Dear Diary: This morning I spoke eloquently about our veterans on the 60th anniversary of the end of the Korean War. It could have been even more eloquent if I had written it myself, considering that I'm a better speechwriter than my speechwriters. Anyhow, the most important business of the day was summoning me: a round of golf with some of my junior aides, at Fort Belvoir. The weather was disrespectful to the Leader of the Free World, grey and overcast, with occasional showers, which required sheltering under the canopy of the golf cart.I hit a couple of bad shots and had to resort to my usual remedy for frustration: a call to the Pentagon, ordering a drone strike on a target of my choosing. The Pentagon brass know by now that they need to have a Predator on patrol in the whenever I'm playing. Audibly approving an attack via my encrypted iPresidentophone reminds my aides who's boss and that I'm a better golfer than them. They don't call me King Putt for nuttin', no sir. But enough about me.
