Here at SKOS, I can use thousands of words to clarify my thoughts on a given topic. With so many characters at my disposal, blogging magic is a regular occurrence. However, on Twitter, I only have 140 characters to get my point across. This often leaves readers confused and, sometimes, scared and frightened.

So, as I did a few months ago, I am going to highlight some of my Twitter messages and explain them to all of you. Hero? No, I’m no hero. I’m just a man doing what he can to make the world a better place.

You’re welcome, people.

Chelsea’s wedding cost Bill & Hillary (Clinton) over $3 million. Gosh, that’s a lot of money for concealer. – Aug 2nd, 2010

Why this is funny and/or insightful: Because Chelsea Clinton, like her mother, is incredibly unattractive and requires lots and lots and lots of concealer.

MNight Shyamalan turns 40 today. In a surprising twist, his birthday cake will have some of those trick candles on it. – Aug 6th, 2010

Why this is funny and/or insightful: Because, while he has steered away from it in recent years, writer-director M. Night Shyamalan is famous for the plot twists at the end of his movies. And, in the realm of birthday surprises, nothing surpasses the “wait…these are trick candles!” twist when blowing out candles on your cake.

Ted Kennedy’s rolling over in his grave. I hope he doesn’t rise from the dead, steal a car and drive off a bridge. – Jan 19th, 2010

Why this is funny and/or insightful: One, Scott Brown, a Republican, had just won the 2010 U.S. Senate special election to serve the remainder of the term vacated by the death of ol’ Teddy.

Two, in 1969 Kennedy “accidentally” drove a car off a bridge and into water. He fled the scene, leaving behind a passenger, Mary Jo Kopechne, who was shown to have died from drowning and not from the impact of the accident. In short, at the minimum, Kennedy left her to die.

There’s at least one upside to having a cell phone on the fritz. There’s zero chance I’ll be on the receiving end of a Mel Gibson tirade. – Jul 15th, 2010

Why this is funny and/or insightful: Mel Gibson had recently been in the news after his girlfriend recorded two particularly-unflattering phone conversations between herself and Mel. My unreliable cell phone, as well as the fact I do not know Mr. Gibson, likely precluded me from receiving similar phone calls from him.

Giving Obama a Nobel (Prize) so soon is like telling a girl you love her on the first date. Where’s the mystery? Play it cool, Nobel committee. – Oct 9th, 2009

Why this is funny and/or insightful: Last year, Barack Obama won the Nobel Peace Prize despite the fact he had yet to do anything remotely worthy of winning it. He won for his potential to do things.

In short, the Nobel committee is filled with guys who introduce women to their parents on the first date.

In all seriousness, I do believe my cat, Smokey, could win American Idol. His song, Mow Mow Mow, would wow the judges. – Jan 12th, 2010

Why this is funny and/or insightful: Because, despite how horrible the contestants might be, there is no way a cat could win American Idol. Not even a cat as talented as mine.

That was a Great Dane on Oprah? Thank goodness. I thought I was seeing double. – Feb 23rd, 2010

Why this is funny and/or insightful: Because Oprah Winfrey is attractive in the same way Michelle Obama and Chelsea Clinton are “attractive.” Which is, to say, attractive not in the least bit.

A pparently, spicy foods can boost metabolism. This might explain why you never see overweight fire eaters. – Mar 5th, 2010

Why this is funny and/or insightful: Numerous health articles list “spicy foods” as an easy addition to the lifestyle of anyone wishing to naturally boost their metabolism. As my own evidence of this, I cited the fact I have never seen an overweight fire eater on any “circus” scene in television or movies. Think about it.

‘Wise men say only fools Russian.’ I am not quite sure what Elvis was trying to say here, but it sounds pretty profound. – Apr 6th, 2010

Why this is funny and/or insightful: The actual line is “only fools rush in.” However, as a child I thought the lyrics were “Russian.” And now, from this point forward, thanks to me, you will hear the same. [Insert evil laugh here]

You know, you can child proof your home, but they’re still gonna find a way to get inside. – May 3rd, 2010

Why this is funny and/or insightful: “Child proofing” refers to the practice of making one’s home safe for children, not for making the home impenetrable to children.

Also, children, due to their small sizes, can more easily squeeze into small openings in your home’s exterior. Seriously, just try to keep them out. It’s nearly impossible.

