Oh my love, I know you've accomplished a lot in two years, against the most intransigent and morally bankrupt opposition I've seen in my lifetime, and I know you are righteously peeved that you don't get no respect for all that. I feel your pain.
But I don't quite get why you and your party are so shy about touting all your accomplishments, like your opponents do just by breathing (if they had any—though that doesn’t seem to stop them). Like that tax break in the stim package? You know, the one that no one knows about? You could mention it a little more often, maybe, and get your peeps to make some sound bites that NPR could use, instead of letting them end segments with quotes from the Axis powers.
But no matter, because you, well, you broke my heart.
I gave you every opportunity to show me that you still loved me, but you spurned me and changed your locks. My family says I should forget you and (you should pardon the expression) move on.
But I can't. Because if I don't love you long time, I'm going to get a Boehner in the butt. (And it's still sore from when you shoved that public option there--you naughty man.) I might also get spanked with a big Mitt, and you’re the only one I let do that!
So I’ll be waiting, my love. Now don’t take this personally, dear heart, but when your new paramour tires of your lousy loving and throws you out on those cute ears like last week’s Democratic House vote, I’ll be waiting; I’m used to lousy love from my POTUSes.