What the fuck does an asshole need to do to get fired by the American people?
Okay, first line of my diary, and already we confront the need for an f-bomb warning. If strong language offends you, fuck off and die. Whatever lily white illusion of respectability and civility you might have about the governance of these United States is pathetic. “Sad”, as my persona would put it, but if you take my persona seriously, you, my friend, are the chief target of my hearty wish that the whole lot of you idiots fuck off and die.
I had to choose D or R when I started this little scheme to avoid jail, and there were many reasons to choose R over D for this scam, but thank Jesus I made the right choice. I didn’t think I'd get past the first primary. The whole idea was to play Alzheimery to throw a wrench in the way of the prosecutors, and Trump for President sure seemed crazy enough to convince anyone that I was someone who needed custodial care, as opposed to some criminal mastermind. I gave this whole gig six months, max, before I would need to do something even more desperate to convince people I had dementia. I was practicing drooling, which is not as easy to do convincingly as you might imagine. Try it sometime.
The point is, three fucking years later, and I still have to keep up the demented guy in the Oval Office schtick. It wears. It would be completely fucking unbearable, I would have had to be carted off to the loony bin years ago, had I made the fatal mistake of choosing to play D for this scam. I would have had to pretend to piety, to belief in the American Dream, to being a competent Chief Executive, yada, yada, yada. Six months I might have been able to keep it up, but three years? Thank fucking Jesus for the Republican Party! A guy can play full on as a demented id monster, and it is barely noticeable among one’s peers.
At any rate, about that f-bomb warning. While I am starting this diary as a way to keep my sanity, it also is going to be a source of income in the future, so I figure I have to play along with some of the conventions. That’s the thing, this nation of putzes has not let its sensibility in literature sink nearly as low and become nearly as artificial as its sensibility for politics. I can’t play D because the audience expects a straight arrow in that role, but the same public just eats up unreliable narrators. As an author I can make whatever swerves towards rational and respectable behavior required so that this turkey will sell at some point in the future, after I’m safely out of office and pardoned, and still not compromise my essential lack of integrity.
Which brings us back to that daily task at which your author unexpectedly has to labor — getting fired by the fucking American people.
You might think that this would be easy. After all, I just got through doing about the best job imaginable — if I say so myself! — of lowering our standing in, and generally fucking with, the G7, one of the supposed pillars of what is imagined to be the world order. But I have found through my experience thus far in this novel experiment, that merely blowing up something that looked like a solid norm, something that seemed to be a revered and unquestioned part of the consensus, isn’t enough to get you kicked out for bad behavior. Sadly, the Oval Office is a lot harder to get expelled from than any prep school. Prep schools still have standards!
You have to understand the parameters I have to work within. I can’t literally swing from a chandelier, or drool into Merkle’s water glass (Jesus, much as I would like to, and I have practiced!), in order to get fired. I have to keep it believable. Everybody thinks they know dementia, but what they know that isn’t so is that dementia means, categorically, that a person thinks it’s 1987 and doesn’t recognize their own children. I have a public history that is simply not compatible with my having dementia as the public wrongly conceives it. And I have a future mapped out for after I finally get myself fired and can stop living this lie, that is not compatible with that concept of dementia. I plan to live large, definitely not in custodial care.
Sure, I didn’t think this through in all of its ramifications. So sue me. I never thought I would get anywhere in running for office. It was just an obviously demented thing to do at first. But id monster with dementia hit a chord with the American electorate, and I started winning. Who knew? Each stage of winning, though, made it less and less plausible to people that I could possibly be demented. I can get through a speech, and no matter how over the top I tried at making it obvious that the speaker was many, many cards short of a full deck, at the end of the day, I could get through a speech, therefore — not demented! And the speeches worked, I won elections. Really not demented!
Fate has put me in in this odd place where I have to educate the American people sufficiently on what actual dementia looks like, that they will be sufficiently frightened by my pretend dementia to get my sorry ass out of the Oval Office. That’s not what I signed up for. I started this gig just to go Vincent “the Chin” Gigante on prosecutors closing in on my money-laundering racket. Easy, I thought. Hah! Now I find myself having to educate the fucking American people about dementia. Not easy! I really don’t think of myself as a genius. That nonsense is part of my schtick. But this task I unwittingly set for myself when I came down that escalator (Jesus, America, didn’t that alone tip you off that I was at least playing fucking nuts?!) will take a genuine fucking genius to pull off.
That’s what this diary will be about. My stab at fucking genius.
Tomorrow, Korea and nukes! Demented id monster tackles America’s long-standing repressed guilt over using nukes. What could go wrong?