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.
Clearly the press parasites aren't going to stop sucking blood until I get out there and defend my wife. They love theatre like that.
Well, so I've decided to take that role. I'm debuting on a friendly stage, The National Review, and I'm saying she's not really a Hillary, she's just doing things I've asked her to do. That way, she looks more like a traditional conservative wifey.
This whole thing will turn back my way. Everything does eventually.
OK, so maybe I'm not upset after all about that Post piece about Jeri's less than stellar life before she met me. I've been afraid of her becoming the Republican Hillary. But this latest piece makes her out to be the Republican Hillary, just incompetent.
Which is just how Republican voters like their women: mouthy, loud, and not that bright.
The Washington Post sure is trying to call an inch a mile: this story about Iowa Republicans not being thrilled about their candidates is all stretched out from some thin evidence.
The key thing to note about that story is that I'm not in the race yet. And I'm already polling in a tie for second behind Miss Romney, who's in the lead just because she's been spending so much money there.
No wonder they're not thrilled. They're not thrilled because the only thrilling candidate isn't officially a candidate yet. And besides, none of this stuff starts to matter until next January, for cryin' out loud. That's plenty of time for me to sex them up right.
The only thing I'm not thrilled about these days is the media elite's big attack on my wife. And the Post just continued the attack with this backhanded bit insinuating my wife never made a name for herself until after she met me. I don't know what gave them that idea, other than the facts they cite.
Folks, don't listen to the naysayers trying to shit all over the $3 million I raised for my soon-to-be campaign. I can ramp that number up any time I want. Thing is, I've been the front runner so long that I just need to make the other guys take me a little bit less seriously -- let their guard down, before I come in force and gobble up all the money.
Money or not, I'm still pretty much in the lead. Even in Iowa, where Miss Romney has been spending so much of her own money, I've been surging ahead of Limpiani and McNuts.
As soon as Jeri lets me, I'm going to own this race.
Dammit, people, I was having a good time in Texas, and now come to find out they're reporting not just that fundraising may be a bit under the high bar we set, not just that we had some staffing realignments and adjustments -- but that Jeri is behind the scenes governing everything as a "powerhouse."
I am not looking forward to her becoming the new Hillary. If the Democrats start generating publicity about her as this iron fist in a sexy velvet glove who is a Republican warrior behind the scenes -- well, that's just not going to help us at all. Republican voters like their women in the church pews, not the government power centers.
Oh -- what am I worrying about? The Democrats don't have the balls to do anything like that. Take it from me: they don't have any balls at all.
Folks, I do feel your pain from time to time. For instance, the news that they just won't be lifting the rules on gels and liquids in carry-ons any time soon.
Jeri and I have some, shall we say, personal gel products that we would prefer to have in our carry-on bags, just in case we get in a blue pill kind of mood for our in-flight entertainment, but we're not interested in putting them in baggies and dangling them in front of some barely-graduated-from-high-school airport screener.
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.
For Chrissakes, do I have to sit down and lecture you like a child being taken to the woodshed? If you can't control idiots like that gal who writes the stupid "Ron Paul eats hot dogs!" excuse for a political column in the Post, then you just don't belong on Team Thompson.
If we let stories like this get out about Jeri, the other side is going to make her the Republican Hillary. The only thing that's gotten in the way of that so far is that Jeri is smoking hot and so much younger than me. But some of that's going to go away now that she's getting more conservative with her look.
If you people can't keep dumbasses like that Post gal under control, you're definitely not going to be able to handle the real press. I hired you idiots so I wouldn't have to think of things like this. And you know what happens when I have to think!
Look, someone get Ann Coulter to say something insane so we can get the spotlight moved, OK? And pour me a whisky while you're at it.
Big things happening the week of July 4 -- probably won't have any time to record anything that week. But I know I'll have lots to share in the weeks to come.
People ask me how I do it all. The secret is making time for me. It's hard with a hectic campaign schedule (or whatever we call it before it's officially a campaign), but I definitely try to make it a ritual to cuddle up with Jeri at night with some Barbra Streisand playing softly in the background.
So there's this loony out there who is trying to be like Larry Flynt, bu
t cheaper and with less appeal to a broad audience of horny men: some religious nut who is offering $100 for proof that I'm an active member of the Church of Christ.
And this is coming on the heels of that pseduo-religious political hack James Dobson questioning my faith -- which is his way of questioning whether the religious conservative grassroots should back me, but doing it supposedly in the name of the Lord.
And I have one simple answer: Jeri. This stone cold fox is actually my wife. That's all the proof I need that there is a God in Heaven.
And she takes me to Heaven every single night, Dobson. Sex: look into it. It might make you less uptight.
