Hillary for America
Post Office Box 5256
New York, NY 10185-5256
Dear Secretary Clinton,
I have three words for you and here they are: YOU MUST WIN!!!
Here’s one more: PLEASE!!!
Please understand, it’s not because Donald Trump is the reincarnation of Mussolini with bad hair. Which he is.
It’s not because Donald Trump has worse manners than my five-year-old grandson on a blood sugar meltdown. Which he does.
It’s not because Donald Trump doesn’t know anything about foreign policy. For him, every policy is a foreign policy!
No Madame Secretary, here’s the reason you have to win: It’s my husband.
You see, when george w. bush became president, my husband got this crazy idea in his head that he was the greatest leader since Caesar. My poor mixed up Carl loved “Our President” more than life itself and started writing letters to “Him” and “His” aides every day with all kinds of cockamamie advice.
He warned “Our President” that his American flag lapel pin was crooked.
He congratulated Condoleeza Rice for having an oil tanker named after her.
He competed “Team Cheney” against Nixon’s “Team Watergate” and “Team Cheney” won by a mile! (Cheney wrote back and said, “Your comments have been duly noted.”)
Well, now my husband is at it again! Last night at 3am, I woke up and he was gone. “Uh oh,” I whispered. I tip-toed down the hall to his study and there he was, hunched over his computer, writing a letter to Trump!
“Oh for Lord’s sake, Carl,” I cried. “Not again!”
“He needs my help, Viola,” he replied. “How can he win when he keeps spelling words wrong? Look at his latest tweet.”
Sure enough, there it was: "Bad performance by Crooked Hillary Clinton! Reading poorly from the telepromter!”
“He’s too busy with important things to know how to spell ‘teleprompter,’ ” Carl explained.
“Maybe he can’t afford spell check,” I said.
You see where this is going. My husband is in his study right now, writing another letter! I can’t take four more years of this! That is why you must win in November so my husband will stop writing these damn letters!”
I’m speaking to you woman to woman. You know what it’s like when your husband goes off half-cocked. Whoops. Maybe I shouldn’t have said it that way. But these poor men! Sometimes all that testosterone swirls around their brains and makes them all mixed up.
That’s why you have to win, Madame Secretary! Our country can’t afford another president with testosterone poisoning, and I can’t live another four years with my husband writing letters!
He hasn’t written to you yet, has he?