He knows all the words to The Alphabet Song.

He knows the difference between fraternal and identical twins.

He knows what Henry Kissinger's breath smells like.

He knows what it looks like from the inside when there's an egg being thrown at your bulletproof limousine (and you just know that's cool).

He knows how Karl Rove signals him to switch between New England fratboy accent and Texas fratboy accent for, presumably, maximum political benefit.

He knows what Oprah's cheek tastes like.

He knows many, many dirty jokes (presumably not about Oprah's cheek).

He knows what it's like to be booked at the police station.

He knows many, many people who can tell you what much more of the wrong side of the justice system looks like.

He knows what it feels like to decide someone's going to die, have it happen at his command, and express pleasure in public.

He knows the color of Air Force One's potty floor.

He knows who exposed an undercover CIA agent so his Marketing team could sell a war.

He knows at least one hiding place in two different governors' mansions and the White House for liquor and, you know, whatever.

He knows whether or not you can actually smell Katherine Harris's makeup.

He knows why his audiences are handpicked.

He knows who Barney the Dinosaur is.

He knows who Casey Sheehan was.

He knows the Beatitudes; he knows they're for other people.

He doesn't know how to be his own man.