Diary of a Mad Diva Read Online Free PDF Page B

wanted to show us what would be a “television first,” so she hiked up her skirt, squatted and peed next to some train tracks. After seeing this I was hoping we’d see yet another “television first”: Lena Dunham spraying the third rail and going up in flames. I’m glad she’s “free” enough to have her fat ass on display; I just don’t know why she’s not free enough to have a fucking salad once in a while.
    FEBRUARY 25
    Dear Diary:
    Off to the dentist for some major gum work. I won’t be able to talk for two days. I’m despondent. Melissa couldn’t be happier.
    FEBRUARY 26
    Dear Diary:
    I have to find a new dentist. Dr. Golub did a great job; I look good and he saved me money (he said my face has been pulled so tight he didn’t need to give me a cleaning; I can floss with the stitches behind my ears!). But he kept calling me “Joanie.” Joanie! Like I’m his friend or his cousin or the local whore who gives him a hand job once a week because our mothers play cards together.
    FEBRUARY 27
    Dear Diary:
    It’s still Black History Month. How long do I have to keep out that picture of Martin Luther King, Jr.? And by the way, I liked him; I liked what he stood for. But what a cheaparino. He had some bucks, so why was he staying in Memphis in a $3-a-night motel? If he would’ve spent a little and moved into a Marriott, none of this would’ve happened. Sure, he could’ve died from a heart attack from eating in their food court (which I understand happens once a week on average), but history would have been much different.
    What more can I do? And I’m starting to get pissed. Where is Ecru History Month? Naturally Pale Month? What about rosacea? Give them a week. What about vitiligo? The way I see it, they should have two months. I think every race, religion and ethnic group should have at least one day in their honor that’s a legal holiday. And because I live in New York City, that means there would be 335 legal holidays . . . which means 335 days of suspended alternate side of the street parking . . . which means I can park anywhere I want to and all those ambulances, fire engines and emergency vehicles can go fuck themselves.



The Jewish guy in the center kept sending everything back. “Is it vegan? Does it have peanuts in it? Is it gluten-free?” What a fuckin’ whiner.

MARCH 1
    Dear Diary:
    Today is National Pig Day and I completely forgot to call Kevin Federline! I’ll send him a note. Or a bucket of slop. He’s not that fussy.
    MARCH 2
    Dear Diary:
    I’m catching all kinds of shit because on Fashion Police I made one teensy little joke about Heidi Klum maybe being a Nazi. I don’t know what the problem is; I was complimenting her. I said, “I haven’t seen anything this hot since the Germans were pushing Jews into the ovens.” You’d think I’d get a thank-you card, not just from Heidi for saying she looked nice, but from all the leftover Nazis for pointing out their ingenuity and stick-to-itiveness. But no, instead I get crap from the Anti-Defamation League for “insulting the Jews.” And if I’d said “gypsies” instead of “Jews,” the Jews would have been mad that I slighted them. This is why nobody likes us.
    MARCH 3
    Dear Diary:
    I’m getting letters from people telling me I should leave Heidi Klum alone because she was “a good Nazi.” What does “a good Nazi” mean? Does it mean they gave the Jews cookie dough to bake with them in the ovens? This makes me so mad that I am definitely thinking of getting a tattoo to remind people about the Holocaust. I want it to say “Six Million Plus One.” The six million will be for the Jews who died in the Holocaust, and the one will be for the time I died on Ed Sullivan.
    MARCH 4
    Dear Diary:
    Now I’m mad at my bank. I called to double-check that the money I’m hiding in the Cayman Islands is still hidden, and all I got was a recorded message: “If you want to check your balance, press one; if you want to transfer