Dear Diary: Thirty-seven months! Wowee!
What can I do with 37 months?
Ask me what I CAN’T do with three years and a month.
No more Monny to bother me.
Darn that judge, though. He could have put her out of my way for 40 months or maybe longer.
No more Monica to embarrass me at the office.
Well, officessss.
Got my office in Washington, D.C., got my House Judiciary office where I’m pretty much the king, and got my office in Detroit and oops! Almost forgot, my Downriver district office in whatchamacallit. Trenton!
No more pistol-packin’ Mon to scare the kiddies.
Trenton,…hmmm.
Where IS Trenton?
I keep hearing about Trenton.
Is Trenton in my district?
Gosh-darn, I’ll have to look it up.
Map, map, map.
I’ve got it!
Have an aide run over to the United States Geological Survey and get me a map showing where Trenton is.
A FREE map.
I know! Have an aide run over to USGS when she takes me to lunch.
Lunch, lunch, lunch. Where should I have lunch?
Better yet, who should I have PAY for lunch?
Yesterday was not so good. I was at lunch and had a credit card in my pocket. That’s a no-no. Hard palming the bill off on my staffers, but I managed it. They didn’t dare NOT pay for me.
I got them their jobs.
Where else could they work?
But I need a staffer to get me a map. Maybe two staffers could do it, one to drive in her car and the other to run into USGS and get my freebie taxpayer-paid map.
They get paid the same.
By the taxpayers.
Nothing like having federally-paid lackeys.
It’s one of the neat things about elected office. You get to hire people and order them around on your personal business.
Not the Ethics Committee.
Not even the newspapers.
Ain’t that neat?
Now, let’s see, where was I?
Oh yes, Monny’s doing hard time.
For her.
It’s easy time for me. No more bar fights. No more brandishing a pistol at our kid. No more flunking the Michigan bar exam.
How many times?
Wowee! Four times I had to get a staffer to drive her over to sit for that test.
Flat on her face four times.
No more tearing the house up and having to live with friends.
Thirty-seven months of sheer bliss!
Hmmm.
Wonder if I’ll have to visit her in stir?
What would be the RIGHT thing to do?
Stop at Milan or whatever federal dungeon they put her in and say “hello,” I guess.
Hmmm.
What if they put her in some pen that’s too far to visit?
Too far even for my federally-paid staffers to drive me in their own cars and paying for the gas themselves, although they’re paid just the same by the federal check-writers.
Would it be nice not to visit Monny in the hoosegow?
Nice?
Nice for me!
Send her to Alaska! Guam!
Hey, don’t they have a federal hoosegow in Bagram?
How about one of those CIA secret lockups?
If it’s SECRET, I won’t know where she is.
Then, how can I go see her?
