Oh, Dear Diary,
Those canaille are at it again, you know, those gosh-darn newspapers, ripping into me as if I were some lowly, like, public servant.
All because I didn’t, like, fill out a silly form.
You know, the one about where my money, you know, comes from.
Like, as if anyone, you know, has to ask where a Kennedy gets her money!
We’re rich!
So there!
‘Nuff said, like.
Do they think a Kennedy has to grovel for money, like, you know, Hilary or Bill Clinton?
Okay, so I like worked for the schools and they’re public and everyone else filled out these, you know, silly disclosure forms.
Fine for them!
But I’m not them, like.
They’re different.
They are public servants. SERVANTS! I am not a servant. They paid me, sort of, a dollar a year. I didn’t like need the money. They needed me. They needed my name. I’m a Kennedy!
Okay, dear diary, might as well, like, out with it: America has no royalty.
That’s why they need us Kennedys. We are their kings and queens and princes and princesses.
I myself am a princess, if they only knew.
Like, other people need salaries and Social Security.
Do I need Social Security?
No way!
I’m filthy rich.
I don’t fill out their like stinking forms!
As if a Kennedy has to like tell anyone how she gets her money.
I mean, I’m not some, you know, lowlife.
Hilary discloses. I dispose.
Drop me a line at joelthurtell(at)gmail.com
