Mr. President, I am glad the fire is out. I am thrilled that we are pulling the whole flaming economy away from the abyss. I am happy really...if that is really the case. It's just this damn nagging feeling in my gut, telling me that you are spreading a thick layer of putrid dog shit on this onion sandwich and are pacifying a collective gagging by telling us to hold our noses and believe it is really honey-butter. I'm just sayin. I don't believe you. I don't believe your wife. I don't believe your advisors. Fuck, I don't believe anyone in Washington. You did this to us. You all made this happen. See, I'm just beginning to realize that you and your constituents are the geeks, dweebs, dorks and wannabe hall monitors we grew up with in high school. Mr. President, when we realize that you, and all elected officials, have about the same power to tell the rest of us what to do as our student body officers had in dictating school policy in high school, we are gonna fire up the wedgie machine...you rule by our collective consensus, and we outnumber you a ten thousand to one. This is going to chafe.