Sunday, January 22, 2017

January 22, 2017

Dear Diary,

What a bittersweet day it was.  I was woken up very rudely in the morning, which bothered me because I was right in the middle of a good dream.  I was just about to sign legislation bringing back the guillotine to increase child health care,when Bill rushed into my bedroom, completely out of breath. At first I was a little worried, because the last time he was breathing that heavily he ended up going to the hospital for a bypass, which left a twelve inch "zipper job" scar on his chest.  Personally, I like the old, chubby Bill better.  Nowadays, he looks more like a dried up, horny chicken.

Anyway, Bill just barged in, hurriedly demanding to know where the binoculars are.  Binoculars at ten in the morning?  It didn't make any sense to me, but I was too groggy to do anything more than point to the closet door and grunt, "Try the top shelf."  He was like an impatient child on Christmas morning, rummaging through the shelf while complaining that he "can't find anything other than boxes from Adam & Eve and back issues of Self magazine." I was just about to get up when he found the binoculars, waved them in the air and bounded out of the room yelling, "Hot dog! Got 'em!"

Next thing I heard was him out on the balcony.  "Damn! Nice! Aw, yeah!" The call of the horn dog. Believe me, after you've lived with a maniac like Bill for a million years, there's no mistaking it.  So I ambled out of bed, had Bessie help me with my robe and went to see what all the fuss was about.  Bessie said that, "Mister Bill is at it again," so I wasn't shocked when I saw him on the balcony, ogling a crowd of the fattest women I've ever seen.

Apparently, there was some kind of women's march, protesting something or other (They're always protesting something or other).  The street was filled with thousands of what could only have been refugees from Wal-Mart, all of them chanting and singing and putting on a show. I still have no idea what they were marching about, but Bill was like a kid in a candy store, because you know, he likes them big.  Especially the ones with broad backsides.  He can't get enough of them.

"Come out here, honey," he gestured as he handed me the binoculars.  "Check out that threesome dressed up as vaginas!  It's one giant pussy parade!"  At first, I just rolled my eyes, but one look through the field glasses and I could see what he meant.  It was a real meat processional, passing right by our house!  I have to admit I was feeling a major blood rush in my nether parts, but I didn't want to make too big a thing about it.  Not that Bill cares, but Bessie was on the balcony with us and I'm pretty sure she still doesn't know my little secret.

Bill must have stayed out there for hours.  It started raining, but he didn't even notice.  He just stood there, frozen with the binoculars and mumbling to himself, "Yes....yes, indeed."   I think he finally came in some time after dark when he realized the last woman he was looking at was actually that transgender friend he sees every few weeks.  He used to be called Lester, but Bill refers to her now as Leslie.  He says they're just friends.

Also, I'm out of the pink pills.

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