September 21, 2016
What a week it has been for everyone, especially Baby DonDon. And, really, what else matters? MY LIFE MATTERS.
Did I predict the terror attacks? You know I did. Did I know the Chelsea explosion was a bomb before the police said so? Of course I did. Had I gone into journalism, I’d be drowning in Pulitzers.
And how did my knowing that help people? By convincing some of the slower ones that I should be president. It helped ME.
Secretly—and I can tell you, my loyal followers, but this can go no further—I am happy about the attacks. (Yes, Baby DonDon! Yes, Baby DonDon!) Now, I’m glad no one was badly hurt. An attack without deaths is my political wet dream. It makes my case without making me feel guilty about being so happy.
That a bomb went off in Manhattan, the media capital of the world, was just too perfect. Now here’s what we need: an attack or two a week until the election. (Okay, maybe two is greedy. I’ll take one a week in a swing state.) It would be nice if we had more serious injuries, though, especially if the injured could be Independent voters. And when entering the hospital on gurneys, they could tell the press, “Now I’m for Trump.”
So if you know any pissed-off Muslims—no, I can’t say that, I can’t say that. I can think it but not say it. Well, don’t report them until after the election. There, I feel better.
Did you see what that idiot Libertarian candidate Gary Johnson said? That no one was injured in the Chelsea bombing. I guess the only people injured were in Aleppo. That guy has definitely smoked too much pot, definitely.
Me, I never do drugs and I never drink. Yeah, I know. You thought different. Go figure. Some people only have no shame when they’re plastered. Me, I’m that way all the time.