Thursday, April 26, 2018

Dear Ronny Jackson

Dear Dr. Jackson,

I knew this wasn't going to work out well.

It wasn't the drinking.  As far as I'm concerned, former combat surgeons should be able to drink as much as they want.  Hell, I've been intoxicated on the job a few times myself.  But I worked in retail.

Far more damaging to your image was that creepy and ridiculous performance you gave when you went on television to convince the world that Donald Trump was a veritable marvel of genetic perfection, even though he is obviously a slab of ham.

And that Montreal Cognitive Assessment (see previous post, I Got a 30!)???  Please.  That's the kind of thing you give someone before letting them have the car keys, not nuclear weapons.  I have to admit, there was some erosion of your credibility after that.

But what REALLY sank your ship, pardon the pun, was the fact that you were so willing and eager to take on an important job for which you had zero qualifications.  Let's be honest, your status as a veteran no more gives you the credentials to run the Department of Veterans Affairs, than my status as a former teacher gives me the credentials to be the Secretary of Education.  Or maybe it does.  It certainly makes me more qualified than Betsy DeVos.

As for you, sir:  You will now take your place amongst the ever-expanding universe of ill-starred Trump-associated silly people.  Who could probably use some prescription meds.

And there, Dr. Jackson, you will wait. 

Patiently.  Until it is your turn to be on Dancing with the Stars.  

Best of luck,

Underemployed


Sunday, April 22, 2018

Dear Democratic Party

Dear Democrats,

You are WAY overthinking this.  Trust me.  All you really have to do is:

NOT BE TRUMP

How's that for a strategy?  Simple.  And easy (I'm doing it right now).  In fact, it's so easy even a Democrat should be able pull it off. 

So go for it.  We're counting on you.

Hopefully yours,

Underemployed


Friday, April 20, 2018

Dear Mr. Trump

Dear Mr. Trump,

You realize Giuliani's senile, right? 

True, maybe a little hard to tell since he's been like this since you declared your first bankruptcy.  But it's pretty obvious, given that vacant look on his face, the whole AirPods thing (a dead giveaway), and the fact that most of what he says sounds like something out of a Fellini movie.

Let me tell you, take it from a Sicilian-American lady because I know:  You are now stuck with looking at this guy's mug every. single. blessed. day for the rest of your life.  Rudy Giuliani for breakfast, lunch, snacks, and dinner.  Because - believe me - this guy's wife sure doesn't want him hanging around the house.  And she's not gonna give up easy.

I get it.  Good help is hard to find.  Especially if you have a reputation for not paying them.  And maybe Mayor Cocopazzo really will fix everything in two weeks, so you can get back to making money off of being in the White House.

But you think could you buy him a decent set of teeth?

Ci pensa,

Connie Staccato
Vice Princess
Paesani in Politics



Wednesday, April 18, 2018

Dear Mr. Trump

Dear Mr. Trump,

Breeding concept?  Seriously, dude, who writes your material?

Not amused,

Underemployed

The Ballad of Stormy Daniels

The Ballad of Stormy Daniels
(Sung to the tune of "Yellow Rose of Texas")


She's the sweetest little porn star
She comes from Baton Rouge
Her guys have tried to bribe her
Her lawyer's in the news

You can talk about your Kellyanne
And sing of Huckabee
But the gal for me is Stormy
She'll go down in history!



Monday, April 16, 2018

Dear Sean Hannity

Dear Mr. Hannity,

Today, alone, this is what we've got going on (so far!):
  1. Michael Cohen
  2. Stormy Daniels
  3. James Comey
  4. YOU (ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha) 
  5. The Love Judge
If Snooki shows up, I'm calling Elon Musk and making a reservation.

TBH, I did not see this coming.  And I think I love you.

Ineffably yours,

Underemployed


The World We See


"We do not see things as they are.  We see things as we are."
- Anaϊs Nin


"Slimeball!"
- Donald Trump




WTF

There's a White House press secretary named J. Hogan Gidley? 

Seriously, how do Republicans come up with these names? 

See previous post, Challenge.  I added Mr. Gidley to the list.  At least, I think he's a "Mr.", but with Republicans, one never knows.  And I refuse to Google "J. Hogan Gidley", because
  1. I'm sure it would be a boring, if not depressing, experience.
  2. For me, anyway.
  3. I prefer to wait for the reveal.  It's one of the few forms of entertainment offered by this White House.
Likewise, I skipped the Comey interview last night.  Not that I dislike Mr. Comey.  He seems all right to me (though the Hillary email thing was a real buzz kill).  But I'll let the talking heads to do the edit. 

