Dear Mr. Trump,
I've been pondering your existence for some time now. Up until yesterday it's been mostly a fruitless endeavor. But yesterday, in a moment of pure serendipity, I had a flash, and - wow! - I get it.
What is it I understand now, that I didn't understand before? Why, how things work in the Trumpiverse!
(For the record, I believe that we are all part of a patchwork multiverse, inhabiting unique and individual universes, each one subject to our personal interpretations of the universal laws of Nature. This might very well be the purpose of humankind. Please don't tell Mike Pence.)
Here's how I think things work in the Trumpiverse:
- They paint you orange.
- You act like a chowderhead.
- And while everyone is gawking at your antics,
- The squad is up to some pretty dazzling acts of witlessness, many of which a substantial number of thinking people would take issue with.
Do I have that right?
If so, then let me congratulate you on a spectacular display of - dare I say? - sneakiness.
A veritable sleight-of-(tiny) hand.
And one of which, I'm sure, Bill Belichick would approve.
May the force be with you, and Go Falcons!
Underemployed
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