Mister Obama is like a teenager tricking out his beater car.

(And trust me: This United States that he lovingly shines up is a beater.)

He's busying himself with poring over mail-order catalogs of shiny new rims and those fat exhaust pipes.

Uh, don't you think you should pay attention to the blown engine first?

Engine, alternator, water pump. 9-11, torture, illegal wiretapping.

Mister, you got some things to attend to first.

...'cause that pig don't even run.