Why do tech support people breathe heavily into the phone? It’s distracting & creepy. And it prevents them from hearing MY heavy breathing. – Jun 11th, 2010

Why this is funny and/or insightful: Because I don’t really breathe heavily when talking on the phone. In fact, I hold my breath when talking on the phone. This is why people think I’m such a good listener. I’m not listening — I’m unconscious.

If you haven’t done it already, follow me on Twitter. I promise to amuse and/or confound you on a daily basis.

Dear Neighbor,

Granted, I am the inquisitive sort by nature, but even if I wasn’t there are some things I just have to ask you:

Why do you insist on talking on your cell phone while standing in your front yard? And why must you do it shirtless?

Do shirts interfere with your phone’s reception? If so, may I inquire as to what brand you wear? Perhaps you should look into a different brand. I’ve heard good things about Dockers, but I have to imagine any cotton-blend shirt will suffice.

Does the person or persons you talk to on your phone know you are talking to them, shirtless, in your front yard? Are they, too, shirtless in their front yards? Are all of you part of some kind of organization that requires its members to call one another, shirtless, with women and children around? And if so, may I ask the point of such an organization?

What do you talk about while standing shirtless in your front yard? Do you talk about art? The weather? The high cost of cotton-blend shirts?

Do you come from a family who talks on the phone in their front yards? Is this a habit that is passed down from generation to generation? Am I to assume your great-great-great grandfather, since he lived in a time before phones, would stand shirtless in his yard while tying tiny messages to the feet of carrier pigeons?

Do the approximately two-dozen tattoos you have on your torso factor into your decision to be shirtless? Do they help your phone’s reception, or are they merely devices meant to scare away inquisitive neighbors who might inquire about your shirtless conversations for the entire neighborhood to witness against their will?

Because, if it’s the latter, you don’t know me very well. A myriad of tattoos will not prevent me from stopping in front of your house, rolling down my car window, and shouting in your general direction:

“Jeff Foxworthy called. He wants his ‘you might be a redneck’ joke back.”

What am I saying? Of course you don’t know me very well. We’re neighbors, not friends or acquaintances. And, clearly, that is likely for the best. You look like a man who puts little importance on personal hygeine. I, on the other hand, am a person who puts high importance on avoiding people who smell like an unholy mixture of death, tobacco, dog hair and Doritos.

My apologies. I seem to have gotten off track. The purpose of this letter was not to agitate, but to get inside the head of an inexplicably-shirtless man who insists upon carrying on phone conversations while standing in the middle of his front yard.

Before ending my letter, I would be remiss if I did not compliment, congratulate and enthusiastically thank you for your decision to wear pants. I think I speak for everyone with the ability to see that you wearing pants is a very good thing. Please continue to do so.

Sincerely,

That Guy Who Keeps Telling You To Put On A Shirt

One of the blogs I frequent, the wonderful I’m Having a Thought Here (owned by the equally-wonderful Jenny), hasn’t allowed me to post comments for several days now. However, others have been able to leave comments, so it’s obviously an issue with my Internet filter at work. (That, or Jenny is part of a conspiracy to keep my witty thoughts from ever being read by anyone!)

So, I have decided to publish the comments I tried to leave there, here. Doesn’t that sound exciting? No. Well, I’m doing it anyway.

On Sunday, Jenny wrote about a strange dream she had. Among the oddities in this dream: She had a tattoo. On her face. On Monday, I tried, in vain, to leave the following comment:

As an expert dream interpreter, which I am for the purpose of this comment, I think it is quite clear what your brain is trying to tell you: Get a huge tattoo! On your face!!

On Monday, Jenny posted photos of some excitable dogs she met at Waffle House. On Tuesday, I attempted to leave the following comment:

This is a test comment. Had this been an actual comment, I would have written something dry or witty. For example: “What’s the deal with cucumbers? If they’re not going to be turned into pickles, what’s the point?” This has been only a test.

Also on Monday, Jenny wrote a post about her weekend trip to Hopeland Gardens in South Carolina. This morning, I tried to leave the following comment:

Well, I tried leaving comments Monday and Tuesday, but I kept getting errors. I bet this comment will have an error, too. Oh well. Since no one will read this, I might as well take the opportunity to get some things off my chest.

I am D.B. Cooper. It was I who, on November 24, 1971, hijacked that Boeing 727 aircraft and escaped with $200k in ransom money. I feel really bad about it. I also feel bad about losing all that money. I invested it, in cattle, but all their teeth fell out. At least that’s what I was told, I never really did get a clear answer.

