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Hi George,
Sorry I haven’t written in so long, but with the weather and the household chores and the all-consuming efforts to boot your sorry ass out of The White House I just haven’t had the time. I’ll try and stick to a regular schedule from now on, because it sure seems as if a lot is going on!
What the heck is going on with this “terror alert” on Wall Street? Heck, when Terrible Tommy issued the APB for anyone outside the contiguous 48 I figured you may really have pulled one off, but the next morning I see Pickles and the Gin Twins right smack downtown shaking hands and wishing everyone good morning. What happened? I know that you have this Royal Highness complex, but don’t you think using your own immediate family as The Royal Bomb Testers is going a bit far? I mean, tasting food for poison is one thing, but losing appendages? I know, I know, happens all the time…
I notice you’ve been campaigning a lot in the Midwest, and it seems to be taking its toll. Not to be offensive here, George, but you seem to be, um, perspiring quite a bit. Truth be told, you look like Mark Spitz after 50 meters in the pool – wet, wet, wet. (Boy, you must have been a lake when they made you interrupt that goat story – I’ll bet water was coming out everywhere). I know that all the alcohol and drugs pouring out of your epidermis is quite a problem, but let’s see if we can’t get that under control, OK? Perhaps this is why you don’t wear suits anymore, and instead show up to your supposedly spontaneous “events” supposedly dressed like a real guy. Is that it? Are you trying to show that you’re just a regular guy? Do they play “Fanfare For The Common Idiot” as you take the stage? And let’s fess up about the wardrobe – it’s Karl, isn’t it? He’s got you playing Colorforms® Georgie again, right? Just pick out an outfit and stick it on – there’s Work Shirt Georgie and Flight Jacket Georgie and Ranch Hand Georgie and (especially for Iowans) Corn Eating Georgie, which unfortunately does not come with instructions.
I’m guessing this campaigning is getting a bit much for you, especially when you realize that come next January you’ll be watching you-know-who take the oath of office. Yes, George, it’s true – you aren’t going to win. Despite the best efforts of Fox and CNN and MSNBC, it just isn’t happening. Even though the polls show this to be a close race, those of us in-the-know have this little secret we’re kind of keeping all to ourselves, but I’ll tell you if you’ll keep it real quiet. There’s this fellow hanging around – Dean is the name, I think. You see, George, way back during the primary this Dean fellow got millions of people energized in the political process, many of whom had never voted before. Hence, when polls are taken of likely voters these folks don’t get called, since “likely voters” usually means those that have a previous voting history. (Sorry, I know it’s confusing – relax, sit down, have a drink). These folks hate you with a passion, and I can pretty much tell you where they’re going to be on Election Day (hint: it’s not at your house). That’s a lot of people, Georgie, yes it is. Couple that with this Clark fellow (he did the same thing with his people, and a lot of them have uniforms) and we got us a bunch of what the marketing guys call “hidden attributes.” Just remember, when you read your concession speech make sure it has easy to pronounce words like “I lost” or “bad George, go home” (you seem to have trouble with multiple syllables), and make sure to blame it on Clinton.
Good luck, Georgie, it looks like you’re gonna need it. Those of here on the truth side just keep sending money and spreading the word. We do lots of it by computer (you’ve heard of the Internet, yes?), and we find it such a delicious irony that the same technology that helped to delete Florida is going to help to delete you. Our numbers grow at an alarming rate as you hunker down at One Trick Pony Campaign Headquarters and try and find yet another way to justify your four-year stain on America. As you preach fear, we see hope, and as you spit on your flag we gently hold ours in our hands, waiting. As you wrap yourself in your perverted ideas of God the angels look down in sorrow and tell us all no, that this is not the way it works. Like teachers, they hold report cards for us all, and yours is full of failing grades, damp with the tears of heaven, and dark with the blood of hell. The angels, you see, have very short tempers, and very long memories.
As do we.
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