And, who knows?  Maybe I'll get to watch a person named Wolf Blitzer have a person named J. Hogan Gidley on his show to talk about it.      

Thursday, April 12, 2018

Dear James Comey

Dear Mr. Big Shot Know-It-All Comey,

Okay, you're Irish.  I'll cut you some slack on account of that, because - obviously - what do you know?  But, take it from me, Connie Staccato, whose father-in-law signed Paulie the Waiter's citizenship papers, there is nothing about Donald Trump that remotely resembles a mob boss.

That big orange gavone a mob boss??  A capo di tutti capi?  Don't make me laugh.  He wouldn't last five minutes.  He wouldn't last five minutes in Mr. Roger's Neighborhood.  

And I don't know who you were dealing with when you were out busting The Outfit, but it must have been the waterboys because even the numbnuts underbosses know:
  1. you don't go around flappin' your jaw.
  2. you don't put ketchup on a steak.
  3. you should have a decent tailor, for crissakes!
I'm sorry, but you caught me in a bad mood.  I had an appointment with a urogynecologist today, and then I come home to this nonsense.  If you don't know what a urogynecologist is, count yourself lucky.

Anyways, now you owe me some quality entertainment.  

Ciao,

Connie Staccato
Consultant, All Things Sicilian-American


Enquiring Minds

Is it possible that there are people, actual Homo sapiens, over the age of twelve, native speakers of English, educated in the United States, and without visible signs of head trauma, who believe what they read in the National Enquirer, a publication owned by a man by the name of David J. Pecker?

I'm afraid the answer is yes.

Because there's just no other explanation for Hannity.

Wednesday, April 11, 2018

Dear Paul Ryan

Dear Speaker Ryan,

I was very happy to hear that you have assurances from the White House (apparently an anonymous source) that President Sillypants does not intend to fire the Russia investigators.

Actually, "amused" is a better description than "happy".  And I think "The Russia Investigators" would be a good name for a band.

So...what's the punchline?

LOL,

Underemployed


I Predict

Paul Ryan is going to run for president.

As a Democrat.


Monday, April 9, 2018

Dear Michael Cohen, Esq.

Dear Mr. Cohen,

Cheer up, honey.  Maybe they'll let you share a cell with Paul Manafort.

Gleefully yours,

Underemployed


Sunday, April 8, 2018

Dear Ted Nugent

Dear Mr. Nugent,

You're almost there.  If you could sound just slightly more stupid, I'm sure you could score a cabinet post.

Still not over Cat Scratch Fever,

Underemployed




Friday, April 6, 2018

Dear Nino Perrotta

Hey, Nino!

It's me, Connie Staccato.  Anthony Scaramucci's fourth cousin, once removed.  You dated my niece, Antonetta, once in high school, an experience that was probably more memorable for her than it was for you, to hear HER tell it.

What's with the goombah wave in D.C. these days, a town you couldn't get a cannoli in until last week?  First there was Anthony, then Michael Avenatti, and now you, Mr. Special Agent Pasquale "Nino" Perrotta.  (Geez, are you kidding me?)  Those jamokes must be really impressed with all you tough guys, and that's mainly because they never heard you whining at your mother because you couldn't find a clean shirt.

So you're famous now.  A real brutto job (gimme a break) providing 24/7 security for that faccia di cazzo who wants the sirens on when he hits traffic, and that nobody could pick out of a line-up if his life depended on it.  Maron', call the Godfather!  

Anyway, you got a few good vacations out of it, but you should move on, you know?  Before somebody grabs your phone.  And finds the guns in the cabinet behind the dresser up in the attic.

Just looking out for a paesan',

Connie Staccato
Special Correspondent



About Scott Pruitt

Dear Mr. Trump,

His landlord changing the locks on the doors would be the deciding factor, no?

Just a thought,

Underemployed


Tuesday, April 3, 2018

Cheatin' Obama

Wow.  That was a long time coming.  

Good job, Spanky.  More evidence of your stable genius.  I'm sure he cried himself to sleep.  Personally, I think you could have done better, but I understand you have a lot on your mind.  Like what Mr. Mueller meant by "not at this point".  

Now come up with a snappy nickname for Putin.

I dare you.


Sunday, April 1, 2018

For the Life of Me

I'm racking my brain here, but I can't - for the life of me - figure out why anybody in the universe should care about what Frank Stallone says or thinks.

"Who's Frank Stallone?" one might ask.

Precisely.