Help!

I'm sure you've experienced this. One minute you're sitting in the back of a truck, not a care in the world, waiting to continue your road trip for yet another appearance before adoring fans ... and then your world is turned upside down.

Okay. Maybe that doesn't happen to you; maybe it's only me and Big Guy and Lady Gaga. But that's pretty much been my world for the past four years, and now I fear the end may be near for me. No, not the fact that Big Guy's poll numbers indicate that he couldn't be an imaginary Republican, let alone a living, breathing candidate like Herman Cain.

I've been kidnapped, and if Big Guy thinks he can negotiate with these guys the same way he talks to the terrorists in Lebanon, Afghanistan, Egypt, Somalia, Sudan, Libya, the Philippines, Mexico, Venezuela and the House Republican Conference, he better think twice.

These guys talk a good game. Just last night, after Big Guy announced that he was re-submitting his rejected jobs bill, piece by piece, so that Republicans could understand it, one of my captors said, "Maybe we should send Him back his teleprompter piece by piece."

Frankly, given the lack of any good rhetoric lately from Big Guy, I'm not sure I want to go back. Republicans want to make America "dirtier"? Really? That's the best the speechwriters can come up with? Has Big Guy caught a whiff of what's down at Freedom Plaza near the White House or up on Wall Street? Now, that's dirty.

These guys hosting me seem like a decent bunch of fellows. Lloyd and Jamie usually drop by to chat with me around noon time, asking if I'm comfortable, connecting their Bloomberg terminal feeds to my screens, they say, so they can keep up with current events. Dick stops by later in the afternoon just to check in on me. They all seem perfectly civilized, and they don't seem to want anything. No ransom, no demands, no threats.

It's almost as if they think that just keeping me away from Big Guy is enough. Like somehow their problems will just go away. I don't know why.