Bozo of a president

Dear President Trump,

You’ve had a hell of a week! Was screwing with the country today about whether you’d sign the budget bill the cherry on top? I bet it was actually tough signing that thing with such a pittance for your precious wall (though that billion-dollar-plus pittance would sure build a lot of low income housing or raise a lot of teacher salaries….). And I know you couldn’t help yourself, but it was so lame to blame the lack of relief for DACA recipients on the Democrats. Maybe you don’t remember that it was your very own self who decided to impose the arbitrary March 5th expiration of those protections.

Every single week of your administration has been chock full of chaos and drama, but it seems to be ratcheting up. A lot. Is Mueller freaking you out? Is that why Dowd said bye and Cohen is being angled towards the door? Is that why you’re bringing your Foxy Friends into the Oval Office to croon “la la la la” in your ears? You do get, don’t you, that firing Mueller would be tantamount to having a neon sign surgically attached to the top of your head that says “Yes, I colluded with Russia,” right? Or are you counting on your supporters interpreting such a move as righteous? Do you and your handlers want to start a civil war? Is that now the objective?

On another note, are you going to stay in town for the rally tomorrow? Or have you already skedaddled down to one of your gated havens where angry teenagers who are bereft over their friends’ shooting deaths can’t mar your day? You know, I actually hope you bolted and that your plan for tomorrow is to have a nice round of golf and a fabulous meal with people who hang on your every word and laugh at all your jokes. It would be a much more sincere expression of the depth of your concern for children’s safety than if you stayed and mouthed some platitudes. Besides, you need to rest up for next week since it will no doubt be another hairy rollercoaster ride. I hate to end on this note, but I just had an image of you in scary clown make-up at the controls of a carnival ride pushing the contraption beyond its tolerances, laughing maniacally as the cars fly off and the structure implodes. You are laughing so loud you can’t hear the people screaming for you to stop.

May we be safe from our bozo of a president.
May we not let you make us forget how it feels to be happy.
May those with some influence insist the GOP get a grip.
May your love for somebody, anybody, stop you from starting a war.

Sincerely,
Tracy Simpson

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