Cramping My Style

I was going to post this yesterday, but I ran out of time. So the President was in the neighborhood all weekend. He was a pain in the butt. They closed off the street runs in front of his house (coincidentally, the same street we live on) to all parking for 3 days. And in place of parking, there were cop cars planted every 100 meters down the road, until you get to the concrete barricade that starts 2 blocks from his house, at that point, there are way more cops/secret service.
Anyway, I went to the gym on Monday morning as usual, and secret service starts infiltrating the the place, they set up security cameras and sent the dogs around to sniff the equipment. And then they called us all out (right in the middle of my set) and we are wanded...is that the correct term? Metal detected? I don't know. Yeah, I'm standing there with my arms and legs spread out and the dang metal detector goes off when it hits my shorts. Dang it, my ipod. I stick it in the elastic from my shorts, stupid arm band broke and I haven't replace it. I show him the ipod, and I go back to my workout.
So then later, around 8:19 AM, the President is done working out (he came after I left), so the motorcade gets into formation. You wouldn't believe all the secret service cars that came out of hiding to get into formation. They stopped all traffic, and of course the locals are honking their hearts out at the secret service. You've got to love the local south siders. A few minutes later, the motorcade takes off, including the ambulance that always comes to the gym with him, you know, just in case. So here is a picture of the motorcade blocking traffic and making me late to work, because of course the buses are re-routed when he decides to workout. Sorry the picture sucks, the cameras on cell phones, though convenient, just aren't that good.
The point is, "Mr. President, you are cramping my style, would you please stay in D.C.? Thanks."