Here I am, I, Obamus Maximus Hisself, channeling my friend Mahmoud's progressive feminine for months now with my all-conquering cosmic mind, and he dares tell me anyways that I'm interfering in Iran's internal affairs?
Time for drastic measures. I think I will weep publicly (we'll use onions to create the illusion of tears) and experience stigmata on my palms (ketchup will do: the media will lap it up). Then I'll reestablish relations with my fellow progressives like Hugo Chav. Then I'll give some of the undeserving American rednecks' money to that outstanding humanist, Bobbie Mug. (Val says I should first learn a few phrases in Zimbabwean, to impress the natives. No sweat, I've got more doctorates around here than Bush could ever imagine!)
Mahmoud, you'll be real sorry when I'm done with you!