Dear Diary: You would think that an eminent personage like Myself could catch a break from the media hacks while I'm far from home at the Summit of the Americas in Cartagena, Colombia. But no. It seems some Secret Service guys [not my personal detail] decided to have night on the town before my arrival. A prostitute was said to have been hired and then not paid, so she laid a complaint, if you will. Now the whole daggone advance team has been recalled to the US. I thought I had planned for everything at this summit... I even have an agent checking constantly for open mikes so I don't have my private comments to other leaders on my "flexibility" broadcast to the world. Now comes this disaster: Instead of having a spotlight shine on Myself warming the hearts of those millions of Latino voters back home, I have become a mere footnote to this sordid tale of deceit and debauchery. The conference at the castle of San Felipe de Barajas, an ancient but still functional structure [kinda like Joe Biden] concluded without any major problems. Now I am preparing for bed. Marvelous Marv has laid out my jammies and Boo-boo, my blankey, plus one of my favorite MET-rx protein bars in case I wake in the middle of the night jet-lagged and hungry. My personal Secret Service detail are on duty so I can sleep soundly. Now for my prayer to myself, and so to bed.
