Wednesday, May 3, 2017

May 3, 2017

Dear Diary,

Slept in today, exhausted from all the work I had to do rationalizing blaming everyone else explaining why I lost the you-know-what. It was a very emotional experience for me, and when you add four Jack Daniels to Lithium and Xanax, it was just knocked for a loop.  Other than a distant voice asking me if I was going to throw up, I don't even remember any of the questions I was asked.  I just kept swallowing to keep the chunkage down.

I still get a lot of questions about the FBI and that rat bastard its chief, Jim Comey. After all this time, and all of his slip ups, how is it my people missed him he's still alive he still has his job?  He should have been dispatched removed Vince Foster style the minute he started investigating my campaign, but nobody said a word because I'm a woman.

They're such misogynists. Ugh.

I still don't understand why Comey stabbed me in the back.  After all, he's a white man he got paid off like everyone else he's supposed to be neutral.  I thought he'd have my back, but he aimed a few inches lower, if you get my drift. I was led to believe "everything was going to work out fine," especially after Obozo packed his staff with all those people of darker persuasions minorities buffoons friends of his. But they all ratted me out.  I know for a fact that the only reason Loretta Lynch didn't sell me out is that Bill has pictures of her on the airplane wearing nothing but bra and panties. Man, that woman sure packs on the cellulite.

I'm convinced that if the you-know-what would have been held on October 27, I would have been crowned queen have won, for sure. If Comey hadn't played along with Carrot Head and the Russkies, I'd be the one on the throne barking out commands working with Congress on important issues like expunging his stupid FBI investigation destroying e-mail servers women's and children's rights.  I like those, because they have lots of pictures and really large, easy to read type so I don't need to wear my thick, black-framed retard eyeglasses.

Well, I guess that's all water under the bridge now, eh diary? Here I sit waiting for Bessie to change my Depends while Comey testifies in front of Congress on national TV, hogging all the attention blaming me for everything telling them all kinds of tall tales just to sell his book save his ass pension reputation. Of course he's throwing me under the bus, because he knows that's exactly what I'd do to him there's no fucking way I'm going in front of that committee without taking the fifth that's just the kind of traitor person he is.

I have so many questions. Whatever happened to loyalty? Whatever happened to taking a bribe and sticking to it honor and duty? Why is all of this happening to me?  Where is my box of crayons?

I'm so confused.

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