Tuesday, July 29, 2008
Dear Diary,
Cretin Reagan, the Teflon president? I’m better. The NYT keeps throwing dirt at me and none of it sticks. Yesterday’s big story on lobbyists in my campaign? Forgotten by today. They put the Vikster on the front page for cryin’ out loud, and who even remembers her just a coupla months later? I sure don’t, but then my memory isn’t what it used to be. Anyway what with her looking just like Cindy-pills most times I wasn’t really sure who was who anyway. ‘Specially in the dark. Stealth mistress! Gotta get some of my defense contractor pals working on that one.
Those Bush assholes criticize my fundraising chops but I showed ‘em. Switched my position on offshore drilling and bingo, over a million from the oil companies lands in the campaign kitty. ‘Course the suggestion came from that little putz Lieberman, who knows a thing or two about brown-nosing corporations. Insurance, banking, defense, promiscuous little squirt. Bends over and grabs his ankles for every one. Taught him everything he knows, diary.
How ‘bout that prick Osama upstaging me all week without seeming to try to. Damn I’d love to take that boy down a peg or a dozen. Tried everything short of crashing a jet into him, from oppo research to voodoo dolls. Maybe old mama Julia can hex him. I’ve a feeling she’s planning to vote for the uppity SOB herself. My own mom. Told her they took another chunk out of my face and all she did was laugh and say "by the time they’re done with you at least no one can accuse you of being two-faced – the invisible man is more like it!" Dirty slut.
My German restaurant stunt didn’t work so good. Next time I’ll try a Czechoslovakian joint. Goddamn krauts, cheering for Osama like that. Should never have lifted the occupation. Shudda stayed in Germany a hundred years. Maybe a thousand. Bastards. But don’t get mad. Get even. Another score to settle. So many. So tired. Night, diary.