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The title comes from a tune written by Rodgers and Hart for their musical, “Pal Joey,” written in 1940, the year I was born. It could very well serve as the title of my autobiography if I were ever crazy enough to write it, because it so perfectly describes my general state of mind.

For instance, in the wake of the Zimmerman verdict, Obama insisted that the basis of the race problem in America is the distrust white people often have of black men. It causes black men to feel resentful, he explained. Inasmuch as he is theoretically the president of all Americans, it might have behooved him to acknowledge that the distrust has been earned. He might have pointed out, for instance, that although blacks constitute only 13 percent of the population, between 1976 and 2005 they committed over 50 percent of all murders, along with 35-40 percent of all robberies, assaults and rapes.

He might have even taken a moment to mention that 90 percent of those people they kill are their fellow blacks.

Would it have killed him to place the responsibility where it belongs, and to acknowledge that, aside from NBA rosters, crime is the only area in which blacks are consistently over-represented?

Obama also said he was considering undertaking a program that would help young blacks to improve their self-image. Apparently, he is unaware that in America, studies have shown that young black kids have such an inflated opinion of themselves that no other group even comes close. That shouldn’t come as too big a surprise. After all, the individual who holds himself in the highest possible regard is none other than the narcissist in the Oval Office.

If anyone entertains any doubts about Obama’s ability to keep Republicans out of the loop, they might think otherwise if they were aware that although Congress passed only 15 laws in the first quarter of 2013, this administration managed, on average, to create a new federal regulation every two hours.

Although every time Federal Reserve chief Ben Bernanke sneezes, Wall Street comes down with pneumonia, the basic strength of capitalism can be seen in the fact that in spite of this administration’s destroying the coal industry, nixing the Keystone pipeline, passing Dodd-Frank and Obamacare, blowing billions of dollars on green-industry car and solar companies, raising taxes, adding trillions to our national debt and lousing up our national credit rating, the ailing economy refuses to lie down and die. One can only imagine how quickly it will boom once these left-wing amateurs finally pack up and return to Chicago.

Experience more of Burt Prelutsky’s humor and wit in his books — at WND’s Superstore.

Taking their cue from the terrorists in Gitmo, 30,000 prisoners in California are staging a hunger strike. This is one time I am definitely pro-choice, and I think the ACLU should fight just as hard to protect their right to starve as they fight to protect the right of pregnant women to murder their defenseless babies.

Have you noticed that smart phones are often so much smarter than the people using them? And speaking of modern technology, do you realize that it wasn’t all that long ago that nobody could go faster than, say, 25 mph unless they were falling off a cliff?

One of the things that bothers and bewilders me are reviewers who limit themselves to 1-4 stars when rating a movie. I would suggest that they should use a hundred stars, so that 90 or 95 stars would constitute a rave and two or three stars could better indicate just how wretchedly interminable two hours spent in the dark with Jim Carrey or Adam Sandler can be.

I am delighted that my insult of California’s Nancy Pelosi, Barbara Boxer, Dianne Feinstein and Maxine Waters was sent viral. At the same time, I have been mortified to see the author identified as an L.A. Times columnist. Just for the record, I did compare the women to the witches in “Macbeth,” but I have not been a Times columnist since 1978, and anyone who believes the Times would allow those harridans to be insulted in its pages has several screws loose.

Finally, although I tried never to be one of those fathers who made a bore of himself by bragging about his son, I recently found myself at a party listening to a lady enumerating her dog’s attributes. I suddenly found myself insisting that our dog, the remarkable Angel, could both talk and play the piano. Well, I lied. She can’t play a blessed note.

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