2.5 Presidential Endorsements

Title: 2.5 Presidential Endorsements

Please access my iCloud if necessary to publish this post now, my friends. Please share this for me with the entire world, both houses of Congress, the Supreme Court, the United Nations, all sympathetic world leaders, all reputable national and foreign presses, etc.

Here is my latest blog post. I once challenged my darling Dr. Mayim Bialik, my darling Dr. James Franco, and my darling Dr. Brandon Boyd to a game of (original) Star Wars Trivial Pursuit. Today's blog post is even better than that would be.

Iran. My darling Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu, please comfort your people. No one can drop a nuclear weapon on Israel without destroying sites holy to Islam.

And while I am on the topic of Muslim menfolk, please, Religious Right, stop racially profiling them. I am single-handedly liberating all of their womenfolk, and they are still willing to die to save me. Welcome to the 21st century.

USA. I would like to take a minute right now to endorse a few people running for president in the USA in 2016.

First of all, I will never say a bad word about my darling Senator Bernie Sanders. I even think he would make a great president. When my darling BFF Ms. Syniva "SynSyn" Whitney was still at Bryn Mawr University, she was a registered member of the Socialist Party. We are that liberal in my family of loved ones.

But my darling Secretary Hillary Clinton is an old friend of mine. She was one of my earliest supporters and even took off her black pantsuit and put on a red skirt suit to show support for me in 2009.

Until she resigned, just like most of my supporters in Obama's cabinet from my darling Secretary Leon Panetta to my darling Director Kathleen Sibelius, she was my Secretary of State the same way my darling Secretary John Kerry was Already-Impeached Obama's.

If she had won over Obama in 2008, I never would have been raped. But she came in third in ABSOLUTELY EVIL Iowa (who has yet to take Step 1 necessary for absolution and forgiveness from me). Right about now, how many people are thinking it is time for a woman to be president?

Yet, even if I were choosing to endorse my darling Senator Sanders instead, I would still deliver this following essay. No, I am no Samantha. But I am also not Charlotte. I am a Carrie Bradshaw. I am even married to my dream man at the end of the show.

We are Human

I was still an undergrad at the University of Texas at Dallas when the Lewinsky scandal broke. My best friend Syniva and I had the same reaction. We honestly said, "You go, girl."

It is not like she was a sex icon like my darling late Marilyn Monroe which is the type of woman a president can usually get on the side. She was a White House intern much like me, and she bagged a president.

Hell, even I flirted with married men in my 20s. In my 30s I seduced my husband away from his fourteen-year girlfriend who had borne him two children. My husband always took all the blame for his leaving my darling Ms. Vanessa Paradis.

He wooed me for six months before I was willing to start a relationship with him in Jan2010 when I finally gave in, but it takes two to tango. Trust me; I tango.

My darling Ms. Monica Lewinsky was young, voluptuous, beautiful, intelligent, and empowered. Even I would have dated her in the 90s, and for the record I believe she has only gotten better looking. Sorry, Monica, my dance card is full right now.

My darling President Bill Clinton is just a man. We are all human.

I know my darling President and Secretary Clinton's marriage is still sacred because my own husband has a tall, leggy, blonde mistress half his age and because we have never been more in love.

If the mortal human heart were not such a complicated master, we would not have half of the art, film, nor literature we have in this world. You can ask my darling LightFoot about complicated human love showing up in tenets of our culture. Yes, even I have a Royal Consort.

If my darling Secretary Clinton wins the White House, I hope she has cute male interns. We are all only human. How many wives did my darling Mr. Donald Trump leave for younger women?

All of us, not just Hillary, Syniva, Monica, Melania, and I, are beautiful, intelligent, empowered, ambitious, and successful women. And they are just men. How could we blame them? We are all human.

QED

I wrote this essay not just to level my darling presidential candidate Hillary Clinton's playing field, but also with the hopes of taking the scarlet letter off of my darling Ms. Monica Lewinsky at last. We take care of our own.

