In all seriousness, I am not returning to the party in its present form. (If I find out Obama is a Guinness man, all bets are off). But I have begun to think that a nation under Obama – always my preferred candidate –would be a lot more fun. What some call "Obamanation" I call "O'Bama's Place," where happy hour is every hour.
"No, you don't need to see my ID, goddamit. I'm Barack friggin' Obama, the precedent... prestiden... (hiccup) fuggit... presidential candidate. No, not Osama, OBAMA! I am so sick and tired of hearing that crap! Who says I've had too many? Hey, I drive my campaign better when I've had a few. Hello, I didn't see you there. What's your name? Amanda? Amanda, you're really pretty."
Obama hasn't shied away from being seen with a pint - the proper serving size for beer - in his hand.
Happily married Obama still can't help but take notice of a beautiful lady when he spots one.
In recent presidential elections the question has been asked: With which candidate would you most like to enjoy a beer? If it’s going to be at an Irish pub, that's an easy one for me to answer.