Boy, I feel much better now. So glad no one will read this.

Thus endeth a blog post about literally nothing.

Scene: I sit down to eat lunch at my desk. I brought in sushi. My co-worker, seeing my meal selection, decides to offer some advice.

Co-worker: “Go easy on the wasabi.”

Me: “What?”

Co-worker: “Don’t eat too much. It’s hot.”

Me: “Challenge accepted!”

Co-worker: “Challenge? What challenge?”

Me: “Your wasabi challenge. I’ve accepted it. I’m going to eat an entire spoonful of the stuff.”

Co-worker: “I didn’t challenge you.”

Me: “Yes you did. ”

Co-worker: “No, I did not. Quite the opposite, in fact. I told you not to eat too much wasabi.”

Me: “Exactly, you dared me. Don’t dare someone not to do something if you don’t want them to do it. ”

Co-worker: “I didn’t dare you!”

Me: “Yes you did.”

Co-worker: “Fine. Eat the wasabi. It’ll be your funeral.”

Me: “Reverse psychology doesn’t work on me. Now, prepare to be amazed.”

[I eat a sizable helping of wasabi. Steam, more or less, comes out of my ears.]

Co-worker: “Well?”

Me: “I can’t believe you dared me to do that.”

Co-worker: “Serves you right. At least you’ve learned your lesson and won’t be doing that again.”

Me: “Challenge accepted.”

by Larry Bell, lover of beauty

Hello, my fellow red-blooded males! I don’t know about the rest of you, but I just can’t enough of that fine-looking first lady, Michelle Obama. Isn’t she gorgeous?? And, to think, people out there have the AUDACITY to call her ugly!

If Michelle Obama is ugly, then my name’s not Mr. Larry Bell!

Would an UGLY person make it onto People Magazine’s list of world’s most beautiful people? Ha! I don’t think so.

Only the finest of the fine get to make it onto People’s “Most Beautiful” list. I defy anyone to find one example of an unattractive person making the list! Seriously, just one example. You can’t do it, can you? Yeah, I didn’t think so.

But don’t let indisputable facts alone convince you. Just look at the photo evidence! For instance, look at this photo to the left. Man, just look at those delicate features. Those eyes, that nose, those lips, those TEETH! Am I the only one here getting extremely turned on?

And those legs! Wow. Talk about legs that won’t quit. And, quite frankly, who would WANT them to quit? Not me, that’s for sure. And I’m not just saying that because guys are easy and I, again, am a guy. Seriously, I can prove it if I have to. No? Okay, but I totally could have proved I was a guy if I had to. It’s not like I’m some woman wearing a fake mustache or something! Haha.

(awkward pause)

I am not Michelle Obama!

The latest installment of Dear Reader goes out to a reader from someplace called “Unknown” who arrived at SKOS by searching for “guy won’t take hint.” A big thanks to Google for referring this individual, as well as for telling me her location. Yes, Google, that second “thanks” was sarcastic. Get your act together.

Dear Unknown,

Thank you for your inquiry. The post you were directed to on SKOS (“My favorite quotes from my favorite writer (Hint: It’s me!)”) probably didn’t help you very much. Yeah, sorry about that. Please allow me to make amends by dropping some knowledge bombs onto your head.

Here’s the thing with guys: We don’t take hints very well. Much of the time, we don’t even realize you’re giving us hints. And when we do realize you’re giving us hints, we usually misinterpret them.

The following clip from Dumb & Dumber aptly explains the mindset of most guys:

Okay, so maybe that’s a slight exaggeration. All guys aren’t this bad.

But hear me now: If you want to clearly get your “no thanks” message across to a guy, there is one thing and one thing only that works 100% of the time.

Ignoring him.

Yes, you read correctly. You have to ignore the guy. Anything else you do or say could be interpreted as, “so you’re telling me there’s a chance?”

Whether you are talking about unwanted marriage proposals, date requests, text messages, e-mails, messages on your Facebook wall, or serenades outside your bedroom window at two in the morning, if you want them to go away you have to ignore them.

If a guy you just met proposes to you and you burst into tears, grab a nearby butter knife in a threatening “stay away from me psycho” manner, and run away screaming, the guy will not think: “Well, I guess that’s a no.” No, the guy will think:

“She was so excited, she ran home to tell her parents. And she grabbed that butter knife to keep away purse snatchers.”

You probably think I’m joking, but I’m dead serious. I’m a guy. This is how we think.