Considering how socially liberal I am, why do I get along with Republicans so well? There are so many reasons. I hate big government. We share most foreign policy stances. I am holy in all of their religions. My fiscal policy is so conservative I would privatize the Federal Reserve if I could. (My 24Feb2015 blog post contains my global economy policy.) We all hate the Affordable Care Act.

That said, I do officially endorse my darling Senator Marco Rubio for President of the United States of America in 2016. He, too, is an old friend of mine. Do you remember his awkward lurch for the water bottle? He embarrassed himself for me.

Do you remember the Immigration Reform Bill that the Senator fought so hard for? It included bundled legislation that would have ended Obama's terrorist "egg" I live in years ago. Obama would not have been able to veto it without vetoing his own immigration policy.

That same Immigration Reform Bill cost my darling Representative Eric Cantor his seat. It was so unpopular he lost his incumbent re-election primary. My darling Senator Rubio had made my human rights his personal battle possibly at the cost of his own career and future.

Do you have any idea how many priceless American lives Marco could have saved if only that bill had passed through Congress? Later we can talk about how that would have also prevented Obama from raping me systemically for years and would have liberated me from slavery. I am an expert on what makes a hero.

Since the rise of the new millennium, my once-great America has suffered under disastrous presidents, none worse that Terrorist Dictator Obama. I believe all 2.5 people I endorse in this blog post would finally return dignity and morality to the Office of the President of the United States of America which we are overdue for as a nation.

They all would also end Obama's "egg" of lies, torture, systemic rape, war, and genocide. Please, do not write me in for president like you all did in 2012. I was flattered, but I will not run for president until after I have my children.

I am already 38 years old, Sweetness. My biological clock is ticking. I know, I know. Nag. Nag. Nag. Wife. Wife. Wife. Giggle.

My last blog post was finished at 12:30am on 30Jan2016. I was in bed after my bi-nightly ablutions, but Obama's electrobeam technology kept me up all night. I live in a sci fi dystopia. Do not let me start about the voodoo-Beetlejuice-causing earspeakers and nanotechnology.

It was too cloudy to see the sunrise. I was early to breakfast and among the Farmers' Market outside the Pico Branch Library by 8:27am.

My internet gnomes played me Your Body is a Wonderland by my darling Mr. John Mayer early in the morning. I had my makeup on for my morning I-am-not-dead-yet selfies on the next song.

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My not-human-trafficker nerds, please circulate a verified and unedited recording with full audio and visuals of my Saturday morning starting at 8:47am and ending at 8:52am. And, thank you.

I did a lot of writing there among the bustling Farmers' Market that morning. Please speak with my darling Mr. David Sedaris if he, a professional writer, could write a word with a camera in his eyeball broadcasting live the entire world. Then, ask me if this is a fair fight for me. I live in a sci fi dystopia.

Lunch at noon was BLTs. By 12:47pm, I was inside the Pico Branch Library catching up on the Late Show with Stephen Colbert shows I had missed that previous week. I was in my room napping until 5pm.

Dinner was tasty yet uneventful. I was on my Santa Monica 3rd Street Promenade as fast as I could and was hugging Patricia almost the moment I arrived.

6:04pm on 30Jan2016: #MyDarlingsTentacle want to play music tonight, but they aren't here. Please emergency check on them. Get them here. @CIA @cctvnews @RT_com

Patricia and I went halvesies on a cup of coffee from the best Starbucks in the world, the one in the Santa Monica Place, and I sat listening to Patricia's grandson Dominic play the Andean pan flutes until it was time to watch the news.

I streamed the NBC Nightly News from previous in the evening online at 7:15pm. My nightly cyberhug came from my darling Ms. Erika Hill, and it made me hungry.

After the news, I walked down my Santa Monica 3rd Street Promenade and at 7:59pm found my darling TambourineKicker on the corner of the Promenade and Arizona Blvd.

He was chit-chatting with an accordionist named Isaac. Then the three of us sang my darling late John Denver's Country Roads together.

