling. Did you see the old Dan Boren on the picture radio today? I don’t know if you did see, but I do not support Barack Obama. Just so you know, they thought it was so important that they put me on TV. Like Carol Burnett or Billy Mays. And since I’m making Hollywood money now, I thought I’d take you out for a nice dinner. Oh yeah: I’m talking Carrabba's nice.”

Well here’s a slow ‘80s clap for you, Dan Boren. Well played.

Lost in all the hubbub about seating the Florida and Michigan delegates, today's end of the primary season, my being only 35 delegates away from formally clinching the nomination, and, oh yeah, HILLARY'S IMPENDING CONCESSION, are the voters whose voices were tragically silenced. 

No, not the black voters who have been disenfranchised by decades of implicit and systemic racism.  No, not the good, hardworking, Christian folks who have been hoodwinked by the Republican Party into supporting an administration that has done nothing but use them.  I talk about the most marginal of the marginal, a demographic that has been continuously ignored, especially throughout this primary season: OLD, WHITE, RACIST, FEMALE, HILLARY SUPPORTERS FROM MANHATTAN:

I know this video has been making the rounds on Youtube (1,000,000 views already???  Only, like 20 million more to catch up with Chocolate Rain) but, come on people, why can't Harriet Christian catch a break in this world that has so forsaken her??  Sure she comes off like an older, more Alzheimer-y Geraldine Ferraro, but she raises some valid points:

1. I am indeed an inadequate black man.  Mainly because I'm only half black.  I can play basketball, but I can't dunk.  I can talk jive, but I don't have an enormous penis.  I have children, but I'm married to their mother.

2. This lady HAS been treated like a "second-class citizen", IF NOT WORSE.  Think about it this way: before the end of slavery, blacks were counted at 3/5, or 60%, of a person in national censuses when it came to the distribution of electoral votes.  Hillary supporters (most of them probably old and fart-y like Harriet) in Michigan and Florida were only allowed to seat 1/2, or 50%, of their delegates.  What's larger, 60 or 50?  Hillary supporters are being treated LESS FAIRLY than slaves.

It’s time we had a talk, Reggie, man to body man. I’ve learned a lot from you, about Jay-Z, basketball, and what “sizurp” is, and I’d like to think that you’ve grown a lot in the months you’ve been my personal assistant. I mean, when I hired you, you were just another Division I athlete whose pro football career was over before it began, and now The New York Times is writing cover stories about you and when you go back home to Charlotte people start chanting your name. Feels pretty awesome, right?

Well, to paraphrase my Uncle Ben (not the guy on the rice box, racists, my white uncle), “With great publicity must come negative stories about every bad thing you’ve ever done.” When you’re famous, there are certain types of photos you can't afford to have lying around: you in front of a mosque or with Louis Farrakhan, or in a swimsuit if you don’t have a perfect body. Oh and passed out at a frat party with some guy’s balls in your face. That's kind of a big one.

I know you can’t change the past. You were just a dumb college kid who played a few too many rounds of beer pong at the local frat house and ended up passing out on the sofa. But you can learn from your mistakes. Like back in my college days, when my nickname was “Barry White” (and not because I had a deep, pleasing baritone) I got burned a few times on business transactions, but I learned how to taste when the motherfuckers were cutting the shit with flour.

So what can you learn from this experience? Number one, frat guys are gay, but that’s obvious. Number two, and this is the important one Reggie, don’t ever get drunk around white people.

I'm down here in Boca to start the process of selecting the man or woman who, if I'm elected, will serve as my vice president. And what better place to begin than the American Bankers Association's annual convention? Did you know that over 98% of the people in the banking industry are vice presidents?

It's true--walk into any bank and chances are the only employee who isn't a vice president is the Rent-a-Cop guarding the place. Most banks have Assistant Vice Presidents, Second Vice Presidents, Miami Vice Presidents, and Just Plain Vanilla Vice Presidents. There's a saying in the banking industry: Being a Vice President is like being a high school graduate--it only matters if you're not.