“No” is interpreted as “maybe.”

“Not right now” is interpreted as “ask again in five minutes.”

“I would rather die” is interpreted as “she’s already thinking about us growing old together.”

We men are idiots. We need you, nay, demand that you treat us as imbeciles. And much like insane people and children, you cannot reason with imbeciles. You can only ignore them. To do anything else is both cruel and inhuman.

So, if a guy calls you on the phone and asks you out on a date, don’t respond. Don’t hang up, because he will, again, assume you were so excited about his date request that you had to immediately call your family and friends. Just sit there, quietly.

If a guy texts you, e-mails you, or electronically contacts you in any way, whatever you do, don’t respond. Any response you make will be misinterpreted. Even a seemingly harmless response from you like “lol” will make him think he’s the world’s funniest man. And he’ll think you are a girl who, in the words of the poet Daughtry, is only after “a life full of laughter.”

If a guy asks you for something in person (be it your hand in marriage or your phone number), you must pretend you are in a staring contest. Don’t talk. Don’t move. Don’t blink. Just stay perfectly still and silent until the guy gets hungry or has to go to the bathroom. Then, when he leaves, you run away.

However, whatever you do, don’t look directly into the guy’s eyes when you are staring at him. He will interpret such a move as a sign of aggression. And if you happen to be wearing the color red, well, you might as well jump into oncoming traffic.

I hope I’ve helped you, Unknown. And if I have helped you, please, do ignore me. It’s the only way I’ll understand how much I’ve helped you.

Sincerely,

Kev

What did everyone think of my advice to our new friend? Gold, right? Yeah, I know. Gold.

NEW YORK – Saying it was the hardest thing he has ever had to do, New York Mets General Manager Omar Minaya announced today that he has traded disgruntled outfielder Jeff Francoeur to the adult softball team at First Presbyterian Church in Omaha, Nebraska.

“I’m not exaggerating,” noted Minaya. “Finding someone who wanted Jeff Francoeur was literally the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do.”

Earlier this week, Minaya, who in return will receive a plate of homemade brownies baked by First Presbyterian choir member Ethel Thompson, was notified by representatives of the recently-benched outfielder that Francoeur wished to be traded to a team that would play him more often.

“My first response, obviously, was ‘who in their right mind would be willing to trade for and insert into the starting lineup a corner outfielder with a .677 OPS,’” asked Minaya.

“I mean, sure, we did it. But we’re the Mets. That’s what we do.”

After receiving responses ranging from polite chuckles to laughter-induced heart attacks by the general managers for the other 29 MLB teams, Minaya knew he would have to think outside the box.

“When even the Kansas City Royals turn down the chance to acquire a former Atlanta Brave, you know you have your work cut out for you,” sighed Minaya.

After being turned down by every team in the Japanese League as well as Fidel Castro, who Minaya hoped might have been too preoccupied to know about Francoeur’s downward career spiral the past three years, a despondent Minaya was ready to throw in the towel.

That’s when Minaya overheard an intern talking about his cousin’s hernia, and how his church was going to need a replacement for their softball team.

“What position does your cousin play,” Minaya remembers asking the intern.

In addition to agreeing to cover all salary commitments, the Mets also sent First Presbyterian a baseball autographed by Luis Castillo and pitcher Oliver Perez.

“No, not a ball autographed by Oliver Perez,” Minaya clarified. “We actually sent them Oliver Perez.”

When asked for comment, a surprised Francoeur admitted, “This isn’t exactly what I had in mind.”

Still, the outfielder vowed he would embrace his new role and try to be the best teammate possible.

“And,” added Francoeur, “if all goes well, I might even be able to surpass that pesky .300 on-base percentage barrier.”

In a world before blogging, Twitter, Mybook or Facespace, there was America Online. And in that world, the questionable element of society would prey on unsuspecting innocents by pretending to be AOL employees. Their mission: To steal passwords. Years before I would go on to blog about very special and very stupid things, I made it my mission to toy with these criminal wannabes.

This was one of those times.

In a world before blogging, Twitter, Mybook or Facespace, there was America Online. And in that world, the questionable element of society would prey on unsuspecting innocents by pretending to be AOL employees. Their mission: To steal passwords. Years before I would go on to blog about very special and very stupid things, I made it my mission to toy with these criminal wannabes.

This was one of those times.

All my life, I have had to deal with people who just don’t seem to understand the journey is its own reward.

