Dear Mr. Trump,
I thought I'd take a little break from checking condo prices on Cape Breton in order to send you a thank-you note.
Yes, a thank-you note. The first of many, I hope.
No Nervous Nellie here! On this: the grim, dark, murky day of your inauguration as President of the United States, the very skies entreating the cruel and uncaring Fates with anguished sobs, I have poured myself a glass of wine (the first, I think, of many tonight), and decided to look on the bright side.
"What bright side?" one might ask, and one might be right, if short-sighted. I will remind my gentle (and terrified) readers that every experience (no matter how unnatural/bizarre/repugnant) is ever wasted, but for the lessons to be learned therein.
And here's what I learned, just today:
- There is a God.
- Only one.
- He's a guy.
Thank you. That's a big lesson. No too subtly delivered, either. My mother ship, to whom I beam up news from this planet, will be glad to hear that's finally settled.
The best thing about this Guy-God? He is personally on our side. The United States of America. He likes us. And our best friends. A lot. So, no worries. I thank you, Mr. Trump, for letting us know about that. I'll cancel my therapist.
There are a couple of other things I would also like to thank you for, sir:
- Pointing out that I've been mispronouncing the word "redistributed" my whole life.
- Initiating the process to kill that pesky Climate Action Plan. And while we were all looking at Melania's dress, you clever-boots! I live in Chicago. Make no mistake about it, dude, I am absolutely fucking thrilled by global warming.
Lastly, Mr. Trump, thank you for prompting me to write. I have a feeling that you will be a constant source of inspiration, if not enlightenment, for the next four years. Two years, if Melania pushes you out of bed and you break your hip. But, hey, I'm not a political strategist.
With gratitude, best of luck and Go Packers!