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Tuesday, July 21, 2020

 

President Donald J. TRUMP

The White House

1600 Pennsylvania Avenue

Washington DC 20500

 

Dear President TRUMP,

I WANT MY FREEDOM AND I WANT IT NOW!

You’ll never believe what happened to me last week!  I was driving in the city, minding my own business, when I got pulled over by a cop.  He walked up to my car, asked for my driver’s license through the open window, and here’s what he said:

“I stopped you because you are driving your vehicle without a seat belt.”

I tried to reason with him and I said:

"THIS IS OUTRAGEOUS!  THIS THE UNITED STATES OF AMERCA AND I DEMAND MY GOD-GIVEN RIGHT TO DRIVE WITHOUT A SEAT BELT!" 

But was the cop done ripping my freedoms away?  No!  Here’s what else he said:

“I also must inform you, Mr. Estrada, that you were also driving 95 miles an hour in a school zone and you ran a stop sign where some children were trying to cross the street.”

“What’s your point, officer,” I replied.  “Where in the Constitution does it say that I can’t drive as fast as I want, wherever I want?”

I think I had him there because he changed the subject and said, “Mr. Estrada, I think I smell alcohol on your breath.  Will you please step out of your car?”

Now he was trying to rip away my liberty to drink while driving!  Fortunately, at that very moment, a very menacing 12 year-old black boy walked by, and the cop raced to the scene of the crime to keep the peace.  I took the opportunity to make my exit.  

Just in case the cop was done subduing the menacing 12 year-old black boy, I decided to disappear for a while.  I parked my car on a side street and ducked into a movie theater.  I was just settling in to watch “Fast and Furious Presents: Hobbs and Shaw,” and it got me thinking:  Those guys don’t get in trouble for driving as fast as they want!  They don’t get arrested for blowing up cars and buses and airplanes!  Those guys own enough guns to take down the Russian army and all they’re doing is exercising their 2nd Amendment rights!  

As I was thinking these thoughts, I lit up a cigarette, and you’ll never guess what happened next.  The manager came running down the aisle, told me smoking wasn’t allowed in the theater, and I would have to leave!

What’s this great country coming to?  Our Founding Fathers didn’t spill blood and die so we would be denied the right to smoke in a movie theater if we want to!

As the manager was dragging me out, Hobbs and Shaw blew up a helicopter, and I yelled, “FIRE!”

The next thing I knew, the whole theater was emptying out and I nearly got trampled!  And guess what?  Everybody in the stampede was wearing a mask!  Everybody except me.  As I stumbled out to the street, an elderly gentleman approached me and said, “Excuse me, sir,  but do you understand that by not wearing a mask you are endangering all of us?”

I gave the old man a lesson in how a thoughtful, well-reasoned, intelligent Amercan makes an argument. Here’s what I said:

“YOU IDIOT LIB-TARDS ARE TURNING THIS COUNTRY INTO A TOTALITARIAN REGIME!  YOU FAR-LEFT PINKO COMMIE FASCISTS ARE SPREADING FAKE NEWS FROM THE DEEP STATE!  I DON’T WANT TO WEAR A MASK AND YOU CAN’T MAKE ME!”

And then, I sealed the deal when I said:

“WHO ARE YOU GOING TO BELIEVE:  OUR PRESIDENT OR THE ALARMIST, DR. FAUCI?”

I had him there.  All he had left was this lame comeback:

“Dude, you’re spitting in my face.  Peace, brother.”  He pulled out a disinfectant wipe, scrubbed his face and hands, and walked away.

I headed back to my car with the deep satisfaction you get when you totally destroy someone in a debate.  I felt the same way you must have felt when you annihilated Chris Wallace in that argument about how you aced your cognitive test.  Here’s how you annihilated him:

Wallace: Incidentally, I took the test too when I heard that you passed it.

TRUMP: Yeah, how did you do?

Wallace: It’s not – well it’s not the hardest test. They have a picture and it says “what’s that” and it’s an elephant.

TRUMP: No, no, no… You see, that’s all misrepresentation.

Wallace: Well, that’s what it was on the web.

TRUMP: It’s all misrepresentation. Because, yes, the first few questions are easy, but I’ll bet you couldn’t even answer the last five questions. I’ll bet you couldn’t, they get very hard, the last five questions.

Wallace: Well, one of them was count back from 100 by seven.

TRUMP: Let me tell you…

Wallace: Ninety-three.

TRUMP: …you couldn’t answer—you couldn’t answer many of the questions.

Wallace: OK, what’s the question?

TRUMP: I’ll get you the test, I’d like to give it. I’ll guarantee you that Joe Biden could not answer those questions.

Wallace: OK.

TRUMP: And I answered all 35 questions correctly.

Epic burn!  Total takedown!  You caught Chris Wallace in a trap and you made him your bitch!  He tried to count backwards from 100 by seven, and he could only make it to 93!

Where was I?  Oh, right….Real Amercans don’t wear masks.  Anyway, I was heading back to my car trying to figure out what comes after 93, when suddenly a black, unmarked van pulled up alongside me.  Four burly men armed to the teeth, wearing camouflage riot gear jumped out of the car, swarmed me like a rugby scrum, pulled a hood over my head, handcuffed me from behind, and threw me in the van.  They piled in and I felt the car drive away.

“What are you doing?” I asked.  “Where are we going?”

Silence.

“I’m sorry I was driving 95 in a school zone,” I said.  “I promise to be more careful.”

Silence.

“I want to talk to my lawyer.”

With that, the van screeched to a halt.  They unlocked my handcuffs and threw me out in the street.

I picked myself up, pulled off the hood, brushed myself off, and tried to get my bearings.  When I figured out where I was, I realized I was about two miles from my car, so I began  walking back.  

The streets were getting dark.  I passed a homeless camp with ragged people huddled in tarps and tents, the ground littered with bottles, needles, and human waste.

I skirted around a Black Lives Matter rally.  Thousands of angry people were in the streets holding up pictures of black men who they claimed were minding their own business when they were needlessly murdered by cops.

I saw an army of cops in riot gear—they looked like the same ones who took me for a ride—and they were attacking men, women, and children with batons, tear gas, and rubber bullets. 

I passed a hospital and saw a parade of ambulances with their lights flashing and sirens blaring, hauling a line of gurneys carrying Covid patients hoping for an ICU bed.

I finally made it back to my car, and as I pulled away from the curb, here’s what I thought:

“Is this a great country or what?!” 

And then I thought this:

Mr. President, you promised to Make Amerca Great Again.  You only have 6 months to finish the job!

Sincerely,

Carl Estrada

P.S.  What does come after 93 if you’re counting backwards by seven?  Only you would know! 

P.P.S.  Please send an autographed picture.  Make it out to my grandson, Lester.  You’re his favorite freedom fighting patriot.  He likes you even better than Robert E. Lee!

 

 
 
 
 
 


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