By Colonel Colonel
Dear Diary...


MONDAY: Started the week off by peeking in at the rehearsal for the upcoming Democratic Candidates Debate. It started off smoothly enough- Barack Obama walked to his podium and announced “My name is Barack Obama, and I’m not Hillary!”

Then John Edwards walked to his podium, flashed a blinding smile, and said “My name is John Edwards, and I’m not Hillary!”

Then Hillary Clinton strode quickly onto the stage, put her hands on her hips, and yelled “I am Hillary, and these two are ganging up on me!” and stormed off the stage.

Off to stage left there was a sudden scuffling and a short little guy popped out from behind the curtains, shrieking “Impeach George Bush! Impeach Dick Cheney!” He ran over to a podium marked “Dennis”, but it was taller than he was and that’s the last I saw of him.

John Edwards turned back to glare at Barack Obama. “I wasn’t Hillary before you weren’t Hillary!” he declared hotly.

“That’s a lie!” Barack retorted. “I haven’t been Hillary much longer than you haven’t been Hillary!”

Then Hillary walked back in and hit Barack over the head with a folding metal chair.

I left- obviously nobody there needed my help.


TUESDAY: Satan called and asked me if I’d seen the Washington Post this morning. He sounded annoyed when I said I hadn’t, so I went down to the corner store and bought a paper. There it was, a big headline, right on the front page. I almost gagged on my coffee-

RON PAUL FILES BILL TO PRIVATIZE HELL
Congressman Says Satan’s Work to be Outsourced to China.

Well excuuuuuse-fucking-me! He can’t do that. We have contracts. And a good damned union (so to speak). Shit. I suppose that means I’ll have to try to get hold of this Paul guy again. Fucker won’t take my calls- he and Kucinich are the only two candidates we haven’t been able to negotiate contracts with. Paul told me last time I called him to “go to Hell” (gee, that’s original) and Satan won’t let me call Kucinich- he says he doesn’t want our image tarnished by dealing with “that nutburger”.

I glanced at the newspaper headline again and could feel steam coming out my ears. You can’t outsource Hell like we’re some fucking Wal*Mart commodity that you can order from the lowest bidder! That’s insulting. That’s not to say that the Chinese wouldn’t be good at it- but it’s the government’s job to do Satan’s work on earth, and I think we’re doing mighty fine work.


WEDNESDAY: Still can’t get Ron Paul to take my calls, so I decided to get out of town for a few days, and went to see the Pope. Most people think the Pope and I don’t talk, what with being on opposite sides of the Good/Evil thing and all, but there are always issues to discuss. I won’t pretend that the old Pope and I were exactly friends, but we got along. He served me tea and I tried not to leave scorch marks on his sofa.

I’d not met the new Pope yet, and I wanted to make a good impression, so I polished my hooves and shined my horns, and when I walked in I smiled and called out “Hey, Pope, great to finally meet you!”

The old bastard jumped to his feet, yelled, “Begone, foul fiend of Hell!” and set a pair of rottweilers named Herman and Adolf loose on me.

So there I am, hanging 10 feet off the ground, clinging to the Papal curtains with these two rabid, slathering dogs leaping at my hooves and then the Pope starts throwing teacups at my head. He may not look it, but the old man’s still got a good arm.

Note to self: I’m not being paid nearly enough to put up with this kind of bullshit.


THURSDAY: What a week. Dick called and asked if wanted to go quail hunting with him, but I passed. I think I’m going to leave town early and spend the weekend hanging out with Pervez in Pakistan. Now there’s a man who knows how to follow good advice.
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