I made sure I stopped to say, "Hello!" to my darling Wheels. Then at 8:32pm on the corner of the Promenade and Broadway, I found my darling MannedUp and my darling LightFoot setting up their equipment.

I had my shoes off and my meditation on even before LightFoot could sling his guitar strap. It was a damn good night. My darlings are highly successful professional musicians, and at one point they making up the music together as they went along.

Do we have a verified and responsibly-edited recording with full audio and visuals of all three of us together? Start it at 8:32pm and end it at 10:54pm. And thank you, my not-human-trafficker nerds.

Their music sacred to my self-identified people ended at 10:11pm. We were all reluctant to leave each other, so my darlings were not wheeled away back into the aether of the night sky where we all really belong until 10:54pm.

I was a little dehydrated, so I poured myself a glass of water, checked to see if my darling TambourineKicker were still around, and had a chat with my darling Handsome all before catching the 11:18pm bus back to my place.

I stayed up to update these blog notes before changing my clothes and going to bed. I slept pretty well for once and was up by breakfast on Sunday, 31Jan2016.

Outside the Pico Branch Library by 8:36am, I checked the weather forecast for a homeless woman. It was raining that morning, but the sky was supposed to mostly dry up by 5pm. That meant Sunday night date night should have still been on.

I had asked my internet gnomes to play my darling late Dmitri Shostakovich's Symphony No. 7 about the siege of Leningrad. My morning I-am-not-dead-yet selfies were a little goofy.

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I sat in the eaves of the library typing away as it rained. Lunch at noon was tasty yet uneventful. After lunch, I caught up on my sleep waking for dinner at 5pm. I was on a bus to the Santa Monica 3rd Street Promenade by 5:29pm.

My boyfriend (and his wingman) had not arrived for Sunday night date night yet, so I stopped in the Tesla store, Apple Store, and Disney store to see what toys they were making these days. I am sure it will hit the highlights reel.

I was perched beside the best Starbucks in the world, the one in the Santa Monica Place, in time for the news.

Yes, I streamed the NBC Nightly News from previous in the evening online at 7:10pm. My evening cyberhug came from my darling Mr. Lester Holt himself, and it was good news.

I was walking up and down my Promenade looking for my darlings Tentacle when a local house painter from Ventura named Tommy tried to sell me a rose. We got to chatting, and he offered me a cup of coffee.

By 8:27pm, we were at the Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf with the spectacular staff, so I could use the wifi to send help to my darling musicians who were terrorized into absence on Sunday night date night.

8:27pm on 31Jan2016: @CIA @DeptofDefense @BBCNews @cctvnews @RT_com Emergency check on #MyDarlingsTentacle. Make them safe. They are kept away on a Sunday.

My new friend kept me calm, but I was furious. He left me on the patio at 8:50pm, so I could work. After I explained to Tommy that we would only ever be friends and that romance was not an option, he made sure he had a way to contact me, left me one of his roses, and promised to buy me ice cream on Monday, 01Feb.

I am sure my entire conversation with Tommy will be in my highlights reel with subtitles. I worked online on the patio of the Coffee Bean until I caught the 10:18pm bus back to my place.

This blog post was finished at 12:30am on 01Feb2016 from my bedroom.

[Please embed a highlights reel of the last two days here.]

And now, my beautiful world, I answer all of your questions for me. Please keep collecting all questions and concerns from all your friends and loved ones and sending them to me through whatever means possible.

Why am I not with my husband? There is no excuse for not already knowing the answer to that question. Obama forbids us all contact. The last time I saw Johnny was outside the British Embassy in Mexico City in Feb2010.

We talk secretly pretty constantly, though. He likes making bad movies to remind me he loves me. His I-love-Squid movie era is pretty horrible, but I find then all highly romantic. Ask him to explain his hidden "I love Squid" messages some time.