When I was a child taking his first step, my parents began to clap and cheer. It was all I could do not to stop in my tracks, turn around, and tell them to stop.

In grade school, I had to endure smiley-face stickers on all my papers. Excuse me, teacher lady, I didn’t do this for a sticker. I did it for the love of 2+2=4!

In high school, when I hit a home run in extra innings of a playoff game, I had to punch several teammates who had the audacity to try to “high five” me at home plate.

And on November 4, 2008, when someone tried to hand me an “I’m a Georgia Voter” sticker, I had to shout: “AGAIN with the stickers?! Doing my part to keep America from going to Hades in a hand basket is reward enough, thanks.”

Then I punched the person.

With all this in mind, I can’t tell you what a huge relief it is to no longer have more than a handful of people who read my blog!

Back in the old days, the period I sarcastically refer to as my blog’s “golden” days, I would get a few hundred visitors and a couple dozen comments every single day. What a drag!

Um, excuse me, but I have better things to do than read comments telling me how funny and witty I am. Take your validation and encouragement elsewhere!

And, ugh, don’t get me started on all the readers who took it upon themselves to tell others about my blog. Those “share the love” icons for Twitter and Facebook were meant as a joke, folks! I was being all ironic and stuff.

Thank goodness that’s all over. My inconsistent updates the past year and a half has successfully driven away most of my pesky readership. Now, it’s not uncommon for something I write, no matter how amazingly awesome it is, to receive zero comments.

Zero. Can you believe it? It’s like some kind of wonderful, amazing dream. I almost don’t want to write the word (“zero!”) for fear I will wake up and discover it never happened.

“What? You mean I didn’t really receive zero comments? I received 37?? No!!!”

Gosh, can you imagine? [Shudder]

Knowing barely anyone will read or comment on something I write is an amazing, amazing feeling. No, that doesn’t do it justice. It’s bliss. There’s just no other word for it. Bliss.

Now I know what Woody Allen feels every time he finishes production on a new movie. This constant feeling of bliss must explain how Woody has remained so handsome and manly after all these years.

I used to be envious whenever I came across a blog with barely any readership. Now, I don’t have to be envious. That blog is now mine. I’m doing it. I’m living the dream!

Frankly, I’m on Cloud Nine. And the only thing that could ruin this feeling, Heaven forbid, is receiving double-digit comments.

[Shudder]

By the way: Pay no attention to the cartoon below. That’s just more irony.

by Bob Human, camping enthusiast

Hello, my fellow human beings! I don’t know about the rest of you, but I love to go camping in the woods. Is there anything as wonderful as driving out to some remote campsite for the weekend and ignoring those stupid “Caution: Bears in Area” signs?

The only thing I can think of that could possibly make the experience MORE enjoyable is smothering yourself in honey right before going to sleep at night!

Have you ever tried it? No?! My friends, you must try it this weekend, if not sooner. Take it from me, Bob Human, a camping enthusiast. It’s not like I’m some kind of bear in a disguise who is trying to eat you or something! Haha!

[awkward pause]

Seriously, I’m not a bear.

I’m just a guy who loves to camp and wants all of you, my fellow, tasty humans, to enjoy it as well!

The only thing I can think of that could make the camping experience even better, besides the obvious honey smothering, is stuffing fresh salmon down your pants. Oh, and tying your legs together with rope! Let’s see…what else? Leaving your pesty cell phone at home is another fun thing I highly recommend. So is not telling anyone where you are going!

I tell you, there is nothing that ruins an exciting  camping trip quite like having loved ones or park rangers checking in to make sure you’re alive. Those joykills! Let us have our fun. Am I right??

So, in conclusion, I urge all of you to go camping this weekend. And if you really want to have a great time, leave your cell phones at home, don’t tell anyone where you are going, cram salmon down your pants and smother yourself in honey! Oh, and be sure to start a campire. That’ll make it easier for us to bears to find…err, I mean the fire will scare the bears away.

I’m not a bear!

For a little over two weeks, I’ve had trouble sleeping.

It started harmlessly enough. Usually, on a week night, I’ll go to bed anywhere between 10:30 and midnight. That first night, my brain wasn’t quite ready to shut down when midnight rolled around. So, I decided to watch “one more” episode of Arrested Development on Netflix. (Even though the show was canceled four or five YEARS ago, I had just recently discovered it.)

Once that episode was finished and my brain still wasn’t tired, I watched one more. Then another after that. Then another. Then another. Before I knew it, it was three o’clock in the morning.

