Monday, August 7, 2017

August 7, 2017

Dear Diary,

There's something about a Monday morning that gets me raring to go. The possibilities of the new week are waiting to be discovered, and I'm filled with a new sense of optimism. I'm also filled with way higher doses of Prozac and Lithium, which really sent me over the moon. I could kiss everyone!

Except those double-crossing Russkies. They've got me a little pissy.

Dr. Morell doesn't let me watch the news, but from what I gather, Carrot Head has turned up the heat on them over tampering with the you-know-what. I'm not sure how he arrived at that conclusion because Podesta had them on the payroll from day one that would be totally un-American.  Then again, those commies would sell out their own grandmothers if the price was right. They had a deal with Hitler and they ended up sucking him into their meat grinder, too.

So now Carrot Head is imposing sanctions, which is totally the wrong thing to do. The right thing to do is to give them toys. When I was Secretary of State and things were getting out of hand, I had the idea of giving them a big red reset button and it really worked! One minute, they were aiming nukes at New York City and the next minute everyone was laughing and having fun. I didn't know why they were laughing so hard until Pelosi told me over my sixth bourbon that one of the Russkies stuck a sign on my back that said "Kick Me." To be completely honest, I was three sheets to the wind, but the next morning I had bruises all over my keister. My entire rear end was black and blue.

Tillerson isn't nearly that creative. He's doing the macho thing by imposing sanctions on the Russkies, but I can tell you, non-women don't know the first thing about withholding rewards. You have to really know what the other person wants and make them beg for it or it doesn't work at all. All this business of recalling diplomats doesn't do squat.

You know who was really good at sanctions? Huma. She always knew what I wanted and could be such a bitch about it. I never got one thing from her until she got what she wanted first. We'd be "in conference" and I'd be all like, "Mama wants a taste of little Pooh Bear's honey pot" and she'd be all business, purring something like, "Not until Pooh Bear gets those Cartier earrings Mama Bear promised." Then she'd lick my ear and slap me across the face me really hard. She could make me crazy, but you can bet there was smoke on the Clinton Foundation check at Cartier the next day.

That's why the peasants need this country should have a queen woman as Commander in Chief.  Non-women don't understand that you can attract more flies with honey than you can with vinegar. Especially if they're sexy brunettes.

Mama knows all about it.

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