As luck would have it, Velveeta was able to obtain various Journal entries last week. These are chocked full of info. I would have posted John Boehners, but the stuff was unreadable; all the pages were wet with salty water. I think they were tears. Alas.

Still, some good stuff here.

Diary:
Interesting day I had. In order to releeve tension that I'm under regarding the pigeons in Ukraine, I decide to ride horse to coast. Once there, I think perhaps I take small boat out onto water - do a bit of fishing or perhaps drill oil with bare hands; what strikes my fancy. I have not a care in the world. But, just a few moments on sea and I bump into land mass. GPS on watch tells me I hit Alaska.

Damn. I stroll around bit, knock on a few doors but no people home. What Americans do all day, work? Third or fourth door after climbing large fence I ring bell. Song on bell play's “Barracuda” and door opens. Very attractive woman answer. Very attractive! She looks angry at first, then she recognize me. She stares into my eyes, then, her pouty little mouth all agape her eyes roam down to my beefy Russian pancakes and starts to gaze lower towards my USSR rocket launcher. I stop her with a strong “Hello” followed by a long whiff of her perfume. Smells like Reindeer meat and nail polish. She invite me inside and she whisper “excuse the mess, Mr.... I mean, President Putin, your Honor.” Some kids in large living room all look at me. Sexy woman, who I now realize is Sarah Palin, starts yelling at them - Go outside and play. NOW! Once they out of house I stride up to her and from behind I say “"Hello Sarah" in my most sexy Brad Pitt voice, "I most glad to meet you.” She seems nervous, says to me, “Oh President! May I offer you something? Coffee or uhm...” I hear her whisper to self “wish these grandkids weren't here today”. I laugh inside. Try to coy and aloof like Brad Pitt I ask, “Perchance is there a Starbucks nearby where we could go and have vodka?” I'm hoping there is not. She looks longingly at me. Her lips shake and again I say, “vodka?” She reaches out her hand to touch my Mother Love Russia Handles squeezing out of my khakis – eyes closed. Just then, front door swings open and some woman with goatee enters. Sarah straighten up and say, “This is Todd”. Woman named Todd shakes my hand firmly – possible lezbian. Invites me to dinner after gushing over yours truly. I look at Sarah in the eyes and firmly decline. Some other time perhaps. I must go tend to my people. Both women hug me very hard. Sarah whispers in ear, “Todd is driving his snow machine all day on Sunday”. Not sure what that mean. But I will return Sunday.

**************

Dearest Diary,
You will NEVER believe what happened today! President Valimer Putin showed up at our front door!!!! He scaled the fence, shirtless, and rang the bell like he was a fan or somethin'. I couldn't believe it!! (At first I thought it was one of those fruity libs, but they are too weak to scale that large fence). As gosh darn luck would have it, the grandkids and Bristol were all here at the 8 bedroom cabin. UGGGHH! Then, Toddd had to show up; stained with blood and oil from doing God knows whatever he does during the day. Why, Jesus, WHY? Diary, let me write to you in our secret code in case this falls into enemy hands, no one will know:

Ble Blan blat bloccupies bly bleams blame blover blo Blaska blinto bly blouse!! Ble's BLOOO BLEXY!! Bland BLANLY!! Bland BLEAMY!!! Ohhhhhh! Blis bleyes blook blight blew ble!

Oh please let him return! Please Jesus. Just this once! Gosh, the man runs a country twice as large as the USA and doesn't wear “mom jeans” like our lam-o leader. (sigh) I'm putting a poster of him on my wall above the bed; Todd be damned.

