Dear Aunt Sophie,
I am currently in the Senate while I’m waiting to be President. That means three years of smiling at people I despise, pretending to entertain idiotic ideas expressed by rubes, making ga-ga over ugly babies, and wearing these stupid cardigans tied around my neck and these f***ing huge brooches that look like a third eye stuck on my left shoulder. I hate this s***. What’s wrong with a granny dress and a pair of sandals? Oh, never mind. Americans are too f***ing provincial to accept a president in a granny dress and sandals.
Until recently everything was right on track and I thought this would be a piece of cake. But now there’s a monkey wrench. I never could have imagined it, but one of my former associates got caught on tape admitting he cooked the books on one of my fund-raisers. Of course I didn’t know anything about it. The rat who wore the wire is none other than the brother-in-law of a colleague. One expects better of ones’ f***ing colleagues’ in-laws.
It is particularly galling to me that this messy business has to do with campaign funding. Everything having to do with campaign funding makes me feel threatened. You have probably forgotten, but when I ran for the Senate, my opponent actually crossed the stage and approached me with papers in his hand during a discussion of that very subject. I have never felt so violated.
Every time I make a few dollars there’s some f***ing prosecutor or other looking into it. It is unbelievably distracting. Especially now that I’ve found an issue that can’t lose - immigration. Everybody seems to want the border closed and I know how to do it without alienating a single Latino. It’s the only issue the Republicans had and now it’s mine. If they’d just let me talk about it without changing the subject. They never play fair.
Speaking of unfair - in the past two elections millions of Latinos weren’t allowed to vote. And millions of other people who happened to reside in correctional institutions at the time were also disenfranchised. This must change. Everybody should be free to vote for me.
In case they don’t relax the rules for undocumented residents and former wrongdoers how can I get Mrs. Plaid Gingham in Iowa to vote for me?
Fortunately for you, that faint rustling noise you hear is the sound of millions of eyelids dropping shut at the mention of campaign finance. That the mere mention of the Sominex of election issues left you so traumatized amazed me until I realized how terrifying it must have been to have been approached in public by a Republican member of the House of Representatives. Have you ever considered suing the organizers of the debate for not having erected a Plexiglas wall between you and your opponent?
It’s encouraging that you realize borders are a sexy issue this year. If I understand your position, only you can prevent the U.S. from being overrun by Canadians, whose border with us is as wide open as Monica’s mouth. While your unimaginative opposition wears itself out trying to ascertain how many uninvited guests from the other side of the Rio Grande learned their first words of Spanish on the way to mosque in San Jose, it’s comforting to know that you would solve our immigration problem by immediately halting the onslaught from the north, akin, as it is, to the invasion of Europe by the Mongols.
Since your Canadian support consists of the prime minister and a bunch of newspaper editors who so far don’t have the right to vote in American elections it would be a pretty shrewd move to redeploy the border patrol to Niagara Falls. Clearly, the invasion of our northern states by Canadians fleeing their dysfunctional health care system must be stopped before Americans get the idea that the reason they come here is that we don’t have the Canadian system.
And while you’re pitching the redeployment to the people in Peoria don’t forget to play up the desirable effect it will have of making it hard for American draft dodgers to slink back home under cover of darkness.
As for those millions of Latinos denied the franchise in the last two elections, they’ll have to do better than telling election officials that the dog ate their citizenship papers.
If you want to convince Mrs. Plaid Gingham to vote for you, try cultivating an English-speaking constituency that doesn’t wear stripes or orange jump suits.
Good luck and God bless.