Dear Diary: I accompanied the family to church this morning walking across Lafayette Park in front of the White House to St. John’s. I must confess that I was more than a little fearful that a bolt of lightning might smite me down, out of the clear blue sky, in vengeance for all the necessary dissembling, evasion and stretching of the truth that I have indulged in since the ACA website went online.
After today’s service, I walked gingerly back to the White House, keeping one nervous eye on a small cloud scudding across the sky. The Beast was idling in the driveway. I climbed in back and we sped out in a motorcade for a round of golf at Fort Belvoir, with junior aides Joe Paulsen and Marvin Nicholson, and Marvin’s brother Walter. Walter knows the drill: keep a respectful distance from me and look the other way when a Secret Serviceman kicks my golf ball out of the rough. Then, at the fourth hole, look impressed as I make my usual intimidating call to the Pentagon and order a drone strike on the next target on the kill list. But enough about me.
After today’s service, I walked gingerly back to the White House, keeping one nervous eye on a small cloud scudding across the sky. The Beast was idling in the driveway. I climbed in back and we sped out in a motorcade for a round of golf at Fort Belvoir, with junior aides Joe Paulsen and Marvin Nicholson, and Marvin’s brother Walter. Walter knows the drill: keep a respectful distance from me and look the other way when a Secret Serviceman kicks my golf ball out of the rough. Then, at the fourth hole, look impressed as I make my usual intimidating call to the Pentagon and order a drone strike on the next target on the kill list. But enough about me.
