We're pretty excited about Jeri's upcoming debut in a California panel of the wives of the presidential candidates. We know she'll walk away with the prize for perkiest titties.
I'm just so proud of my hot wife that I can hardly stand it.
Once we finally have her front and center, America is going to fall in love with her. They haven't had a hot piece of tail in the East Wing since Jackie Kennedy.
No -- not my campaign. I know the political press is trying everything it can to squeeze the last bit of toothpaste from the roll on the story that we parted ways with someone on the campaign staff. Now, they should be telling that story as us clearing the way for a real campaign by taking out folks with no real campaign experience, but nooooooooooooooooooo -- they have to make it a Team-Fred-is-falling-apart tale.
Fuck that. No, I'm more interested in this self-destructive argument over in the Democrat Party over whether to take money from lobbyists. Ooh -- scary lobbyists.
Now, we're not going to go around saying this publicly and all, but Hillary's right: lobbyists are people, too. Hell, some of them are Democrats. Some of them are lobbyists for groups like NRDC and Sierra Club and Public Citizen, who love the kinds of things the Democrats want and hate the kinds of things we want. That money might have residue of marijuana on it, but it sure ain't dirty money.
Me -- I want money, the dirtier the better. There's nothing hotter than getting busy with your much younger wife on a bed littered with dirty money. The dirtier the money, the dirtier the sex. Rebel yell to that.
I'm in Indianapolis, the most boring place I've been since Iowa, to speak at -- what was it again? Midwest Leadership Conference. I can't say as I know of any real leadership going on in Indianapolis, but what the hell -- they've got money, I need money. So I'll do the keynote speech at their queer little conference and smile and slap them on the back and make them feel like real important parts of the process, and Jeri and I will have sex in a pile of checks they're going to write for me.
The only hard part is knowing that FOX "News" now has it out for me and is going to air video of any stumbles I make in my speech. Guess I'll actually have to read it before I get up on stage.
Hunh. So I'm doing better with men than I am with women. I guess it makes sense: I'm tall, my wife is a lot younger and one fine piece of tail, and I play tough leaders on TV and in the movies. We thought my appeal would be that women want me; turns out, it's that men want to be me.
Sure, I'll take that.
And maybe if we shift those Hillary-is-a-lezbo rumors into overdrive, we'll decimate her support among women. Someone call up Ann Coulter: she'll say anything if it gets her on TV.
Wow... what a week.
I had decided to lay low a bit last week, because I knew the Scooter Libby commutation was in the works, and I didn't want uncomfortable questions about my support for the Free Scooter! campaign.
But I didn't know so much shit would hit the fan.
The "news" that I was a mole for Nixon during the Watergate business, that Nixon thought I was "dumb as hell" (but hey, not dumb enough to tape myself hatching criminal plots), that I lobbied for a pro-choice group, and best of all -- that my wife is a bombshell beauty.
That's a lot to throw at me in one week.
But I got to say, that New York Times hit piece about my wife is the best thing that happened. It's most clearly like an attack on me, and I can take the high road, defending my wife's honor, when we respond to it. As long as people focus on the beauty angle, they won't be trying to make her out to be the rightwing Hillary. Hell, if we aim all our fire on the Times attacking my wife based on her looks and not even considering her substance, I can even come out looking like someone the feminists can vote for.
And focusing on that means I can neatly avoid giving too much air time to the Nixon, pro-choice, and Aristide stories.
God I love the New York Times right about now.
Now that everything is in place to get my campaign into offical mode, I wonder what I'll do tonight. I could watch the other side eat its own in the debate tonight. But maybe I'll just pop a Cialis and screw my hot wife instead.
Can an actor and elite insider sell himself to the public as a folksy outsider and become president of the United States? You betcha.
All I had to do was wait for those numb-nuts to make fools of themselves, and
now I get to swoop in as a savior. "Folks, we're a bit down politically right now, but I think we're on the comeback trail," I said at a fundraiser, and everybody there knew what it meant. I am the Great White Hope who will save our party from being represented by a limp-dicked loudmouth, a pretty boy who wears funny underwear, a wannabe maverick who's anything but, and that nutjob that the computer geeks love.
That's right. I'm the Republican Party's only chance. And I get to go home to a hot wife. America is dying to have a fine piece of tail as First Lady.
