Free Diary of a Mad Diva by Joan Rivers Page A

a cave full of terrorists faster: ten well-trained soldiers or one old man with an explosive lower intestine? I rest my case. Broccoli fart strong trumps Army strong, every time.
    MAY 19
    Dear Diary:
    Watched a Discovery Channel special on squirrels tonight. Fascinating. Who knew they were good for anything but sprucing up an old jacket with collars and cuffs? For example, the average squirrel can keep nuts in his mouth for months on end and everyone’s impressed. And yet, when poor Clay Aiken does it, everyone’s nauseous.
    MAY 20
    Dear Diary:
    I don’t know why but I woke up this morning feeling depressed. Maybe because it was raining and dreary, or maybe it’s because I’ve gained five pounds, or maybe if I really want to look into my heart, it’s because Betty White’s career is doing so much better than mine. Whatever. None of my usual pick-me-ups worked (shopping, berating staff, giving orphans the finger), so I tried something new. I put on my finest Chanel suit, grabbed my best jewelry, stuffed my purse with cash, went down to Skid Row and rolled my eyes at the homeless. In less than an hour—actually, forty minutes (remember, I’m Jewish so, as I said before, I always take a third off)—I felt better about myself and limoed over to Tiffany’s to buy me a little “you did good, Joan” diamond bauble. I tried the same “I want a third off” shtick in Tiffany’s but they wouldn’t buy it. Anti-Semitic bastards. (I’ll bet somewhere in the basement, i.e., bunker, they have drawers of diamond-studded swastikas they only show to tall, blond, blue-eyed Aryans.)
    MAY 21
    Dear Diary:
    I hate the spring. One day it’s cool and lovely, the next day it’s cold and blustery, and the day after that it’s a million degrees and humid. Today was muggy. It was so muggy I was sweating like R. Kelly at a Girl Scout Jamboree. I went through two pairs of pants, three Spanx and the Depends I keep in my purse for “special occasions.” I decided to stay only in air-conditioned places, so I went to the Museum of Modern Art and looked at the pictures. To amuse myself I bought a bag of M&M’s, which I spit all over the Jackson Pollocks and nobody noticed.
    MAY 22
    Dear Diary:
    On my flight back from L.A., I wound up sitting next to a Holocaust survivor. We exchanged stories about the camps. She told me about how at Auschwitz she had no food and no hot water and she never knew if she was going to live or die. I told her about how at Camp Kinnekineck in Connecticut I had no makeup and no jewelry and I never knew if I was going to have a boyfriend or not. We commiserated with each other and then decided that even if our lives sucked, at least we weren’t desperate losers like those needy whores on The Bachelor .
    MAY 23
    Dear Diary:
    I’m back in L.A. for a “minor cosmetic procedure.” I’m having a brow lift, tummy tuck, chin job and lip implant—or as my plastic surgeon likes to call it, “the usual.” Should be all healed in forty-eight hours. If not I’ll just tell people I spent a romantic weekend with Chris Brown.
    MAY 24
    Dear Diary:
    My agent, Self-righteous Steve Levine, called and asked me if I wanted to do a PSA for child abuse. I asked him how much, and then said, “Great, no problem. Will I be for it or against it?”
    MAY 25
    Dear Diary:
    It’s the day before Memorial Day weekend starts and wow, my bandages are off! Although my face is totally lopsided and puffy and I look haggard and hungover from the anesthetic, several fans kept asking for my autograph. I signed, “Much love, Sharon Stone.” Off to the store for a few last-minute purchases. I don’t know which colors will go with my bruises and scars, but he may have pulled a bit too much this time; I find I am talking through my part and shitting through my ears.
    MAY 27
    Dear Diary:
    I normally don’t write in the morning but the day started with such a jolt I feel compelled. Today is Memorial Day. I love this holiday mainly because it’s