The Lady in Pink

Dear Diary,
Lyndon Beagle Johnson has just been placed aside as far as my enemies go. I have met the queen of evil; the worst of the worst; my arch nemesis. Her name: Helen Gahagan Douglas. Yuck! it makes me want to wash out my mouth with turpentine just having to utter those foul words to myself. That raunchy pink hag makes my skin crawl everytime I see or hear the likes of her. Though I publicly bolster the fact that she's probably a communist and would ruin our strong conservative fiscal economic policies should she gain an elected post, I secretly believe that she participates in the evils of witchcraft. I have proposed a confidential plan to my barely trustworthy right-hand man, Secretary Kissinger. The plan involves subjecting that devil pink lady to a series of tests implemented in the middle ages, tests, yes--which are indeed outdated, but have also proven themselves to be completely foolproof time and time again. First the Dunking Stool, to extract a confession, followed by another series of rudimentary tests which if done correctly will either end in her untimely death, or in confirmation that she is a witch. Quite frankly I don't care what the result is, it is a win-win situation for me anyway. In my opinion the whole damn democratic party is dissolving right before our eyes, soon there will be nothing left but a blue jackass, and a certain senator from Massachusetts who refuses to shut his yappy bum about a universal healthcare plan of some sort. Everyone look at old Ted Kennedy, oh how brave and righteous he is, he is the last of a legendary breed of proud Americans for HE is a Kennedy. Bah. Nevermind the fact that old Richard Milhous Nixon, the doormat of the whole god-forsaken United States Political System came up with a suspiciously similar healthcare plan over a decade earlier. In fact, an IDENTICAL plan. That was my plan! US Senate Majority Whip my pale touchee! No, lets just brush old Nixon under the rug, he certainly won't do anything about it.

I think I hear Pat coming up the stairs, I have to go.

More soon
XOXOXOXOXO
-Richard

Loser Buttsmeller Johnson

Dear Diary,
Last weekend I was invited to visit Former President Lyndon Baines Johnson at his ranch in Texas. His dog urinated all over my Calvin Klein slacks which practically cost me my Whole Week's Salary, and Lady Bird served me iced tea that was so bland, that I spit it back into her old grisly face. You know, I have tried to put a raise for the president through congress so many times, and failed so many more times, I just want to SCREAM.

That geezer Lyndon is such an egotistical prick. He named his DOG Little Beagle Johnson just so it could have the same initials as the rest of his family. What a stankpot.

I was polite, and dignified as usual, aside from my occasional impulsives to shout about my clever notions to one day govern the universe.

Oh, and by the way. Today I found out something that made me just a hair bit mad. Guess what those useless gang-banging hippees have been calling me ALL THIS TIME, HMM?!?... TRICKY DICK! That's right, Richard Nixon, arguably the greatest president of our century, Hero Commander of the War in Vietnam, proud patriot, and dedicated family man, unfairly victimized by pony-tailed, pot smoking, scumbags.

Anyway, I'll get over it.
Untill Next Time
XOXOXOXOXOXO
-Richard

Today

Today I shat on a turtle.