We awake before the sun is up. I drank way to much Moet Chandon last night, and my head is pounding, my throat is sore. I must have been screaming, again. I just hope I didn’t make a fool of myself, running around naked and ranting insanely to a crowded room. My rants never go far and eventually end up with me curled in the fetal position in the corner of the ballroom, weeping. There is no telling what I’ll do during these black tie fundraisers.

Barry is still asleep. Once again, we’ve slept in the same bed. He must have been as drunk as me. No. We aren’t having an affair, I’m not his type, when he’s not with his wife, Michelle – who he fondly calls “Button Head” – he’s with some 14-year-old super model. Mostly he goes for the ones from South America.

I get up and phone the hotel’s private valet to alert the chef for our breakfast. The usual for Barry: 3 egg whites with smoked Salmon, Fresh fruit and yogurt, and Veuve de Vernay & Orange Juice. For me: A shitake mushroom omelet with applewood smoked salmon, Biscuits and a Bloody Mary with a shot of 40-year-old Glenfiddich. Of course we’ll need plenty of coffee and some painkillers for our headache.

Later in the day, we are off to Indiana. Barry has to make a speech before we fly to Hawaii. While he gets the masses riled up – little do they know he’s taken a hit of X before speaking to them – I gather the things we’ll need for breaking into the Hawaii Division of Records.

Our goal, steal the phony birth certificate that was made in haste several years ago. If this lawsuit by that Philly dude - Berg - pans out, then people will find out that Barry was actually born in Kenya, making him ineligible for the Presidency. Soon, they’ll piece together the entire plot: Take control of the US Government, convert to Socialism, then Communism, then just turn what’s left over to Al-Queda.

Here’s my list of supplies: Climbing harnesses, rope and biners for the scale down from the rooftop, tools include a small hammer, a small but sturdy pry bar, 2 flashlights, and lock picks, 6 bottles of Moet, an 86 year old single malt, 4 tabs of Blue Dragon acid and a vile of morphine, just for good measure. I also pack Barry’s dark charcoal Yves Saint Laurent Suit ($9,075) and his Ferragamo Leather shoes ($2,900) and his new Franck Muller watch ($16,000) for the partying we’ll do afterwards. For me, I’ll stay more casual in my haut couture Nicolas Ghesquiere gown ($30,000), Prada shoes ($4,600) and Prenza Schouler handbag ($2,995). The DNC and the American people have been good to us!


We take the plane to Hawaii and we are all set. I tell Barry the plans and he seems calm and cool, though it’s hard to tell since he’s winding down from the Ecstasy and smoking a joint for the ride. I hate flying, so I hit the booze and Xanax to calm my nerves.

I wake up. What happened? Did we do the break-in? Was it a success? I look over at the bed. Barry is there with three models, two women and a man. Bottles are all over the room, Secret Service agents doze in chairs.

I get up and look for a paper – any clue at to what and where – I find one. DAMN! It’s Friday! Damn Barry and his partying! We never broke into the Courthouse to get the records! Dean will be pissed! He’ll probably cut our allowance.

But wait, what’s this little blurb in the back of the paper?



Lucky! Saved again!