Biden’s War Journal: Presidency, Day 406

Dear Journal,

This job blows.

I’ve spent the better part of the last 35 years hoping to ascend to the most powerful position in this great nation — and the world — and you know what? Total letdown.

I gave my first State of the Union address last night. What a load of malarkey.

My “handlers” told me I needed to “unify” the country, with talk of “shared goals” and “a common vision” and “overcoming divisions” as “Americans.” If you believe that baloney, I’ve got a bridge to sell you in a Scranton. One that’s probably about to collapse. #infrastructure, or whatever those damned kids say on the Tic Tac nowadays.

But let me tell you, Journal, here’s what I really wanted to say.

The Ukraine crisis: Good ole Vlad really showed his ass this time. If we weren’t both on beta blockers and at high risk for severe Covid-19, I’d have half a mind to fly over to Moscow right now so we could settle this mano a mano. Like men. Like me and Corn Pop did back in ’62.

But no, the Joint Chiefs told me to focus on diplomacy and de-escalation. On economic sanctions. On political ostracization. That’s all fine and dandy — and we’re in the process of crushing the Russian economy — but that doesn’t do what really needs to be done, which is give little Vladdy a good old-fashioned whoopin’. I should send my man Juwan Howard to Moscow as my personal representative. He knows how to a slap a white boy around.

Anyway, this clusterfuck in Ukraine doesn’t look like it’s going to end anytime soon. It’s such a disaster, the whole darn world’s cheering for Germany to boost their military spending. We all know how that’ll end. Mary and Joseph. I just hope my good buddy President Zelensky — Zelenskyy? Zelenskiy? — stays safe. He’s such a mensch. And incredible in those adorable Paddington movies.

And did you notice what else I didn’t get to talk about during my STFU? Nukes. We’ve got over 3,500 of those suckers, and here’s the deal: I’m old as shit. I don’t care if there’s a nuclear holocaust because I’ve already lived a storied life. Of loss and suffering, absolutely, but of beauty and honor and decency as well. I’m on borrowed time, Man. If Vlad wants to bomb us back to the Stone Age, I say bring it on, Brother.

I’ve already prepared a list of all the cities I plan to nuke once Putin goes full Dr. Strangelove. I’d write them all down below, but I’m a little forgetful these days, so here’s a quick overview:

1. Two nukes each for the top 100 cities in Russia, including five for Moscow. Suck an egg, Vlad.
2. Ten nukes for Beijing — I never liked Winnie the Pooh anyway — two each for Shanghai and Hong Kong and twenty for Wuhan — just in case SARS-CoV-2 really did come from a lab. I’ll see you in hell, Murdoch.
3. 520 nukes for New Zealand, which should cover every 200 square miles of that gorgeous, peaceful country. Those Silicon Valley fuckers think they can hide from the apocalypse there? Not on my watch.
4. And two nukes for each of the top 50 cities in Australia too. Fury Road — great flick.
5. And finally, two nukes for every state capitol in the U.S., two for the top 50 metropolitan areas in the U.S. as measured by GDP, and 50 for the swamps of D.C. Let’s see Manchin and Sinema cockblock Build Back Better after I level this entire goddamned country. Centrist pricks.

Though let me tell you, Journal, there’s one huge upside when contemplating the prospect of total nuclear annihilation. There’s no bigger aphrodisiac than being all of humanity’s power dom. My Viagra couldn’t hold a candle to the rush I get from flipping open that nuclear football and eyeing those perky little buttons. Like perfect little nipples. Poor Jill. I twisted that old gal into knots the other night at the mere thought of vaporizing millions.

Inflation: The Presidency killer. Yep, we better get it under control, otherwise we’ve got no chance in the mid-terms. Except, everyone already knows we’ve got no chance in the mid-terms, because the snowflakes won’t vote and the MAGAs love fascism. If kids would just get off their damned phones and go out and get laid more, that’d cure inflation in a Delaware minute. That’s how we did it in the ’80s. That, and that crotchety old bastard Paul Volcker. Our current guy? Well, let me just put it like this: Jerome, I served with Paul Volcker, I knew Paul Volcker, Paul Volcker was a friend of mine. Jerome, you are no Paul Volcker.

Covid-19 pandemic: I was told I should signal optimism that the end of the pandemic was finally near. Fine. But know this, Journal. A quarter of the smooth-brained doofuses in this country won’t get vaccinated, half the people won’t get a booster, and most of the “suburban” moms — I’m not supposed to say “white” apparently — won’t get their kids vaccinated. To hell with it then. If everyone wants the pandemic to be over, then I guess it is.

The Supreme Court: Oh boy. Where do I begin? It’s hard for me to believe, but I think this country still has a racism problem. I’m a little racist sometimes, but in a harmless and fun-loving kind of way. And besides, I served as the Vice President under our first (maybe only?) Black President — my dude Barry — and as President with our first ever woman, Asian, and Black Vice President — Kamala Harris. She doesn’t do much, but she checked a lot of boxes. Anyway, I’m the quintessential white savior, so piss off.

But mark my words, Journal. The honorable Ketanji Brown Jackson will be confirmed to the SCOTUS. And the side eye she gives that SOB Kavanaugh will make C-SPAN’s Twitter lit AF.

So there it is, Journal. A real shitshow. I’ll talk to you again in a few weeks, assuming we’re all still alive.

Yours truly,

Joe