The Secret Handshake

Dear Mr. Kushner,

I've finally figured out why you exist.

Aside from being Ivanka's husband (whatever possessed you to let her fly coach?) and the Office of American Innovation (remember that?) and bringing pops-in-law the occasional diet Coke (seems to me more of a "Tab" guy), it has never been immediately apparent - not to me, anyway - what exactly you do in the White House.

I know now.

As I eagerly away the testimony of Sally Yates to Congress, hoping to high heaven she's got an impeachable offence up her sleeve, I've been mulling over Mike Flynn.  And Mike Flynn and you.  And Mike Flynn and you and Ambassador Kislyak.  And Mike Flynn and you and Ambassador Kislyak and - what the hell - let's throw in your sister's antics in China over the past weekend.

Admittedly, I'm a cynical sort.  And I asked my cynical self:  "Why in God's name was Jared Kushner visiting a Russian ambassador with a creep like Mike Flynn?

And it just hit me:  You're Donald Trump's SECRET HANDSHAKE!

Here's how it works:  All you have to do is show up to any given gathering, and everyone knows that Daddy Warbucks in on board.  With whatever.  Most of it illegal and/or morally reprehensible.

And you can honestly say that you only discussed the weather or exchanged Pokemon cards.

Pretty clever.  A nod is as good as a wink to a blind horse, eh?  But if a little old underemployed lady in Chicago can figure it out, can the FBI be far behind?

Hopefully,

Underemployed