Thank you George W., you dangerous and comically arrogant clown. Because you have succeeded in dividing the country among slave states and free states, and stopping at nothing less than starting a war in order to get re-elected, you have given me a moment of clarity. To you, Karl, and your minions, I say: Salut!
Yes, George, thank you. Your defeat is now my purpose, and how envigorated I feel! How free! Gone for now is that dream of writing that novel, of making that movie, that dream of a more-or-less comfortable four years doing this or that in pursuit of, let's face it, selfish goals (you most certainly know what I'm talking about, don't you, George?).
Stopping you and, it's corollary, rebuilding the Democratic party into an engine to crush your ideology, is now my priority. Family and health may equal it in need, but nothing is now more important. And therefore I feel connected to something larger than before. How can I not be happy?
I doubt you'd ask why, George, because, as you yourself know, you're not the type of person to ask why, which is precisely why you're easily the worse president in our history and why I'm up early on Sunday writing this to you. But in case you're within ear shot and hear this accidentally, let me say why. I'm saying this for the simple reason that I love my country.
Yup. I love my country, George. More than you, I suspect, because I have not had a life of privilege and probably take the wonderful benefits of this great country less for granted than you, a C-minus student whose father was chauffeured to private school during the Depression.
I love America. I love the founding fathers and their Constitution and the opportunity to be what I want to be. And I love the crisp Maine air, the beautiful painted desert in Arizona, the Great Lakes, the Everglades, the Mississippi, the fields of Nebraska, and Yellowstone National Park. And that guy who cheerfully pulled me out of the snowbank one winter, for no other reason than he wanted to help.
Well, Junior, I want to help, too. You've driven us collectively into the snowbank and I want to help. You've put us in jeopardy and I cannot allow that. Clarity! It's quite simple. Stopping you has become my "raisin detra," as Nathan Arizona said. Business as usual is no longer an option, and for that I am grateful. We now live in interesting times, George, for which I thank you. What an exciting four years I'm going to have. What stories to tell my grandchildren!
And so I say this out of love, George: You're going to wish you were never elected.