Thursday, May 25, 2017

May 25, 2017

Dear Diary,

Today wasn't quite as bad as yesterday, although I'm still bothered by the fact that Carrot Head is getting all the attention and I'm not in Europe messing everything up. It's bad enough when arabs and Israelis are happy, but when you start messing with Euro trash, the stakes start getting higher.  I don't really mind his meeting with the Pope because who really cares about a bunch of giggling non-women running around in satin slippers and shoulder capes?  I mean, really. The one good thing you can say about the Vatican is that their rape rate is low.  Against women, anyway.

Carrot Head is dragging Betty Botox and the family to NATO today, which is either being held in Brussels or Belgium.  I forget if Brussels is in Belgium or Belgium is in Brussels, which probably means I should double up on the Aricept.  Actually, nobody really cares, because Belgians are sort of the lost tribe of Europe.  They're a very angry people who can't make up their minds if they're German, French or Dutch.  Sort of like homosexuals that haven't come out yet.  Have you ever met those types? Any shrink will tell you that they're always ticked off about something until they finally come to grips about who and what they really are.  Belgium is like that. Europe's closet case. I never liked them.

I think they speak French in Brussels, which used to be a big problem when the other countries decided to make it the capital of the European Union.  What a joke. Getting European countries to agree on anything is like expecting a bunch of women to agree on what color to paint the living room. Not only do they bicker, they cackle and peck at each other like wet hens in sixteen different languages. You don't have to be a rocket scientist to figure out why two world wars started there and we had to end them.  When I was Secretary of State, every time I went there I felt like the only adult in Teenager Hell. It was just like those times I'd walk into Chel's room and yell at her to clean it up so that Bessie could vacuum.  Jesus, that girl was a pig.

Well, now I suppose Carrot Head will poke those Euro-stiffs about that whole "one for all and all for one" Three Musketeers thing in Article Five.  Yeah, good luck with that. You can't even hail a cab in most of those countries, let alone get them to pay their share of NATO.  I've been to hundreds of state dinners over there and not once did any of them ever reach for the check.  At the end of the meal, the waiter comes and all of a sudden, everyone else vanishes, either going to the bathroom or making a phone call.  Cheapskates. You have no idea what it was like trying to explain all those charges on my expense reports. Obozo would spend hours going over it line by line, as if it was his own money before he'd approve anything, always asking stuff like, "Who order two pieces of cheesecake?"

Actually, I'm kind of glad I'm not there to watch him close the whole thing with everyone holding hands for a Kumbaya moment.  Is it Kumbaya or Cowabunga?  I keep getting those confused.

Subscribe for each day's entry by Email!