Dear deplorables, crusty doughnuts and half-baked buns;
Are you tired of winning yet?
Harken back to the good old days of 2016, when the man you selected as your leader and role model for the nation’s youth, was caught bragging about grabbing pussy (boy talk, as wife Melania explained). Back then he knew more about fighting terror than the generals and was smarter than the intelligence community and everyone else on all other matters and was the only person who could solve the nation’s many problems.
He told you so and you took him at his word.
Double-dealing Donald was your saviour back in the day, someone who would pull the plug on the Washington swamp and get all those slimy politicians slithering in a political conga line with a magical wave of his tiny hands. A man who would make you feel great again, bring you back to the glory days of your grand delusions.
You knew it was true because he was a rich guy you’d watched pretend to fire people on television. You saw his name on buildings and on the airplane that took him to rallies with his trophy wife and Miami Vice sons Eric and Don Jr. and beautiful daughter Ivanka. You laughed with the naughty old orange philanderer when you heard he agreed with shock jock Howard Stern’s assessment of his daughter as “a piece of ass.”
That happened before he found God, the Christians among you rationalized.
And as a bonus voters got his genius son-in-law Jared Kushner, someone who would overcome the Kushner family criminal stigma by brokering peace in the Middle East while simultaneously revamping the U.S. government and conducting diplomacy with Mexico, Canada and China. All while wearing a thousand dollar skinny suit with no cape attached.
What a great family, you said to yourselves, so accomplished at making money and avoiding taxes. Great kids with their collective eyes on the bottom line. You couldn’t wait for them to get into the White House and apply the skills they learned shilling for Daddy while your kids were fighting in Iraq and Afghanistan. You assumed the boys must have learned a lot about business while conning shady developers into buying the family name at inflated prices. Many of you purchased Ivanka’s tacky Chinese sweat shop fashion accessories to wear to the Make America Great Again rallies.
You watched the great man walking imperiously down the steps of his personal airplane, his tie hanging below his crotch like a red codpiece, trophy wife in her proper position behind, and listened rapturously on the tarmac imagining he would make your sad lives more gilt-edged, empty and vacuous, just like his.
It was basically the same pitch he gave to the suckers who attended his bogus university: “Trust me and you can have what I’ve got.” Of course, that was before he settled the law suit, the one being unfairly overseen by a biased Mexican judge, and gave the swindled students their money back.
There will be no refunds for Trump voters. Only a bad case of buyer’s remorse and a sick feeling that will be deemed a pre-existing condition and won’t be covered by your health insurance. That is if you are able to get health insurance.
Health care seemed easy before the election. “It will be so great, and cheaper, too,” said your apricot-flavoured conman, neglecting to mention the fine print that says it will only be cheaper if you and your family don’t get sick. But cheer up, the health bill is mired in the undrained political swamp that is the U.S. Senate and might not make it back to the Congressional slough before the impeachment.
Who knew health care could be so complicated?
Remember when the honest-talking billionaire told you it would be a disaster to elect Crooked Hillary and have the office of the President mired in an FBI investigation over improper use of e-mails. And how his trusted campaign confidant and future National Security Advisor Michael Flynn led you all in a rousing chorus of Lock Her Up.
Such good fun in 2016. Looking back, the e-mail scandal seems so quaint and innocent as your conman’s Presidency, minus the disgraced Flynn, reels under four separate investigations, including the Senate, Congress, the FBI and a special prosecutor looking for crimes like treason, perjury and obstruction of justice.
Then there’s the wall. Remember what great fun it was to shout “Build the Wall” with all your fellow bigots at those great rallies. And to chant “Mexico!” with hatred in your heart when the Mango Megalomaniac pursed his pussy lips and asked who was going to pay for it. Some of you may remember getting a woody.
Turns out you’re going to be paying for pricey repairs to an ugly fence because those stingy Republicans won’t give their own President billions of taxpayer dollars for a border solution more suited to medieval China than the 21st Century. Guess it was hard to read that fine print all slathered up under the brims of your Trump ball caps with the little guy below imitating a banana in your pocket.
Fighting domestic terrorism was easy, too, way back on the campaign trail. All your conman had to do was ban all those pesky Muslims from coming into the country with a flourish of his Super Souvenir Executive Order Trump Pen, available after the impeachment for $19.99 on the Shopping Network. What a great gift for Uncle Billy Bob’s Klan induction anniversary party. Except, this time the fine print was written in the U.S. Constitution, a wordy document none of you could be expected to have read but one the country’s “so-called judges” hold dear.
Turns out the orange tax-avoider you chose to bring fiscal responsibility to government is anything but stingy with your money when it comes to playing golf and promoting his various properties. It’s costing you more than a million dollars a round for Trump to play his courses with other rich guys. Try not to dwell on it when you buy discount golf balls at Walmart.
Then there’s the huge expense of protecting the slicked-back sons as they traipse around the world at Daddy’s behest. Not to mention the three million a month you’re paying because your hero’s trophy wife doesn’t want to share a town, let alone a roof and bedroom, with a fat-assed senior whose greasy hair hangs down to his shoulder on one side in the morning.
Tax cuts and infrastructure spending? Senior Republicans are already calling the White House’s proposed budget dead on arrival and the country is headed for a fiscal crisis in September when the temporary spending extension runs out.
Turns out those Muslims aren’t so bad if they stay in their own countries. Salesman Donnie sold the Saudis a lot of heavy duty weapons on his first foreign trip, even though a lot of Saudi money has been funnelled to terrorists and Saudis were front and centre in the 9/11 attack. Minor concerns to the man who paid someone to write The Art of the Deal. After the apricot-arsehole’s recent roadie, you have to worry about staying friendly with the NATO allies he pissed off with his boorish behaviour in Brussels.
Not to worry, he’s already got new allies in Syria and Nicaragua, the only two countries on the entire planet not to sign the Paris Accord. Unfortunately, the rest of the world’s leaders are collectively shaking their heads in disbelief at your man playing politics by putting an ill-advised campaign promise ahead of the future of the world’s children. All you coal miners out there can assure your kids they might get a shot at black lung disease if they drop out of school before the planet burns up..
But you can take some pride in the accomplishments in the first four months of your man Donald’s reign. He sent his lap dog Mike Pence down to the Senate to ensure the appointment of a supreme court judge. Course, a monkey could have got his pick through a Senate dominated by tree swingers.
But even Trump’s biggest critics have to admit it takes a world class ignoramus to piss off the Pope.
I ask again, America, are you tired of winning yet?