Friday, July 7, 2017

July 7, 2017

Dear Diary,

Today was a little depressing, as it marked the first IRL meeting between Carrot Head and Vladimir Putin. The kids call it IRL. That means "in real life," I think. Bill was trying to convince me it actually means "I Really Lost," but I suspect he was just trying to be funny. His jokes can be pretty mean, but between his Jack Daniels and my Xanax and Librium, I've pretty much stopped caring.

He's such an unsupportive jackass. I hate him.

The main reason I was upset about Carrot Head's meeting was that it should have been me there wasn't one woman in camera range the room when they met. They both just sat there, man-spreading like two giant gorillas picking through their banana supply. I've met Putin and I can tell you he wasn't on his game at all. He looked a little sleepy, which I don't doubt, because that man parties like a machine. He has no off switch. In fact, the main thing that keeps his staff busy lining up young whores wherever he visits. You won't believe this, but one time when I casually asked him how he was, we had to run his response through the translator five times before we finally realized he was actually saying, "It burns when I pee."

You know what else made me suspicious? Putin wears his watch on his right hand. Back in my day, that was code for being a homo. That and wearing an earring, although I forget which ear means you're a pitcher and which one means you're a catcher. Putin doesn't wear an earring, but if you ask me, he kind of overdoes the macho stuff. There's a little too much "methinks thou dost protest too much," if you know what I mean.

Back to their meeting, I couldn't believe how nobody ever taught those two proper etiquette. What kind of a lady sits with her legs spread apart like that? That's why I always wear pantsuits. I can man-spread all day long with no danger of anyone ever seeing my little hairy spider. Carrot Head's Ukrainian whore doesn't have that problem because we've already seen what she's packing from her days as a nude model. Every time I open my closet door I'm reminded of her disgraceful past. I had Bessie stick up all of those centerfolds on the closet walls to make sure I never forget. When I'm left alone, I can close the door and gaze at them for hours take my vibrator out time to remind myself how far off track America has strayed.

Then I take a bath.

I used to light candles all around the bathtub, but ever since the you-know-what, Dr. Morell says anything involving fire isn't such a good idea. So now I just sit there in the dark while Bessie holds a flashlight. It's doesn't have the same effect, but then forcing me to wear the life vest doesn't do much to enhance the mood, either.

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