Needless to say, I wasn’t going to the gym before work that day. Heck, I was barely able to do ANYTHING that day. Resisting the urge to rest my head on my suddenly comfortable-looking keyboard was a tall order.

But by that evening, a funny thing happened. I obtained a second (well, first to be more accurate) wind. Though my body was tired, my brain, which calls all the shots, was racing a mile a minute. So, I stayed up late again. In a span of two days, I watched the entire first season of Arrested. That second night, I didn’t go to bed until FOUR in the morning.

Obviously, a morning gym workout wasn’t in the cards that day either. And this trend continued for the rest of the week. One night, I didn’t fall asleep until five in the morning. The earliest I went to sleep was 2:30 or so. By the end of that week, I had watched all three seasons of Arrested Development, gone to the gym zero times, and gotten approximately twenty-five hours of shut eye.

The cycle stretched into week two. Instead of Netflix, I chose to be “productive” with my early-morning time. And by productive I mean “make numerous design tweaks to my blog, which barely anyone even visits these days.” I tried to read, but my brain would have none of it. “How dare you try to cram knowledge into me,” my brain seemed to say. “Trifle with me again and I’ll NEVER let you sleep!”

Once something like this has begun, it’s difficult to stop it. My body had gotten used to exercising anywhere from four to twelve times a week. An entire week of doing barely more than walking made me feel tired and lethargic. You add to this the little matter of averaging three to five hours of sleep each night, when you’re accustomed to seven or eight, and you have a recipe for one incredibly crappy excuse for a Kev.

So, tonight, I’m breaking the cycle. It’s almost nine o’clock. I am, naturally, very tired. Therefore, I’m going to bed. I’m not going to even give my brain the opportunity to shift into overdrive. I’m going to bed early, and then I’m waking up early. I’m going to FORCE myself, no matter how tired I might be, to go to the gym in the morning.

If I can do this, everything will fall into place. The workout will give me energy for my day, and it will also insure I wear down at a reasonable hour tomorrow night. Then I just have to repeat these steps for a few more days. Then I will be back to normal.

And, if my brain choose not to cooperate, I’ll just have to lobotomize myself. Hear that, brain? You better play nice tonight or else!

Following-morning update: Well, the going to bed early plan worked. I got a good night’s sleep. However, I couldn’t drag myself out of bed for the gym. I’ll be going after work and then I’ll try it again in the morning.

by Barry Jones, regular guy

Hello, my fellow U.S. citizens! As a regular Joe who is most definitely not the president wearing a fake mustache meant to disguise his identity so he can manipulate your trust, I thought I would share something that’s been on my mind.

Call me overly patriotic, but I think we should all stop our bipartisan bickering and support that handsome Barack Obama guy!

His critics on the right like to point out all the things I haven’t he hasn’t accomplished since taking office, but what about the the things he has accomplished?

Who was the first sitting president to appear on a daytime talk show?

That’s right, Obama!

Who spent countless hours and energy in an attempt to win his hometown city of Chicago the 2016 Olympics and almost succeeded in doing so?

Obama!

Who sued the state of Arizona for foolishly thinking it had the right to create illegal-immigration laws for itself?

OBAMA!

Who blessed each and every taxpayer with the opportunity of giving for their country thanks to his numerous tax-funded stimulus packages that [crosses fingers behind back] fixed our ailing economy?

OooBAMA!

Who won the Nobel Peace Prize for his numerous…um, hmmm…actually, I’m not sure why I he won the Nobel. He must have done something grand, though. The Nobel committee doesn’t give prizes to just anyone.

OBAMA!

Who has made it his personal mission to unburden women who have human-like parasites growing inside them?

OBABABABAMA!

Who, except for those occasions where someone has the audacity to disagree with him, has single-handedly rid the world of racism?

ObbbbbbBAMA!

Look, I’m just an average citizen with a glorious mustache who can’t get enough of the Barackster! The Barackinator! The Barackattack!

Come on, everybody. Repeat after me!

O-BAM-A! O-BAM-A! O-BAM-A! O-BAM-A! O-BAM-A! O-BAM-A! O-BAM-A! O-BAM-A! O-BAM-A! O-BAM-A! O-BAM-A! O-BAM-A! O-BAM-A! O-BAM-A! O-BAM-A! O-BAM-A!

[long pause]

I am not Barack Obama.

You know, an intro really can’t do this video clip justice. Just watch and enjoy.