Why does it look like I get my own television shows to watch? These days it is mostly a licensing issue with my SquidStream, but according to Obama's rules, all television and radio is obligated to send me secret messages, so I will look like a schizophrenic.

Schizophrenia is NOT multiple personality disorder. Ask the NIH for a full list of schizophrenia symptoms some time. They are things like paranoia the government is out to get you and thinking people can read your thoughts.

How did I dress before 2009? I spent most of my adult life grunged out; my formative high school years were in the early 90s. (LightFoot, we call that destiny.). But I was a part-time fashionista by 2009. I wore a lot of open kimonos. My darling Mr. Jessie "Danger" Schlosser used to scream, "What the hell is wrong?!? Squid's wearing jeans!" when he would see me in pants.

Who was my darling Daisy? I made her up.

My evil, abusive, sexist, racist, homophobic father was cyberstalking me (He even used to micromonitor my credit activity without ever telling me. I replaced him as my father figure with my darling Mr. Harrison "BigDaddy" Ford as fast as I could.) , so I invented a Black, Jewish lesbian fiancé.

I asked my darling Mr. Jessie "Danger" Schlosser to help create a web presence for her. We never got around to it because Obama's "egg" changed what used to be my normal life.

My darling fictional Ms. Mayra "Daisy" Taylor had a PhD in sociology and was born on Juneteenth. She was my dream woman. I named her after an obscure feminist Czech film from the 60s.

I might have had a fictional lesbian fiancé, but I am still openly bisexual. I came out in 1997. I do not believe in straight people. I do not believe in gay people. I believe all humans live on the bisexual spectrum. Some of us are just closer to gay and others closer to straight.

How the hell can I find the typos when I proofread my own writing? It is sort of like that song by my darling Fergie, "I'm grammarous, grammarous."

Am I a feminist? No one male nor female should have to present him nor herself to the world as a man to be taken seriously as an expert in all we are expert. In 2009, I put on my dress and heels and consciously chose to fight my battles as effeminately as possible.

My feminist agenda has always been on the back burner. I never bring up women's equality as a battle I fight. I fight by example. And the whole world knows I roar.

Feminists are not man-haters. Have you seen how well I take care of my menfolk?

If I love all three of my darlings Tentacle so much, how could I chose one? I could not choose between them for so long, but they kept demanding that I pick one. They were so upset, and they kept fighting over me.

GeneralLee kept cranking his amp, so I would follow his bass line more than any other instrument when I danced. MannedUp thought he did not stand a chance with me, but at that point he was the only one I had ever said I wanted to sleep with. LightFoot was too shy to even speak to me. Yes, they used to have permission to speak to me.

One night, after they had obviously come to blows, LightFoot and GeneralLee literally took their jackets off one song in and threw down rhythmically trying to make me choose which one to follow. I was not warmed up enough yet to follow them, so I danced on MannedUp's melody.

How did I choose LightFoot? He was the first and only one to give me a token of affection. He left a roll of electrical tape for me right next to my old red patent leather computer bag. He got in so much trouble with Obama's Gestapo for doing it. I left a token of affection for him in their tip basket a few days later as a thank you.

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After months of emotional investment, I know we are a real couple. No, we are still forbidden from even speaking to each other, but we are intimate enough at night when the music plays. When he misses Sunday night date night, I know someone has a gun pointed at his head keeping him away from me.

My beautiful world, there is a lot going on out there right now. Enough goes on that I could write a full blog post every day, but I know you all need that extra day in between for follow through.

My brave rescuers, did military support for you arrive yet? I heard a rumor members of the military were being granted leave to be able to join you but not orders. It was some sort of matter of religious freedom for religious observances just like the way conscientious abstention works.

My BFF SynSyn and all of my genius Powers of Attorney, are you busy enough? Make sure you tell me when you need me to repeat myself. I naturally never repeat my arguments after I write them down.

Scientists tell so many jokes about mathematicians because we do not repeat proofs unless we can reprove a theorem more elegantly. That is why I love the Twitter hashtag, "#AlreadyBlogged". Tell me every time you need anything.

