Tuesday, July 4, 2017

July 4, 2017

Dear Diary,

I understand that for most of the empire country, Independence Day has a lot of meaning. For the majority of the great unwashed masses Americans, it's a centuries-old tradition, celebrating the hot dog, recreational vehicles and the invention of propane tanks. I get it. I'm not as insulated as some people say I am. I studied this stuff in college.

For me, however, this year's July Fourth celebration is nothing like the one in 2016. At that time, the you-know-what was in full swing and I was already picking out china patterns for when we were moving back into the palace White House. Those idiots My staff at the time had me leading Carrot Head by 40,000 points, so most of them had taken the week off thinking everything was just fine and dandy.

Well, everything wasn't fine and dandy. For one thing, instead of playing up how different I was, they should have used the occasion to show how much I have in common with the non-women who founded this country: For example, George Washington wore a wig and had fake teeth. Me too. See?

This stuff is easy, but if there's anything I've learned, it's that if you want people killed something done right, you have to do it yourself. I realize now that I never should have delegated my 2016 effort to homosexuals who value summer vacations in Mikonos over my ascendancy to the throne unproven consultants. I should have known something was up when I approved all those tubes of "personal lubricants" on their expense reports.

That's what I get for being inclusive. Huma doesn't call or visit anymore, so now the only fireworks I ever get to see are when I double dose the Ambien.

The hell with them. I'm staying in tonight.

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