Wednesday, February 22, 2017

February 22, 2017

Dear Diary,

Today was a relatively peaceful day for me.  I spent most of it in my jammies, the way I usually do, only this week I get to wear the ones with the little bunnies on them.  They're the fuzzy flannel kind of jammies, with the zipper on the front and the trap door on the back.  I didn't know they made them in my size (I wear a "ladies wide"), but Chel said she found them in a catalog online when she was reading an article about David Cassidy's dementia.

I feel so bad for David Cassidy.  He was so cute as Keith Partridge.  All the girls fell at his feet because he had perfect hair and wasn't all big and macho.  He had a more slender, slinky look, and moved like a cat.  Like Huma.

God, I miss her.

Anyway, the bunny jammies remind me of when I was a child, growing up with my two younger brothers, which is weird because I think I overheard something about that fat North Korean dictator Kim Something killing his half-brother.  All of those Koreans have the same last name.  Everyone is Kim.  Kim this.  Kim that.  Those people have a real diversity problem!

Personally, I never cared much for Korea.  The food gives me gas.

I only caught the last part, but apparently that fat little fart who runs the place is accused of having his  own half-brother killed!  Poisoned with needles! My goodness, I know how obnoxious siblings can be, but family is family.  You don't just kill them off the way you would political enemies have to show them a little more compassion than you would complete strangers.  Believe me, my brothers tried my patience more than once, but I never had them killed.  I thought about it.  Made a few calls.  But I never actually went through with it!

My youngest brother Tony was always a bum, but I had the worst time with Hugh, the middle child.  He was so confused that he actually married Barbara Boxer's daughter, Nicole, which caused a whole thing while we were ruling from lived at the White House.  Most people don't remember it, but Bill and I threw a big-ass wedding for Hugh and Nicole.  It was liberal heaven, with everyone talking about it being the biggest political union since Tricia Nixon and David Eisenhower, only this time, it was two liberals bumping uglies to produce a kid that was supposedly going to be some kind of genetically-engineered uber liberal.  I know they had a son, but I lost track of him.  Maybe he's a retard, shuttered away like that Kennedy sister.

Of course, all that happened in the optimistic nineties.  Hug's marriage didn't last, though.  I'm pretty sure he got caught selling his hot dogs in the wrong park, so to speak, and Nicole dropped him like a hot brick.  Boy, was she mad.  She wanted to kill him.  I know this for a fact, because when she found out about his little "hobby," she came to me, crying about how she'd heard I'd killed a man or two and wanted a few tips.  I reassured her I knew nothing of the sort, but that I did know a few people who knew how to arrange convincing accidents.

Nicole never followed through on her threat. None of those California people do, especially the Boxers.  I was in the Senate with Barbara and everyone used to laugh behind her back because she was so stupid, she could barely read the stuff we put in front of her.  Her interns had to read every piece of legislation to her, and they always had to start it with, "Once upon a time," or she wouldn't sit still.  She would just look at Dianne Feinstein and ask, "Should I sign this? What should I do?" Dianne had to take her hand, stick a crayon in it and draw a signature.  So dumb, but I guess this is what you get when two-thirds of your voter base lists Spanish as its mother tongue.

Anyway, it's still cold outside and toasty in here.  Bessie made Ovaltine for lunch, but it tasted a little funny.  Now I'm really sleepy.



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