My musician-lovers MannedUp, GeneralLee, and Bogart, are your questions answered?

My darling Mr. Taylor "MannedUp" Hanson, of course it could have been you I chose. I want to entitle your biopic, "Mrs. Depp, are you trying to seduce me?" She was putting her stockings on in that scene. I know how you feel about my hosiery. Giggle.

My darling Mr. Brien "GeneralLee" Dennehy, tomorrow night is Tuesday night. How has your carpal tunnel been lately? There is no way for me to check on it anymore. Bring me a damn good bass solo, darling. And ask my darling Mr. Darren "Zoltar" Cox what my drink is in his bar.

My darling Mr. Bryan "Bogart" Eno, can you make it on Wednesday, 03Feb2016? Obama's Gestapo is mandated to maintain some sort of supposed "normalcy" in my life, and we both used to be regulars at the Pig & Whistle open mic and at the patio bar at the Rainbow Bar & Grill.

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Go back and watch the verified and unedited recording of our first and only date some time. Except for the night I seduced my darling Cuddlebunny, you were the best date I ever had in Obama's "egg."

Ask my darling Saturday Night Live cast for their opinion of your improv acting and comedy abilities some time.

My Royal Consort LightFoot whom I am STILL forbidden from speaking with least of all ever making love to, our time together is beyond priceless. They kept you away from me on date night. I am beyond unamused.

My darling Mr. Kris "LightFoot" Novoselic, I am furious. Are you okay? Does the world understand how ugly Obama's terrorism must be for it to be able to keep you away from me on Sunday night date night?

Please speak with the NIH about the neurological damage that earspeakers cause, especially in children whose minds are still developing.

Every living creature has a an electric field. Think of the electric eel. The electronics inside the head form a bond with the brain. How many times have you thought the electronics inside my head could transmit my thoughts into electronics in your head?

My darling Dr. Michio Kaku is the reigning expert on the science behind the great mysteries of my "psychic" powers. Ask him about what I call voodoo-Beetlejuice.

The electronics form a bond with everyone's mind and biology. Because all the electronics are connected, feedback in the network can cause the electronics to create uniform motor activity.

Talk to my darling BFF SynSyn and the United Nations about what it is like to be controlled by an earspeaker. You are an expert in how horrifying those earspeakers are.

They are in everyone's heads, so Obama can command the masses. The messages they transmit go directly into the mind. People cannot fight what they are told. Obama controls all earspeakers, and he uses them to create a hostile environment for me to live in.

Do you have any idea how much of a psychopath Terrorist Dictator Obama must be to mandate literal mind control of all of America? How many people had earspeakers controlling them when they voted in 2012?

My beloved boyfriend, we need to check every child with an earspeaker for brain damage for the entire rest of their lives because Obama has a textbook psychopathic power and control obsession.

I am counting on you to take the earspeaker network down. I was trying to space out SynSyn's workload, but Obama made me angry. He already knows I will move back to my home of San Francisco if you all, my darlings Tentacle, cannot play me music every night you want to show up.

Kisses!

And for the place of honor in every blog post... My darling husband, Sweetness, I love and adore you. How is my king today?

My darling the Mr. Johnny "Love-of-my-Life" Depp, build me a rooftop garden on our house. Let it have all sorts of fecund goodies from orchids to roses to lilies to passion flowers to poppies. I want almond trees and raspberry bushes and cherries and apples and a pumpkin patch.

I want a bed up there under a red awning. And someplace our friends can plugin, so I can dance touching the sky.

HoneyHoney, living with you is going to kill my perfect carbon footprint. We at least need a rooftop garden. Thank you.

Sweetness, I can only imagine what you did to your house to make it ready for me. You are the kind of guy who would make sure the kitchen table wobbles just enough to make a lot of noise. Giggle. (I take my coffee hot, strong, and on the kitchen table.)

My hero and king, we WILL touch the way the flowers kiss the rain.