I WON'T BE SITTING AT THE KID'S TABLE!

Dosvidanya, my little Americans! Are you as excited for the holidays as I am? Doubt it. I'm the President. That means I do everything better than you. Even get excited. That's for certain. Another thing that's for certain? I won't be sitting at the kid’s table again this year. Daddy already said I could sit with him and the big people.
Now, I know what you're thinking: What kind of cow does jerky come from? Later.
The reason I've been sitting at the kid’s table, despite the fact that I am the President of these 13 colonies, is that our family is big. Not our real family. Just the ones that matter: Daddy's oil buddies, his CIA chums, the Reagans, and a few Russians I'm not allowed to talk to. Not that I could understand them anyway. They speak Greek, and I don't understand Greek. Plus, Daddy says, "These people rigged a lot of elections to get you where you are today. You'll take an insulting step down, and you'll like it, now, ya' hear?"
And since Daddy is my boss, no matter how many people I am the boss of, I listen.
But this year is different. You see, some of Daddy's oil buddies moved to a big house. They were in disguise as bosses of non-oil companies, and started fibbing about their numbers. I don't know why they were wearing jerseys to work, but I'd be happy with whatever number my jersey had on it. Hopefully "W". That's my favorite number.
Anyway, Daddy's buddies live in this big house, and would rather spend the Holidays there instead of at our maximum-security ranch compound. So I get to move to the big table, right between Uncle Ollie and Millie. Christmas will be great!
Here’s to hoping your Christmas is great, too. Unless you're Jewish, in which case, "Hakuna Matada!"