Wednesday, May 24, 2017

May 24, 2017

Dear Diary,

Really bad day today. I'm not going to lie. Watching Carrot Head meet with the Pope was almost more than I could stand.  My anxiety was made worse by the fact that when my nerves act up, my diarrhea gets worse and Dr. Morell had allowed my supply of Imodium to lapse.  Not good. Poor Bessie was justifiably angry having to constantly mop things up and I'm sure the clothespin constantly slipping off her nose was just as frustrating. Her nostrils are pretty big.

What upsets me most about Carrot Head meeting with the Pope is that it pretty much puts the icing on the Catholic cake, if you get my meaning. During the you-know-what, Podesta kept telling me not to worry about the Catholics, but the whole time I kept wondering if my endorsement of baby-killing  pro-choice position was going to be a problem. Turns out it was a "yuge" problem and by the time of the you-know-what, I was less popular than a nun in a whorehouse.

Not that the Pope is such a big deal. What kind of non-woman runs around in pajamas and red slippers all day long?  Well, I mean besides Hugh Hefner. Both of them are worth really big money. The main difference is that Hefner surrounds himself with incredibly luscious, curvy young women who are stacked to the max, while the Pope doesn't even allow women past the front lobby. He keeps the place packed with pimply-faced choirboys and priests who keep ordering pizza.

What's THAT about?

I can't blame Carrot Head for keeping the meeting short. That place gives me the creeps and not just because it's a church. I just don't feel comfortable with that whole "Thou shalt not kill" thing.  Obviously, God never had to deal with people like Seth Rich. I'd have been in and out of there, too, staying just long enough to pocket the check for a quick photo opp and then I'd skedaddle.

I guess that dream is up in smoke, too. The good news is that the Cream of Rice seems to be working. I think I can make it to the bathroom in time.

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