Dear Diary,

Okay, so when we left the White House, we weren't exactly dead broke. But like I say, "what difference at this point does it make? It is our job to figure out what happened and do everything we can to prevent it from ever happening again."

Seriously, I love that line: "What difference at this point does it make?" You know why I love that line? Because it stops Republicans from doing anything. Then again, all you have to do is say "racist" or "homophobe" or just look at 'em funny and Republicans back down like Bill at a party full of 7s. Every Republican's like that. If John Boehner's ass were in flames, I could send some third-string state rep Democrat on MSNBC to say it's racist to put out the fire and Orange John would tell the fire department to hold off on the hose.

Dear diary, Democratic politics is now officially too easy. Sometimes, when I'm throwing darts at my Arkansas map or just braiding Huma's hair on the weekend, I wish I had a real adversarial party, not those Brooks-Brothers pantywaists with their power ties and country clubs and seven-figure Edward Jones accounts. (Hey, that's my party, too! Oh, well. C'est la vie!) They're afraid to get their hands sticky. Not us! Can you imagine if the Republicans had the IRS harass their enemies? Say that shit out loud: We used the IRS to harass the other side. Even if he didn't know a thing about it, "President Romney" would be doing the frog-hop march to the old gray-bar hotel the very next day. Hell, I'd see to it myself! (If you think he's intolerant of gay sex now, give him a little time in there.)

I have to admit, even I thought "the dog ate my email" excuse wouldn't fly with the CON-servatives in Congress, but never underestimate the unwillingness of a Republican to get off his ass and do something. They don't even remember what they were upset about 24 hours before that. (It was how we threw open the borders and piled kids in warehouses until we can register their parents to vote and get them all on the public teat.

(Teat, hahaha. Funny word!)

How long have they been investigating Benghazi, a year now? What happened to the outrage about those wait lists at the VA? How long has Odummy been sucking up phone records like a Dyson at a trade show? They've totally forgotten Sebelius shaking down healthcare companies to pay a few Obamacare bills. Plus there's Solyndra, Pigford, and the New Black Panther Party re-cast as enthusiastic poll workers who just happen to greet voters with blackjacks instead of stickers. We couldn't give these Republicans any more ammunition if we placed ads on behalf of every backwater department in the executive branch to buy up all the bullets. (Oh, wait, dear diary. We did that, too!)

I'd love to write more, but I have to run. It's my day to babysit a recovering Chris Matthews. The other day he got his nose too far up Obama's ass and he strained something.

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The Super-Top-Secret, Extra-Personal Campaign Diary of Hillary Rodham Clinton is stolen each week by Lari Vine, the nom de guerre of an obscure playwright and screenwriter living in Washington DC. This diary is made possible by a series of grunts and squeals from Howard Dean, still echoing through time.