DR Jill's Diary

There's a lot going on dear diary, and I'll be as concise as I can, but the truth is, as well as a diary, your the unofficial record of POTUS Joe's administration. So it says on the unofficial advance I got for publication. I know this is a diary, and not intended for publication, not now, but in the event something changes I have this contingency deal set up, and an unofficial contingency advance already banked. Well, not banks because you know, 'kablooey' coming. Can't talk about the reset Diary, even to you. Not yet.

So the first thing is at breakfast starts pounding his fist on the table and making strangling noise, and it turns out he's writing a speech but he's having trouble pronouncing the Sumerian names of the demons he's invoking. "What the Hell is going on here, Hunter? Is this another one of your scams to get the Vanuatu bank codes out of POTUS Joe?

I'm sure we talked about it earlier diary and you already know, Vanuatu is an south pacific Island famous for it's convenient banking facilities, and coconuts I think. Hunter's Chinese friends say it's perfectly safe, not run by greasers or spigs but by a special branch of the Chinese government. I asked Mister McG at CIA about it and he said it was the "Chinese Ministry of Kidney Snafflers," whatever that means. With a trained CIA officer it is nearly impossible to tell if they're joking without special equipment.

Well after breakfast I was catching some houseflies in the Trotsky reception room when I felt the made tugging at the silk sleeve of my kimono and pointing to the hall door where I could see POTUS Joe, poking his finger at the full length mirror and apparently practicing "his speech."

We both know diary that if POTUS Joe wrote a speech, that could only be you-know-who, a demon we called "Corn Pop." As POTUS Joe says, "Corn Pop is a bad dude." We don't say his real name obviously, since he's liable to turn up because "naming calls."

By the time I got down the call to Joe and the mirror, he was finishing his speech, saying people who opposed his administration "were not Americans at all but a secret society of cultists descended from a band of bigoted turkey raping pilgrims." Diary I know my husband, he's a lot of things but he's not Corn Pop. Corn Pop was clearly in possession of POTUS Joe, who turned to me and said: "Trust the plan."

Guess who walked in diary! Moose=shell Obama, that's the last thing I need, a linebacker tranny looking over my shoulder while I try to convince Pop Tart to vacate Joe's brain. Well just goes to show diary, you shouldn't judge people by the penises under their skirts but by the names in their address books. That's a metaphor or a simile or something diary, it's literary, remember our advance?

Unofficial, but still.

To cut this digression short diary, the Moosicle gave me the name of the Haitian exorcist which she got from Hilldawg, and who Hilldawg uses if there ever a serious problem with unwanted entities in possession. Believe me, it happens to dope fiends all the time, ask Hunter.

I told Cleveland the SS agent to have Joe checked out by the WH physician so Ms. Muscles and I could could dish. Well, she said Barry had been very depressed lately because people were talking about the-anti Christ and when the anti-Christ was coming, you see Bathouse Barry was absolutely certain HE was the anti Christ and was angry and disappointed others could see it.

"Sometimes he's a total fag," said Michelle. "I bet Joe can be a handful too, even though he's a dement now, with no more cognitive capacity than a chicken." It's true diary, but it still hurts to have people say it. Hunter said I should have asker if she still shaved her legs with Husquavarna, whatever that means, but you know me diary, "always take the highroad." I just smiled and said, "I don't know what but I've developed a splitting headache, do you mind if we visit another time? " and grabbed her knee-sized elbow and walked her to the door, "maybe we could take a mud bath next time," I said as she walked away. I was thinking of big fat black hippos, but I don't thing she 'got it' 'cause she never turned around, but away the huge muscles of her delts writhed like pythons – so I think it landed. Who's keeping score?

That's all the diary we have time for now diary. The Haitian says with a powerful angels the only known cure is his ritual, which McG at CIA says we have no choice but to do, even if it means eating Tasmanian cave bat shit, which it does, in the final part of the ritual.

"Is that really necessary? Corn Pop is a bad dude, can't he protect us?" No. Nothing can, except the ritual of an accredited Haitian Bofor, and 2 oz or fresh Malaysian cave bat excrement.

It's not easy following the left hand path, believe me. See you tomorrow!

Dr. Jill says, "Stay Safe."