Sunday, April 30, 2017

April 30, 2017

Dear Diary.

Sometimes, usually before Bessie brings in my morning meds, I think about what life would have brought had I things turned out differently for me.  People would have called me Your Majesty Madame President and I'd be sitting in the Oval Office instead of sitting up in bed holding a remote control all day.  I think about being seated at my big desk, signing all kinds of decrees executive orders, like my Domestic Immigration program, which would accelerate the legalization of immigrants willing to do windows and gardening at reasonable prices.

Of course, I've spread out a bit since Bill's reign administration. I'd probably have to get the chair widened, but there are people who do that.

One of the events I would have liked to enjoy after my coronation inauguration would have been the White Correspondents Dinner.  That's where all the reporters dress up for a big dinner and make all kinds of jokes about the President.  It can get really funny, especially if you're a Republican, because everyone hates Republicans.  You can make all kinds of funnies about abusing the poor, supreme court judges, cutting welfare programs -- even starting wars and stuff.

I guess Carrot Head decided to skip the dinner, which doesn't surprise me at all.  Mr. Big Talker is pretty good at dishing it out, but when it comes to taking it, he doesn't have half my experience of being a joke.  They should have stuck Alec Baldwin up there.  He's supposed to be funny.

If I had been on that dais, I'd have traded all kinds of good-natured barbs with the reporters.  That's why I had Donna Brasile make up a list of zingers for the occasion last year.  Some of my favorites were:

"Oh yeah?"
"Says you!"
"I know you are, but what am I?"
"What does it matter"

See?  I can be funny.

I can take a joke too.  Unless it's about my weight or how I'm built like an inverted light bulb.  That stuff is strictly off limits. So are jokes about Chelsea. I already know she's not going to win any beauty contests and that she's not exactly Einstein. I don't need the whole country chattering about that.  Also, no jokes about how she broke our hearts when she married the only money-losing Jew in the world.

Dr. Morell says that my days in public office are probably over, though. So there's almost no chance of my getting in front of those reporters again.  Maybe we can do something for Mother's Day.  I should call that whore Debbie Wasserman-Schultz.  She owes me.

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