Bah Humbug!

Gerry's Corner: Can you keep a secret? I'm sick. Under the weather. Cough. Aches. Pains. Congestion. I don't think it's that Asian flu (now officially renamed Matsuzaka Fever), or those bunches of Taco Bell green onions I decided to eat to protect other Americans. I think it's just the season. I get kind of down about the holidays. You see all the family that you spend the rest of the year avoiding, but the holidays don't give you a choice. I have to be nice to the kids, for instance, which is always tough because they've always just mooched off of my coattails. To think that I have to give them presents on top of using my notoreity - the nerve of those bastards.

So, the problem with being sick when you're a president - especially an old one like me, with the media vultures circling - is that you've got to put in the public appearances because your health is translated onto the health of the nation. I decided to head to the movies - that doesn't require much effort, and it gets me out of the house, among my people. So I called up our dear family friend Cat and she came 'round to whisk me off to the cinema to see The Pursuit of Happyness. My favorite message from the film was that becoming a stockbroker is the secret to happiness and a full, rich life. I tell my daughter Susan that very same thing every chance I get, but she still insists on being a photojournalist. Maybe now that there's a movie starring Will Smith that exhibits this exact lesson, she'll finally get her life on track.

One thing I did learn this evening is that Cat is not a confident driver. I mean, I knew that before - Cat doesn't like to drive on the highway. It is easy to panic Cat when she has not driven a route before. Still, I marvel every time I ride shotgun in her car. Of course, I guess Cats don't have a particularly good history with automobiles:



Back to some Nyquil-induced hibernation. Speaking of which, I have to admit to something. Some of my security detail already know this, but I have to tell someone else. Maybe I can help someone out there who reads my blog. You see, sometimes, when I'm feeling sick, I take Nyquil. I know I should try and sleep on my own - there are all sorts of perfectly American methods of getting some Z's when you're not feeling good, like counting sheep or reading a John Irving novel - but it's soooo much easier to just take a swig of the good stuff and wake up eight hours later.

And you know what? I'm not gonna stop. It's worth it to me - I'm not naturally attractive, so I've gots to have my beauty rest when I am feeling bad. If the Nyquil makes me that much more handsome in the morning, then I'm not sorry. And you know what else? It could be worse. I've seen the celebrities at Not-Betty's clinic - I'd call them 'beautiful people,' but no one's beautiful in rehab. They're on much worse stuff than I am: crack cocaine, heroin, prescription-strength Tylenol. I mean, it's not like I'm drinking a bottle of this stuff at a time, right? (Right. I'm not.)

And yet I feel like something's not quite right. Maybe it's because I'm getting dependent on Nyquil. I mean, I take it every time I have the flu or a cold and I can't sleep. Perhaps I need to find some help - if I'm going to run for president and win, I'll have to exorcise all my demons.



There is no Soviet domination of Eastern Europe,
Gerry