A "Dear John" Boehner Letter

Dear John:   My demographic profile is so freakish it should simultaneously lift your heart, and worry you.  I am a naturalized citizen, an Asian-American, a union member, and a federal employee.  I should be allied with the Democrats.  But because I believe in moral standards (and therefore condemn abortion and homosexual marriage), and because I can count (and therefore abhor deficit spending), I am conservative, and therefore vote Republican.  If you lose me, you will have lost the firmest part of your base.  So listen.

     Don’t compromise our values; don’t cut deals with Obama; do not yield an inch of political ground.  If we lose, let us go down fighting, defeated but righteous.  If the left wins, America will continue its cultural and economic decline until it meets with impoverishment and impotence.  That is a fate worse than the grimmest Republican electoral loss, in any case.  If our party upholds its principles, and since those principles are grounded in truth, we may yet sway a few more folks to vote our way.  But if you play along with Obama, I shall say “sayonara” to you.

     I am prepared to see cuts in government services and benefits, the more draconian the better.  I prefer temporary economic disruption to certain economic collapse.  I will relish the media outcry over our collective plunge into the fiscal abyss.  Unlike your House, mine carries no debt.  I have gold and silver on the side, to trade for bread and water, if it comes to it.

     I have a dream—that the day will come when illegals no longer infest our land; when unborn babies are treated more kindly than stray animals; when the government limits itself to building roads, and leaves the promising of paradise to the clergy.

Helping Obama

In August, just 96,000 jobs were created, and since four times that number of people gave up looking for work, the jobless rate actually went down to 8.1%, which got me thinking.  Let us all pitch in, and help Pres. Obama get re-elected.  Let’s all quit our jobs, and take a long, long nap until November.  That way, the labor pool will dry up, causing the unemployment rate to plunge to zero.  Obama can beam with satisfaction as he observes the entire country revert to a medieval village.

     On the education front, here’s a suggestion.  Give the teachers’ unions everything they want—everything—so that homeowners’ taxes skyrocket from six to, say, sixty thousand dollars, even as the value of their homes diminishes.  The public sector’s arrow on the chart goes up, while the private sector’s arrow goes down.  We’ll call this the “Detroit Model of Wealth Redistribution.”  Now, in the middle of our medieval village, a tall ivory tower rises.  The educators inhabiting this tower do not actually have jobs either.  They don’t accomplish much, and besides, they’re “entitled” to live in the tower.  They would say they have a divine right to tenure, but of course there is no such thing as divinity.

     As for climate change—easy.  Schedule Barack Obama to appear in as many entertainment shows and talk programs as Air Force One can handle.  He is after all the “Teacher of Great Renown” sung about in Paul Simon’s song of 2000—the Teacher who “sucked all the moisture from the clouds.”  As the planet warms, Obama becomes progressively “cooler”—more hip and cosmopolitan than anyone alive.  His cooling influence counteracts rising temperatures everywhere, and equilibrium is achieved in the global village.

     Coming soon on November 6—“Messiah: The Sequel,” rated R for religious content.

A Post-Election Carol

O wretched town of Washington!

How frequently you lie

About the dumb things you have done,

And at what cost, and why.

 

Now sits in utter darkness

Obama’s U.S.A.

His “hope and change” have rearranged

This nation’s D.N.A.

 

The promises you rarely keep,

The deals you oft contrive

Make us feel creeped out as we weep—

Can anyone survive?

 

Barack Hussein Obama,

Although your House is White,

The dirt and shame of your campaign

Are met in thee tonight!

All Wet

All Wet

 

The ship, of which Barack Obama was the captain, struck what felt like an iceberg.  But at that latitude in the north Atlantic, icebergs had long since disappeared, hauled off to quench the thirst of Arabian and Kuwaiti populations.  In fact we had hit an oil platform, out of service, and drifting in the ocean, its crew long since conscripted into the green-energy industry.  Capt. Obama had just left the ballroom, where he had re-assigned the first-class cabins of the rich to the steerage passengers, who hailed him as their hero.

     Panicked, I leaped into a lifeboat with an Illinois state flag at its stern.  Big mistake.  Just as I lowered the boat into the water, some scoundrel emerged from under a tarp, yelling, “Oh no, ye don’t!”  The man threw a line back up to the sinking ship, where it snagged a bollard.  He turned to me, and said, “I’m guvner heah, and I’m goin’ wiv my capt’in!”

     I jumped into the ocean then, wearing a life vest labeled “Property of Du Page County.”  Curiously, and much to my consternation, this life vest had weights attached to it, marked “Rec Center Assessment,” and “utility surcharge.”  I looked up at the fool on the lifeboat.  “Heah!” he yelled, lifting an anvil.  “Ye may as well fund the teachers’ pensions too if yar gonna drown!”

     I squirmed out of my vest, and swam all night to a raft.  “Where am I?” I asked the men who were paddling the raft. 

     “You’re on what’s left of American conservatism,” one of them replied.  “If you’re staying, you’re going to have to paddle.”

     And so I did—but not before writing a letter, which I placed inside a plastic bottle.  Murmuring a prayer, I cast the bottle into the waves. 

     You’re reading that letter.