Warning: This Diary Has No Redeeming Social Value.
I could never run for public office. Somewhere there is a picture of me in blue lace undies, wearing all my wrinkles and a black leather dildoo. What can I say? It was Halloween and there was Jameson, nectar of the Gods. And Google knows that once in awhile I like to look at doggy dick. And large mammaries.
“They” should ask me to run though because I am unashamed. And therein resides a source of potential power if handled with the right Tude. I am a recovering alcoholic, drug addict, and a famous asshole; and I am heavily medicated for public safety. I would clean up personality politics forever. Guaranteed. Truth is the kindest and most benevolent force in the universe.
In my very first speech before the public, I would fess up about the dildoo and the doggy dick. And challenge my opponents to do the same. Just to keep everybody honest, you know what I mean. And thereby guarantee undying interest in myself by the MSM forever. Sure would save a lot of campaign money. Maybe a poor person could run for POTUS in America on my platfom.
Do you have any idea how many folks would actually vote for me? I could carry a political party on this stance alone. One: make them laugh and they are yours. Life is looking kind of grim lately. And Two: everybody is sick to death of hearing about what other people do with their Things. Maybe we could talk about important things? Maybe?
At the very least this would be a great Second City style skit. Don’t even bother telling me this is not a diary. Or it is not funny or too snarky. I warned you not to read it, didn’t I?