******************

Dearest Diary,

I don't know what's wrong with me. I've tried many distractions, including Mother's homemade biscuits and jam; but I cannot get Vladimir Putin off mah brain. Why, I've been so distracted that yesterday when the Senate Mail boy came by my office to deliver some correspondence he found me staring into space that he had to shake mah shoulders to and fro and yell, “Senator! Senator Graham!” over and over until I awoke from a stupor. Dearest Diary, why does V. Putin turn mah brain into noodles? I have a confession; and it feels me with such shame. This did indeed happen: a mere three days ago, whilst traveling from the Senate to mah abode, the driver was stopped at a red-light when I glanced out of the window and saw an immigrant loading plastic mannequins of the type seen in clothing stores, into a van. I hurriedly bade the driver stop and fetch one of the mannequins; the tall one in green work britches and plaid shirt. I made up some lie, I can not even remember what the lie was, something about an oddball gift for a niece or target practice. Yes, that was it. Target practice. Arriving at mah home I quickly escorted the large plastic man upstairs to my boudoir and drew the curtains and …. I removed the plaid shirt so that he was shirtless. Oh Diary! I must have gone into some sort of trance (maybe I've been poisoned by an Islamist). I'd only meant to have tea and cookies with the mannequin which I was innocently calling Vlad. As we sat at the table chit-chatting about this and that, I was laughing at all his jokes. Suddenly, and without warning, the table and chairs starting spinning round and round and before I knew it I was thrown all cattywampus about the room! I grabbed onto Vlad by his waist for protection and ….. and.... NO! This is something so deep and dark that I dare not tell a soul! I'll take this to my grave. I'm not proud of what happened next.... we fell upon the bed and.... I cannot go on. I am mortified! Yet, I long to be back at home in his strong plastic arms. I am inconsolable!

Diary, I must continue mah strong diatribe against Obama; calling him weak and indecisive and continuing to remind people about Benghazi. If I do this perhaps no one will question what I may do behind closed doors with my Vlad. My strong, taunt, teasing Sir Vlad. This will deflect people from finding out about this obsession. NO! Not an obsession. Well, I don't know what it is. Oh dear Lordy! What is wrong with me? I must make a note to take a rifle to CPAC and wave it around. What a great idea, this will make me appear even stronger, yes? I'll tell Mitch about the idea.

Also, I wonder where I can purchase some leather chaps and a crop for Vlad?

************

Log March 4
Today I was so strong and decisive; a great leader! I plainly spelled out how weak Obama is compared to the great leadership of Vladimir Putin. Now that is a leader! A real decider! The kind of leader that I would have been – had I been elected in back in '08. Anyway, where was I... oh yes, I called Barack “feckless” on FOX TV. I love that word and hope to bring it back. Maybe all the kids will soon use it. They'll post headlines on their Wall Twit thingy and say “ol whats-his-name sure is feckless!” Yep. Feckless. Where was I? Oh yes, Today I went on Fox News and really gave it to him! I spelled out how weak and feckless Obama is. Hey! Feckless, what a great word; should it be brought back to the English vernacular. Anywho. I remember when Obama ridiculed Mitt in one of the debates when Mitt said that Russia would be one of our biggest foes. And now look. Mitt (and me) are right and the President is a namby-pamby 90 pound weakling. Heck, he should really let Michelle fight his fights. Oh snicker, I amuse myself. Where was I? Oh yes. On the TV I showed my strong leadership and I how quick witted and smart I am. Why, I used the word “feckless” which I haven't heard anyone use in quite a while. I pointed out that if you go back and look at the first meeting between Obama and Putin that it's obvious by the way that Putin looks at the President that he doesn't respect him. Doesn't respect him one bit.

Oh, what a great leader I am. Why wasn't I elected? Note to self: use the word “feckless” more.

Log March 6
Some people have the audacity to say that I, me, Senator-almost-President John McCain is a traitor! Sure, it was only some feckless kid on that TV show called MSNBC. But to be called a traitor!? If I were President I'd have him thrown into Guantanamo Bay! Let's see the feckless little girly-lib deal with that! I'm a HERO! I was a POW for God's sake! For anyone to think that I'm a traitor is just horse-pucky! Obama is a weakling that bows to other leaders while Mr. Putin walks around Russia without a shirt. If I had been elected I wouldn't even own a shirt.

I wonder why no one uses "horse-pucky" anymore? I should bring it back. The kids will love it.

************

Dear Diary,

Sunday came and went with no sign of Puttie. Gosh darn, I'd sent Todd and the grandkids to Valdez telling them there was an amusement park set up there. (sigh).

Well, I have my poster. Ya know, I wonder were I could find a mannequin? Just curious.