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| The Johnson Point of View |
| My Vote Counts More Than Yours! |
| With this being the first entry into this grand and undisputed journal of mine, I'd like to start by informing you of the plain truth that I am better than you. And not only that, but everything that I do is worth that much more due to my position as a business-man. Take, for instance, my vote. If one of you vagabums out there in the Plateau states were to send along your vote for Presidents it will be taken as just another check-mark in some mangy politician's box, and will be disregarded like a dead irish-man in the street. Mine, however, takes the place of over 10,000 votes! The Johnson name alone could be considered a whole new state when the votes are tallied up. Watch out Connecticutt, here comes Johnson-icutt! I never brought up my theory to any body in office, but those whom I voted for have always seemed to have appreciated it. I have given my good friend and fellow capitalist Franklin D. Roosevelt over 4,000,000 votes. Even after dear Frankie passed on I payed my respects by keeping on voting for the old man. That pretty-boy Kraut lover Kennedy even lost to the Late Roosevelt, but due to "technacalities" of only living people being able to win a election, he was put in the grandest office there is. And we all know what happened after that. So next time a long-haired "weirdo" talks you into believing that your vote counts, think again! I, Mr. Johnson, am responsible for over half the Presidents in this great Republic and I intend to keep it that way. Snivveling ingrates! |
| Little Rascals are Toying with me |
| It wasn't so bad when the first few showed up. A pudgy young chap and a small freckle-faced boy came to my door the other day to sell me some wares they had picked up on the street. It was when the rest of their blasted gang showed up that the havoc began! I tried to be a good host. I let them crawl on my head, run over George's disgusting little dog with their trikes, even give Bonzo's room a paint job. But when they got into my money room, they went too far! As soon as they found the hidden room behind the marble walls of my library, I knew trouble was about to begin. The little fat one was the first one in there and he went right into shredding my precious one hundred dollar notes. I almost had bone failure! Then the little negro boy commenced doing the same, all the while singing a rediculous song about chickens, ducks and cake, with the freckle-faced pencil neck one. I was so irratated at this point that I thought I was going to throw a fit and end up in the crazy home. It wasn't so much the money that I was worried about--I have enough of it stored away under lock and key in Spain (the Iberians make good safes). It was the principle of the matter. Those little rascals were just toying with my mind! So I made quick work of them. I told Bonzo to pounce on their heads and box their ears. I also told George and Old Dog to put the fat one to sleep and throw the negro to the dogs. They didn't carry out my orders (which I am still highly displeased about), but I can tell you this: Those little dirt covered, fould mouthed, ill-mannered hooligans won't be wandering my estate any time soon. |
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