Dammit, 41 days to go and now the damned ekonomie is gettin as bad as Irack before the serge. This job is harder than it was to get a 'C' at Yale. I'm gettin stuck with the whole thing and Dad won't even take my calls anymore, That's OK, I call a higher authority. I call Paulson. Let him take the heat. I gotta explain the ekonomie on TV tonite and what the hell am I gonna say? It's in the toilet is what it is, but I kan't tell the American peeple that! I got to tell them that Osama Bin Laden had most of Al Quaeda's money tied up in sub prime loans and now he's belly up in a cave in Packystan. That's how we did it. We bankrupted the a-hole. Fucking brilliant, right? Gonna tell them that Goldman Sacks sold him a shit load of AIG stock and his pension is under water. Only way to do it. Laura didn't let me in the bedroom last night. Still sleeping in the Lincoln bedroom, which smells like the library at Yale, which I went to once.
If I woulda know this job was this hard, I woulda never let Karl fix the first one. That's who did it! The little pink Rover. I was happy managing a baseball team and perfectin' my Texas accent, and wearing cowboy boots with suits. I liked that. That was the life. Four years of being sober, sort of, really sucks.
Well, we'll see if they bite on the Bin laden thing. Shit, they bit on everything else,
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