Dear Diary,

Karl Rove says I might have brain damage. Puh-leeze. I was going to re-learn the alphabet anyway!
By the way, Karl: Step off. Those glasses are my swag, yo.
First act as President: Minimum wage to $25. Upside: more money for my constituents. Downside: price of large fries now nine bucks. Call Krugman.
Seeking the trifecta: To disagree with me is sexist. Also ageist. (I invented that word in college. People don’t know, but I did.) How can I make attacking me racist, too? Bill made himself the first black/gay/female President, and he’s the whitest hillbilly I know. There has to be a way I can claim to be African-American. A couple years back, that thing with the accent didn’t work. Note to self: Put this on the list to ask about at our bi-annual conjugal visit.
Jealousy Department: If I were as pretty as Debbie Wasserman Schulz, I’d quit politics to be a runway model. Swoon! Hastage noseriously
Give me a break! When George W. Bush ran, the public understood we had a right to know his grades and his military record and his inseam from three decades ago. Now they’re whining to know whether I have brain damage from a mysterious, never-described injury that hospitalized me for an undisclosed period of time while I was the third-most powerful individual in the world! Don’t they understand the difference? Thank goodness the press is doing its job.
Re that "attack me and you’re racist" thing above: Scratch that. Just call head of CBS News. I think he’s married to a staffer.
Thought question: When I’m planning state dinners, should I offer a selection of hookah flavors, or just give the same thing to everybody? Me, I can never decide between peach and berry.
High-larious thing happened at Denny’s today. I ordered that delicious breakfast steak and eggs (senior discount–I’ve earned it). I ordered the steak extra rare but they brought it out medium. The waitress offered to have them do it over, but I said, "At this point, what difference does it make?" Big laughs. Huma spit her coffee-with-Stevia right out her nose!
What are the upsides and downsides of starting a pregnancy rumor?
Am I too old to run for President? What a ridiculous question. Not only do I understand the kids today, I live like them. Why, just the other night my man DJ Foggee Boddum got me the hookup, a bag of pure, sweet molly (you can’t press the purest shiz-nit into a pill, yo) at a rave down in the Village. Do you think I was out of control? Helz to the no-oo! Molly makes me talk like the craziest playa, but my homeez on Cap-It-All Hilz know when I’m bein’ all real, and when it’s the party talkin’.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, Ima pour out a 40 for the loozah suckaz comin’ up in the primareez.
Peace out,
The Super-Top-Secret, Extra-Personal Campaign Diary of Hillary Rodham Clinton is stolen each week by Lari Vine, the nom de guerre of an obscure playwright and screenwriter living in Washington DC. This diary is made possible by a grant from CBS News, when they’re not redefining the very notion of honesty and integrity. Not really, but how cool would that be?
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