My Field Day With President Obama

A new report came out about how President Obama misses being annonymous. He misses taking long walks and being able to get up on Saturday and not shave and drive his daughters to the super market and squeeze fruit (he really said all of this). Hearing him make these remarks makes me wonder why he wanted to be president to begin with. Sure he probably thought that he could make a difference in the country. He probably thought that the White House is a pretty awesome piece of real estate. Perhaps he thought that when you’re president you can squeeze all the fruit you want. Sadly, he’s learned that’s not the case. Being the unshaved guy squeezing fruit at the super market with two young girls just makes you seem creepy. If you’re president it makes it even creepier.

But to be honest, I understand where he’s coming from. I hate myself for having a facebook page because it seems like a breach of privacy and I’m willingly contributing information to the site. Obama’s facebook page is every single site on the internet. Anything he does will be scrutinized by anyone and everyone. Sure he knew what he wasn’t getting into, but the poor guy can’t even smoke a cigarette without someone bitching about it. Have you noticed how he’s been looking older as of late? It’s not because the presidency is a stressful job. It’s because he can’t leviate some stress by taking a pull off of a Marlboro.

It is because of this that I think there should be a contest where people compete to have a field day with President Obama. I’m not sure what the qualifications would be or what people would be judged on. Maybe they could scour the internet for blogs that come up with great ideas like making a contest where the winner gets to go on a field trip with President Obama. Just a thought. And it is with this thought that I will present my ideas of what me and the president would do if I were given the oppurtunity to go on a field trip. It’s kind of like something you would see on Masterpiece Theatre (now known simply as Masterpiece) but a lot less British and a whole lot more Kenyan.

I would imagine that the president and myself would first go into a bathroom with razors and peer into a mirror. We’d then look at one another and laugh while throwing the razors away. After we decide that we are happy with our scruffy appearance we would go off to an A&P and swiftly go to the produce section and start seeing which cantaloupe is freshest (the cantaloupe is also known as rockmelon). After we decide which of the cantaloupe is best suited for our digestion we would leave the store, but not before the president buys me a candy bar. At the moment I feel that he would buy me a Snickers and while laughing proclaim me Keith Nougatieri or Keith Chewing. I would respond to his comment by calling him a communist and then wink at him to show that I was just messing around. He would probably laugh even louder after I wink at him.

After this I assume it would be lunch time (there were a lot of melons to be squeezed) and he would take me to a Golden Corral restaurant. As we are eating our meal we’d both agree that it’s not nearly as good as I remembered it. When we finish our food he would pay for the bill with Obama collectible coins.

Following our subpar meal at Golden Corral (who should probably open a chain in New Jersey so I can remember if it was any good) we would go on a guided tour of Washington DC. I imagine that because he is the president we’d have the ability to get into various areas of the district that are usually restricted to private citizens. I imagine that after a little bit this walking tour of the capital would grow tiresome (mostly due to the president not shutting up about the White Sox) and I would be ready to call it a day. Obama would of course have a lot of stuff to do so he would oblige my wishes to be taken home. Right before they let me out of the limo at my house (the lack of scale involving time should be overlooked at this point) he’d tell me that I could ask him any question involving the United States and he would answer it. Not wanting to screw up this oppurtuntiy to find out something secretive regarding the country I would blurt out something about Roswell New Mexico and what’s really there. He’d probably mutter something about a birth certificate.

I imagine I’d sleep well that night.

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