Dear Diary: This is all too much for me. I needed badly to see Dr.Rink yesterday. Valerie Jarrett tried registering me for ObamaCare but all the websites were down. Then came the invasion by hordes of WW2 vets who had the temerity to want to see the WW2 memorial. I mean they were in the goddam war, right? What do they need to see a memorial for? I quickly nipped that in the bud by sending out barriers and guards to neutralise the geezers before they brought anarchy to our streets.
With Dr. Rink refusing to see me without my being a registered Obamacare patient, I was forced to self-medicate with a joint of Maui Wowie from my stash in the secret compartment of the Resolute Desk. I took a Frisbee and the two dogs out to the South Lawn, and pretended to throw the Frisbee in between drawing in lungsful of Hawaii's finest weed. I relaxed as I felt it hit my brain. But then I saw them: a savage, slavering throng of elderly vets some in wheelchairs, some waving walking aids and all jeering at me from the fringes of the South Lawn. I froze in horror. These are killers, I thought, men who were so determined to kill others that they had waded ashore in France directly into machine-gun fire and no-one had even done a background check on them before handing each of them an M1 carbine. I crushed what remained of my joint into the earth between Michelle's broccoli plants and moved indoors with all the speed and dignity I could muster. But enough about me.
With Dr. Rink refusing to see me without my being a registered Obamacare patient, I was forced to self-medicate with a joint of Maui Wowie from my stash in the secret compartment of the Resolute Desk. I took a Frisbee and the two dogs out to the South Lawn, and pretended to throw the Frisbee in between drawing in lungsful of Hawaii's finest weed. I relaxed as I felt it hit my brain. But then I saw them: a savage, slavering throng of elderly vets some in wheelchairs, some waving walking aids and all jeering at me from the fringes of the South Lawn. I froze in horror. These are killers, I thought, men who were so determined to kill others that they had waded ashore in France directly into machine-gun fire and no-one had even done a background check on them before handing each of them an M1 carbine. I crushed what remained of my joint into the earth between Michelle's broccoli plants and moved indoors with all the speed and dignity I could muster. But enough about me.
