Buffalo sucks!

Being President of the United States means I often have to attend public events. Sometimes these public events are fun. Sometimes they aren’t. I recently attended the Pan-American Exposition in Buffalo New York.

Yeah, Buffalo. It’s kind of like Philadelphia only without the cheesesteaks: Boring. My advisers tell me I shouldn’t say that as it will offend Philadelphians.  Screw Philly. They voted for that bastard William Jennings Bryan in ’96 and ’00 anyway.

If I could give the Pan-American Exposition zero stars I would.  But apparently I can only go as low as one star.

I mean I like meeting and greeting the public. I do. It’s one of the fun things about this job. And everything was going okay until I went to the damn Temple of Music.

So there I was meeting and greeting the masses.

And then I get shot.

So just to recap. Stuck in Buffalo. And shot. I wouldn’t mind being shot in Philadelphia because at least I could have a cheesesteak while I’m waiting for the ambulance.

I’m lying there on the floor and the head of the Exposition is looking at me. I can tell by the worried look on his face he is wondering how this will affect Buffalo’s tourism?

I got news for you pal. It’s Buffalo. You ain’t got no tourists. You might get a football team but I bet you they will lose four Super bowls in a row. They probably won’t even get cheesesteaks in the locker room.

Before I went to Buffalo I was thinking “What could be the worse that could happen?” Being in Buffalo is punishment enough. But that was before I was shot.

Getting shot sucks. Getting shot in Buffalo is like adding insult to injury.

The worst part about being shot?  Being told my Vice President Teddy Roosevelt was “on the way.”

I hate that bastard. I hope someone shoots him someday. He probably won’t be shot in Buffalo. No. Teddy will probably be shot in an exciting city like Milwaukee. Good beer in Milwaukee. No cheesesteaks however.

Teddy has a nice mustache though. Maybe I should grow a mustache like Teddy’s. It might have, you know, deflected the f*cking bullet.

What?  I seem cranky? Did I mention I was shot?  

So I’m lying here about to die.  Docs say gangrene is racing through my body releasing toxins that will kill me.

“Are you sure it’s not the food here” I joke.

Rim shot. Everyone laughs.

Never let it be said that William McKinley doesn’t have a sense of humor.

Except about being shot. In Buffalo.

My review? One star. (One and half stars if someone would just give me a cheesesteak.)

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