So.

Obama’s campaign people have leased a section of the building I work in to set up their Indiana headquarters. I peek in there every time I walk by to see lots of young, attractive people. And they’re all doing seemingly important things, like trying to change our nation, while I’m filling out spreadsheets and eating Cadbury eggs. It’s all very motivating. And sexy! I’ve been meaning to drop by with some cookies or perhaps a casserole – you know, be neighborly.

It’s already been said that Barack will probably never just show up at the HQ, like, hellooo just dropping by! But I still have the fantasy that me and the girls will be gathered for lunch to see Obama walk in, kind of lost, carrying his Hungry-Man frozen dinner.

“Hey Barack! Come sit with us!” Jana will shout.
“Thanks, ladies.” And he’ll stroll over, all cool-like.

We don’t talk foreign policy, or health care, no.
I’ll ask him what music he likes,
and he’ll say something about James Brown,
and I will bust into “Sex Machine,” and when I get to the “Should I take ‘em to the bridge?” part,
Barack will be all, “TAKE ‘EM TO THE BRIDGE!”

“Take ‘em to the bridge?”

“Yeah!”

“Should I take ‘em to the bridge?”

“Take ‘em to the bridge!”

“Take ‘em to the bridge?”

“Go ‘head!”

“OOOWWWWW!!”

And then I’ll get up and do the splits.

Best day ever.