Saturday, January 21, 2017

January 21, 2017

Dear Diary,

Holy cow, after what we all knew would be an ├╝ber-stresseful day, I slept like a baby last night. Didn't even get up one time to tinkle and that's pretty rare, believe me, because Dr. Morell says the green pills can actually enhance bladder leakage.

Part of the twelve steps my condition is working through events and accepting people ganging up on me that it's me who has to change, not others.  That's a big pile of horse shit challenge for me, but until I get to that point, Dr. Morell says I have to stay sedated put and learn how to process things more thoroughly.

I sure wish I could process what happened yesterday at Carrot Head's inauguration, but frankly, the whole day is somewhat of a blur.  It was cold, I was anxious and I'm pretty sure Bill had swapped my DayQuil with NyQuil, which will knock you out quicker than a freight train when you don't see it coming.  Today I scanned the label to see which drugs should not be taken with it, and every one of mine was on the list.

There are a few things I do remember:  Carrot Head, Jimmy Carter's corpse, and Michelle with her never-ending bitch face.  No matter when I looked over at her, her face was all squinched up and nasty-looking.  She's always pissed, though.  I think she's just angry because the cameras caught her in a full body shot, and biceps or not, that woman looks like she's being chased by a bag of basketballs, no matter what kind of WalMart stretch pants she wears.

I know, I'm being catty, but between you and me, diary, they're on their way out, so who really cares?

One person I don't remember seeing is Al Gore, which is just as well, because that man is just a pig.  I know, dear diary, that's not a kind thing to say, but if I could attend after everything I went through with the you-know-what, you'd think he could have hauled his fat ass into the bleachers.  A few drops of rain never killed anybody, but then Al was always somewhat of a whiny little snowflake.

I remember when Bill won the nomination back in 1996 and I was slated to become queen First Lady.  Al dragged his cow wife Tipper on stage and slapped a full-on deep-tongue kiss on her that was really gross. You could hear an entire country going,  "EEEEEWWWWWW!!!"   And that was before Al got really, really fat and started making dumb movies. Then he dumped Tipper in a nasty divorce.  He never was too bright.  I hear Bill set him up with some bimbo somewhere out in California.  Those traitors people out there aren't too reliable, either.

I also vaguely recall the thugs our Secret Service detail lifting me out of the van after we got home. That must be where those bruises are from.

In any event, I don't recall much more than that, which is probably for the best. I'm back home now, resting up and moving forward.  The hard part is over. Now I have to focus on more important things.  Like why Oprah still hasn't returned any of my calls.

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