So, Barack Obama tries to act like Martin Luther King, Jr. Hillary Clinton looks like Billie Jean King, Jr. Obama says that the Clinton campaign is talking down to him. Hillary Clinton says that Obama is misrepresenting his record. The Democrat party is dissolving into backbiting and sniping. Congratulations, Republican cronies. You’re on track to help these pansies destroy themselves!

I am sorry that my mind is skipping around today. Medication. I have started to write songs again, which is something I did when I was in college and also did during my lighthearted first term. Yesterday I wrote one about these last few months of my second term. It goes like this:

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The Nation, a magazine I read after I eat lots of chili and happen to be at someone’s house with a big magazine rack near the crapper, recently published a vicious smear piece about my best friend Karl Rove. The title is “Karl Rove’s Black Love Child,” which is just silly. To have a love child, as I understand it, a person has to have sex, and Karl doesn’t, unless you count hand sex with himself.

I was so confused that I reread the article, and it seems to be about me and John McCain, and how I supposedly did something not-very-nice to him in the 2000 South Carolina primary and then became President. Supposedly, Karl made some people call some voters and ask them if they would vote for McCain if they knew that he had illegitimately fathered a black child, which would have maybe confused them, since he and his wife had just adopted a girl from Bangladesh. (She is a teenager now, and probably hot — I know I’m not supposed to say that, which is why I put it in parentheses, which makes it invisible.)

Iowa. New Hampshire. What’s next? Oh, I know — the great state of Who Gives A Shit. Crude of me, I’ll admit, but I just can’t be bothered. None of these clowns should be president: not the old one or the formerly fat one or the girl or the black one. You know who should be president?

No, not me. I knew you’d think that I was saying me. My daddy should be president. When I was a kid, just thirty-four or thirty-five, I thought of him that way. He was a great dad. He’d take me fishing and there would be Secret Service one boat over fishing with guns. Those were special trips. In my heart, my dad is always the president and will always be the president.

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When I was little, my father teased me by telling me that Iowa and Ohio had decided to become one big state called Ohiowa. He still does that sometimes. I thought about that last night when I was watching the caucus returns, which are also solid proof that Dad’s wrong. Two different states, Dad. As far as the results themselves, It seems to me — if you want my professional opinion — that Huckabee won. This is good news, because I hate Romney. I don’t like anyone named Mitt.

I just got back from vacation, and will you look at that — Benazir Bhutto was assassinated! I had no idea! I mean, I know that I made a statement and said I was sorry for the people of Pakistan and all that, but I guess I wasn’t really focused. She got totally, one hundred percent killed. This is really terrible news. Laura, who is like the Benazir Bhutto of America, said that she felt very bad that Benazir Bhutto had to die so that democracy could live. I think she’s right on both counts. But this is too sad, too too sad.

Much less sad is a list of what I got for the holidays, edited for reasons of taste:

• New leather jacket, large
• Sunglasses, Top Gun-style
• Tom Clancy book, mp3 format
• David McCullough book, mp3 format
• Hannah Montana DVD (guilty pleasure)

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I can’t stop crying about Jamie-Lynn Spears. I have two daughters of my own, and though they’re older and marginally less crazy than the Spears sisters, I saw the news this morning and I thought “There but for the grade of God go I.” Plus, Jenna is knocked up! Oh, man. I did it again. I spilled the beans. Well, actually, her boyfriend Henry spilled the beans, and where he spilled them, a bean plant began to grow. Oh crap oh crap. I did it again. I keep digging myself a worser and worser hole.

Why, oh, why don’t they put a key somewhere on this typatronic thing — the keyboard? — so that you can go back one space and erase what you have wirteen wirtten written? Why? It makes life so unfair when all your mistakes and slip-ups are right out there for the world to see.

Well, the Mitchell report is out, and it looks like the whole house is falling down. Roger Clemens apparently used steroids. So did Miguel Tejada. So did Mo Vaughn. And so did President George W. Bush.

Photo by dirty bodega via Flickr

Yes, that’s right. I waited until today to tell the nation, because I wanted my behavior to be covered by this big baseball news. Back in 2004, I, President George W. Bush, used steroids. Someone in my cabinet, who I will not name, injected them into my butt. My reasons were simple: I couldn’t open doors.

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A long time ago, America declared a war on drugs. It was a sneak attack. You know who America was like, kind of? Al-Qaeda. Remember when they were at war with us but we weren’t at war with them? Well, that’s how it was with us and drugs, except that drugs were playing the role of America and we were playing the role of Al-Qaeda. This analogy may confuse you — if you are on drugs. It may seem like a stretch — if you’re out getting high.

But when you put away the weed and the blow, when you stop taking that jake walk, when you cut down on the Benzedrine that you’re gobbling down like candy, you’ll understand just what I mean.

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Yes, it’s true. I sent a letter to Kim Jong-il, the first letter I have ever written to him. Bill Clinton wrote three, which means that I am either one or two behind him, math pending. But let’s not get off the topic. I want to tell you more about my letter. I wrote it on my Justice League of America stationery, which seemed more appropriate somehow than the official White House papers — I’m sure Kim Jong-il knows plenty about good and evil and superpowers. I can’t reveal the full text of the letter, but I can share the first paragraph or two. Consider it an exclusive:

Dear Kim,

How are you? I am fine. The year has been very eventful. Laura considered plastic surgery to retain her youthful looks but eventually decided against it. “I should not be afraid of age,” she said. For now, she is right, but I shudder to think what she’s going to look like in a few years. Jenna and Barbara continue to either get married or write a book or be lawyers or something: it is hard for me to tell them apart, and also difficult for me to distinguish between them and the girls on that show on TV.