I know it’s been a while since my last diary entry. Actually, I haven’t even thought about writing much of anything since the November elections when those rat bastard, Nazi, teabagging rethuglicans somehow managed to hoodwink enough gun-toting, toothless, goober religious fanatics to vote their rude, snotty asses into the majority in MY House of Representatives. Needless to say, I was seriously pissed.
The first big insult came when I had to hand over my gabel to that whiney baby fink John Boehner. That day I had to get some emergency
Botox skin invigorating injections just to be able to keep a smile on my face during that gabel-passing ceremony. There I was, beautiful, smartly dressed and sexy as hell handing my gabel to a former bartender from freakin’ Ohio! Ohio, fer Chrissakes! I think they grow pigs, or raise corn in Ohio or some shit. I’m very familiar with Ohio. I’ve been flying over it for years.
Oh, and speaking of flying, after the election, I actually had to take a freakin’ commercial flight. Yeah, I said commercial!! “You know: fly the friendly skies with the Great Unwashed.” It was freakin’ horrible!
I did manage to get an upgrade to First-Class by letting the TSA guy really go to town on my magnificent ass and boobs. But, even sitting in first class amounted to cruel and something-or-other punishment! (I forget the exact wording of the 31st Amendment.) Not a goddamned drop of Cristal on the plane. Korbel? Kor-freakin’-bel?? Are you shitting me? Don’t these assholes know who the hell I am? Korbel, my ass.
Speaking of the Great Unwashed, I had to sit next to some guy who said he owned a big farm in Nebraska. That’s right. I had to sit next to a goddamned farmer! Farmers have no goddamned business sitting in First Class, and sure as shit have no business sitting next to the
former (I can bear to even say it) SPEAKER in the House. Goddamned commoners. I hate them.
When I finally arrived at my villa in San Francisco, I seriously needed to calm down. Good thing I had my boy-servant, Lance, get there a day in advance to make sure that the place was fully stocked with Cristal, some kickass weed and a couple ounces of high octane coke.
After I did a few joints and a couple lines, I decided to call Hilly to shoot the shit. I reached her while she was in an outhouse in some Middle-Eastern shithole. I wanted to complain to her about being screwed out of my gabel, but I never got the chance. She didn’t give a damn about my gabel. All she could say was, “Pearl, [she always calls me Pearl] I figure that, over the last month, I have eaten ten pounds of freakin’ hummus and at least three goddamned bushels of goddamned dates! Hummus and dates….hummus and dates….hummus and goddamned dates! That’s all these stone-aged cretins eat. I’ve been shitting every fifteen minutes for a solid week. What the hell was I thinking when I took this horseshit gig? Whoa! Can’t talk. Here comes another blast!”
I guess it’s all about her. Bitch!
I decided that what I needed was a bit of good, clean fun, so I called Lazlo to book him to come to the house and throw cabbages at my bare ass. Lazlo is a specialist. Like I said; good clean fun. Problem was that Lazlo read about the election and he doubled his price to me. Rat bastard! I decided to pay his outrageous prices, because nobody throws cabbages like Lazlo.
I then called Sven, one of my regulars, and told him I wanted him to come over around midnight and to wear the Batman outfit (I’d wear my Catwoman duds). His prices doubled too! Another price gouging capitalist. I’ll pay the son-of-a-bitch, because I always sleep well after having the Caped Crusader use his Bat Pole on my plumbing.
I guess elections do, after all, have consequences.