Sunday, March 19, 2017

March 19, 2017

Dear Diary,

On some days, I feel pretty good.  On other days, I get overwhelmed with waves of anger and today was one of those days.  Oh, it wasn't a Podesta day or anything like that, but something really ticked me off and I don't think it was a side effect of the Accutane, either.  That stuff is really evil.  Dr. Morell prescribed it to dry up the pus warts on my back, but it ended up drying out every orifice on my body so that every time I sneezed I started to bleed like a stuck pig.  Plus, it gives you super bad moods.  I've heard of pimply-faced kids going postal with AK-47s after popping a couple of pills.  Weird.  I love having clear skin, but it's definitely not worth 25 to life in Leavenworth.

What really set me off was Carrot Head snubbing our German friends, specifically Angela Merkel.  What kind of American doesn't shake hands with a major European ally?  It was inexcusable.  I know Angela Merkel.  I worked with Angela Merkel.  Well, we didn't really get much done.  When I was Secretary of State, she invited me to a day spa that was supposed to be "just us girls," but as soon as she saw me wrapped in nothing but a towel, things went south pretty quickly.  That woman is an animal.

The spa itself was absolutely gorgeous.  I'm pretty sure it was converted from Hitler's bunker, or something like that. It was underground and very quiet, with lots mean-looking eagles of carved stone along the walls. I was all like, "Angela, this is marvelous," because I minored in architecture in college and recognized genuine Third Reich design.  Angela didn't say much.  She just motioned over to another doorway and told her security team to wait outside.  I knew something was going to happen!

When we got inside the little room, it was pretty dark except for one red light bulb hanging from the middle of the ceiling.  As my eyes got used to the darkness, I could make out all kinds of paraphernalia hanging from the walls.  Whips.  Chains.  All kind of hats and belts.  Most of them were studded leather, all of which I found a bit disturbing, but not as disturbing as what I saw when Angela dropped her towel.

Angela didn't say a word, but came closer to me, setting me into a chair under the light bulb.  "Say nothing!" she commanded, as she moved slowly toward the wall. I have to admit, I was a little excited, not knowing what she had in mind. Angela never took her eyes off me as she began lashing me to the chair with a long leather thong.  The next thing I knew, I couldn't move my arms or legs. I could feel myself getting agitated, but in a good kind of way.  The anticipation was making my heart beat faster.  Like when you finally find the bathroom when you really have to go, but haven't sat down and let loose yet.

Finally, when she was done, Angela stepped back to admire her work.  It was only then that she spoke.  Standing naked in front of me in the dim, red darkness, she looked more like a Nazi version of the Pillsbury doughboy than the leader of a war-mongering former fascist state.  Then she said the words that changed my life: "Before you can know pleasure, you must know pain."

I didn't know what to expect next, but she was right.  For the next three hours, she went through a Powerpoint presentation on why vacation  time-shares are the best values in the travel market and that for someone like me who travels, they're the only way to go.  At first, it was exciting, but after 45 minutes, I passed out.  When I awoke hours later, I was back in my hotel room, no worse for the wear, other than noticing that my entire body have been shaved and it hurt when I went Number Two.

Clearly, something like this only happens between two nations who enjoy mutual trust and strict confidentiality.  That kind of relationship can never be taken lightly.  See how I can make friends? And Carrot Head wouldn't shake her hand.  All my work down the drain. Outrageous.

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