This is comedy. Please don't sue me for defamation.
Yes, guys. It really happened.
Perhaps I should give you some context.
My son Little Timmy had been dating Malia Obama. Teen being teens, the honeymoon period lasted about a day, aaannnd the relationship went downhill...really quickly.
In fact, Little Timmy returned home one day from a supposed "date" with cat-like scratches on his cheeks.
Ah. The vigor of teen love. Takes me back to '76! Perhaps I should call Annabelle..It's been a while since we spoke, well, around 20 years, but we had a nice little thing...No! She left you for Muscular Mike. Move on.
Reminiscing on my lost loves, and the injustices I suffered from those ungrateful sluts!
Hmmm-Ahhh. Breathe in...Breathe out.
I sought an apology from the Obama family on behalf of their daughter's distasteful behavior - and I was going to get that apology no matter what!
After two months, I'd sent over waves of emails and letters to the White House, but I suspected they'd never reached the Obama family.
I had to refine my approach.
The thought of that slut Annabelle cheating on me with Mike Camden strengthened my resolve.
Damn you Mike, damn you. She was mine!
I renewed my Amazon Prime subscription and binge-watched '24', Season 1 to 9.
After a few box-set cycles, I managed to triangulate Michelle Obama's position at a yoga class, through some malware I injected into her Blackberry (with a wrinkle-reduction phishing email).
"Now, ladies. Do the downward dog" said a young, yuppy yoga instructor - that reminded me of Annabelle...
I was no lady, but indulged in the exercise nonetheless, downward dogging my yoga-mat right next to Michelle.
Head at our knees, with our yoga-mats touching, I turned towards her.
"Your daughter Malia broke my Little Timmy's heart. And I want an apology!" I burst out, venting my pent-up frustration.
I had no intention of mincing my words - I'd watched too many hours of Kiefer Sutherland's dreadful acting.
I was half expecting a slap, or to be kidnapped by secret service agents, when she replied:
"Sure, let's talk. Barack's away this evening, sleepover?"
I was speechless.
"Sh-sh-shure, M-m-michelle. S-sl-sleeppppover. My w-w-ife l-l-left me so I-I a-am f-f-free e-e-e-ever-ry e-evening", I stuttered.
"Great! I'll have Ernesto make us a Chamomile bubble bath. We'll have a fudge or two. Then you can tell me what's on your mind. Deal?"
"B-b-b-bubble bath", I mumbled.
"Ok...at the White House reception, ask for 'David'. You'll be escorted to my chambers. 10pm.
Don't be late now?"
To be continued...