While You're at It

Dear Mr. Trump,

As long as you're picking apart the Constitution, can we address the "well regulated Militia" part of the Second Amendment?

Punctiliously yours,

Underemployed

Dear Kanye West

Dear Kanye West,

No shit.

Welcome back,

Underemployed

Dear Mike Pence

Dear Mike Pence,

I agree.  Everyone has a style.

Mine, for example, is "Classic Minimalist".  Trump's is "Scary Birthday Clown".  And yours is "Freeze-Dried Clutch Cargo".

Tell Mother to shop accordingly.

Yours in healthy debate,

Underemployed

Dear Mr. Trump

Dear Mr. Trump,

I completely understand why you don't want to talk about all this "Bomb" stuff right now.  (I think I do.  God help me.)

So.

Can we talk about the stock market crashing instead?

Perceptively yours,

Underemployed

Dear Mr. Trump

Dear Mr. Trump,

You do know that Fox News is playing you for a chump, right?

Think about it,

Underemployed

Dear Mr. Trump

Dear Mr. Trump,

I have a natural instinct for surgery.  Can I do your next scalp reduction?

Call me,

Underemployed

Dear Mr. Trump

Dear Mr. Trump,

You've had an amazing past 24-hours of stupid, but this is the jewel in the crown:

But where have I seen that before?  Oh, yeah:

You should call that artist again.

Woof,

Underemployed

Dear Scott Wagner

Dear Candidate Wagner,

Where did you learn that word and what do you think it means?

At sea,

Underemployed

The White Suburban Woman Blues

Well, I woke up this morning
Now they're sayin' I'm a mob
Oh yeah, I woke up this morning
And they're sayin' I'm a mob
Well, it hurt me so deep down inside
I cut my hair into a lob.

There's an Orange Man in the White House
And he's givin' me the blues
There's an Orange Man in the White House
And he's givin' me the blues
He's talking' about winnin'
But we're payin' heavy dues.

I'm a White Suburban Woman
Like my wine and yoga mat
Yeah, I'm a White Suburban Woman
Like my wine and yoga mat
And I don't need no man with tiny hands
Grabbin' at my pussy cat.

Count Me Out

Dear Mr. Trump,

Per my previous request, please stop speaking on my behalf.  I, for one, as a free citizen of the "nation" you so blithely referred to in your little skit tonight, choose not to apologize to Brett Kavanaugh.

Mr. Kavanaugh, being - maybe - slightly smarter than you are, might possibly already understand this.  Have a drink, Brett, it will make you feel like a real Justice.

Not your nation,

Underemployed

Dear Mr. Trump

Dear Mr. Trump,

I just saw you on TV, talking about how so many women are REALLY HAPPY about Brett Kavanaugh becoming a Supreme Court justice.

Really?

Well, the women I know - with a very few possible exceptions - think that Brett Kavanaugh, and Chuck Grassley, and Lindsey Graham, and Mitch McConnell, and the rest of the bottom feeder Republicans in Congress*, and Kellyanne Conway, and Sarah Huckabee Sanders, and Rudy Giuliani, and Jared Kushner, and Steve Bannon, and Nikki Haley, and Steve Miller, and General Kelly, and Mike Pompeo, and John Bolton, and Betsy DeVos, and Steve Mnuchin, and Mike Pence, and Sonny Perdue, and Wilbur Ross, and Jeff Sessions, and Ryan Zinke, and Ben Carson, and Rick Perry, and Kirstjen Nielsen, and EVERYBODY at Fox News (hi, Hope!), and Ivanka, and Fredo, and Eric. 

And you.

Are deceitful, amoral, pusillanimous, idiot douchebags.

Did I leave anybody out?  Oh, what the heck.  And Ted Cruz.

Thought you should know,

Underemployed

*Not Lisa Murkowski.

Dear Brett Kavanaugh

Dear Mr. Kavanaugh,

Congratulations.  You will now be known as "Justice Asshole Frat Boy" for the rest of your life.

Hope it was worth it,

Underemployed

Dear Chuck Grassley

Dear Senator Grassley,

Did George Soros also pay more than 2400 law professors and the National Council of Churches?  Or is that consideration beyond the combined brain power of you, your friends at Fox News, and Donald Trump?

Apparently,

Underemployed

For Your Information

Dear Mr. Trump,

Per your tweet of today about Brett Kavanaugh:  "The country is with him all the way."

No.

As a free American woman, let me state for the record, YOU DO NOT SPEAK FOR ME.  Now or ever.  

Is that clear enough?  I mean, even for you?

Probably not,

Underemployed

Dear Donald Trump, Jr.

Dear Fredo,

Stepping up to be the poster boy for Castration Anxiety is, in your case, epically poetic.

Literally.

Don't forget your meds,

Underemployed