Wednesday, August 30, 2017

August 30, 2017

Dear Diary,

The more I read about the private sector, the more I'm inclined to give it a try. In fact, just as soon as Dr. Morell declares my med schedule stable, I'm seriously thinking about taking a stab at becoming a CEO of a company or something like that. After all, if a skinny homo like Tim Cook can score billions just by pushing pointless technology on hipsters or a fat oaf like Al Gore can parlay a doomsday movie into millions, I should be able to make bank, no problem.

Confidentially, diary, I've been out of the game for a long time and I'm just not sure I'm up to speed on the hot opportunities. For example, I heard that Uber company, which I think is just the cutest name ever, is looking for a new boss. I just love the way it sounds. Sometimes, when my happy drugs are peaking, I just sit up in my bed with the dopiest smile and go, "Uber, Uber, Uber." Bessie usually stands there with my diaper change and scratches her head, but I think it's funny. I could run a company like that.

Of course, being the woman in charge of a private company would bring a number of challenges. Top of the list would be getting everyone to address me as "Madame President." I think it's important to establish that right up front. Next on the list would be one of those cushy private bathrooms adjoining to my office. I love those. Nothing says power "success" like pooping on your own private padded toilet seat. The best part is that you never have to put paper on the seat, because none of the peasants other employees are allowed to use it. And if you rip a big one after a Taco Bell lunch, there's nobody to complain about the smell.

The more I think about it, being a woman in the private sector might be just the ticket for me. I could carry on the noble traditions of women like Meg Whitman and Carly Fiorina. Strong, masculine confident women who, despite all odds, have managed to run both public and private careers into the ground and still walk away will millions chart the courses of their own lives, while setting examples for young, sweet, firm, willing young girls.  Precious little flowers just waiting to be plucked by someone older, yet gentle and tender in the ways of, um, encouraging youth. Someone with a closet full of leather goods and a healthy supply of D batteries.

This sounds much better than all that talk of a glass ceiling. If I really do this, I'd have them install a mirror up there. MUCH more intense.

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