Last night the president of the United States of America was alone on the couch watching football on TV, and fainted while eating a pretzel.
Doctors say he is fine, though suffering from a slightly bruised lip. 

 Below I have recorded some of the thoughts he may have had before losing consciousness:

"What do you do screen to me, I mean what you see? Reflect me again and I'll kill you... Once it was only a photo that stole my soul, now its every button hole I stare down into oblivion and upstairs the clouds tear at heaven.
All this will help you help yourself - oh you're so polite - until you tell me to stand on my own two feet, or get on my bike, whatever, and its out the door, without a dial tone, the phone's gone dead, I owe, instead of own this mobile phone, its microwaves gently washing against the side of my head.

 'Is that a tumor in your pocket or are you just glad to see me?' says the 'porn star' written across your shirt.  The latest spangly craze to rip up my turning mother's grave into the enemy of the people's detention camp, not for refugees,   but the enemy within, the countless devils crowding out the head of a pin that would print poison on the back of all the world's second class stamps. 
In a world turned mad, acid rain showers had me where they wanted me watching the same TV as my dad back in the eighties now I'm older, and greyer and a little less spritely.

 Stop to think - its the ads anyway - rip that erect smile off your pursed up face, that train time that always comes late, that tit for tat, that hard hat of reasonable doubt, smashed by the crane that lashed out at that first day trainee... Tony, what was all that about?
What do you do? A rusty nail pierces your shoe, lucky to have two I suppose, one for each foot of you, so there's only four more of them to dig through, as life limps on by - you accomplished more in death because to die means you no longer have to lie. There's a comforting thought, a place where you ought to be destined to be, as alive as someone else like me.

 Sedating prisoners for their caribbean tour, circling over where you dropped the bombs on the wedding party just days before.  "Hey look out there", months previously, the wise cracking FBI agent escorting the convicted deportee back to the middle east you see:  pointing out the twin towers, saying "See would-be-bomb-guy, they're still standing, and they're still ours."
History can make fools of us all." 

'We interrupt this programme to bring you the latest breaking news:  America flies terrorists to Cuba."

"Shit! Is Guatanamo Bay is in Cuba?...  All of a sudden I donít feel so good..."