Friday, August 18, 2017

August 18, 2017

Dear Diary,

There's so much going on in the world and it disturbs me that I can't be out there, doing my part. Ever since the you-know-what, I've been waylaid by my Dr. Morell and my various conditions, both of which keep me from getting over-excited about world affairs.  Nevertheless, I'm particularly upset about Barcelona, for so many reasons, but especially now.

Ever since I was Secretary of State, I'd been warning that conditions in Spain were going to reach a boiling point and it looks like I was absolutely correct.  I just checked and the prices of Lladro porcelain figurines have been increased again.  They are now just too expensive. This is what happens when you let Merkel run everything into the ground. That Euro business screwed up everything over there.

The last time I was in Barcelona, the dollar wasn't as strong as it is now, but even then I picked up a truckload of Lladros, (including the little farmer boy, the puppy with the ball and the one with a bunch of geese under a blanket in a basket) for next to nothing. Most people think Lladros are for white trash aren't really collectible, but I have a whole collection. I used to collect commemorative dishes from the Franklin Mint, but once the Clinton Foundation went sideways, that credit card won't clear.  I prefer the old style Lladros, instead of the newer ones that are all stretched out. When I look at those, it feels like I'm on acid, which triggers flashbacks and tempts me to jump out the window.

Some days, when Dr. Morell thinks it's safe to let me out, I have Bessie wheel me through the living room, where all my Lladro figurines are on display. I love looking at them. They're so pastoral. They remind me of a better time, when nobody had to put up with blacks and muslims people were kinder to one another. Unfortunately, Dr. Morell doesn't allow me to hold them any more, because one time I had some kind of seizure and bit the head off of a milk maid right at the neck. No amount of glue could stick her head back on and my lips were ripped up for a week. Sipping from that hidden bottle of Jack Daniels stung like hell.

I sure hope things get better in Barcelona, but if Lladro prices keep going up, nobody is going to want to go there. No way.

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