THE STATE OF DISUNION ADDRESS:
His Shining 8 Minutes
Mister President, as one of your few enemies of the people in the media who has had good things to say about you—I was the pundit who first said you were the best president we have –I would like to share with you a few belated words about your much anticipated talk to the nation from the Oval Office (1/8/19) about what we presumed to be a national emergency.
It had the potential of becoming a series, like FDR’s “Fireside Chats” on the radio in a time of another national emergency (The Depression).
With all due respect, sir, you bombed. True, it had your usual boring, illogic, inconsistency, and words coming from your gut, not the brain, hallmarks of your rhetorical style.
You gave us your serious side, grim. Trying to appear “presidential” makes you seem more ridiculously miscast in the role, now in its third season. You looked like those early Japanese TV cartoon characters, only the lips moving. Gravitas is not your bag, sir.
Some millennials are suggesting you were on some kind of stuff for your perpetual sniffles. I’ll leave it to pharmacological experts on which cold medicine he is using that keeps him awake until 3 every morning on Twitter, followed by changing his mind at 3:01, and then again at 3:02.
What was missing from the address was the ” national emergency” requiring preempting Tuesday night 9 commercial network programming. Would he be declaring himself as the “national emergency," for example? The state of disunion speech lacked drama, surprise, a shock that could wake the brain dead, or the remaining commercial network program fans, pardon the redundancy.
It contained nothing like the revelation that Ayn Rand, a darling of the conservative base, had been taking Social Security and Medicare moolah, all the while attacking government over-reach.
With the news that the FBI is on his tail about the Russian thing again, what a great opportunity to announce he was firing the new FBI director for trying to frame him. Even better, it would have been the perfect time to announce his resignation.
As a public service, as previously mentioned, I had been the first to write our best president’s farewell address, which will join Richard Nixon’s in the annals as the “I’m no Crook, just your above-average real estate developer gonif who was over his head as the minority of the people’s choice as POTUS, commander-in-chief of the world’s greatest military power, and Leader of the Free World (LFW).”
“For the good of the party,” it began, in case you missed it, “the good of the nation, and to keep my kids out of jail… With a heavy heart, I have decided to follow the recommendation of my doctors, including the White House physician who once said I was so healthy I could live for 200 years, or maybe it was 300, but who is now worried about my high cholesterol number, which in combination with my bone spurs acting up in the rain when visiting World War I cemeteries in France, require my stepping down, and passing the torch of leadership…”
“Don’t cry for me, America,” it might continue, ”I will be exploring other options that have become available while I was ignoring the spirit, if not the intent, of the emolument clause, the so-called Santa Clause, in the Constitution I am no longer pledged to uphold.”
His decision to take an honorable medical discharge, he could explain, was not based on the old political rule that if you can’t stand the heat in the kitchen, get out.
As he promised, he made America great again by giving it a tax cut.
In the few moments he would have left, El Presidente would be able to resolve the national wall emergency by claiming victory The wall that every real American wants and that traitors like cryin’ Chuck and ugly Nancy hate will be built manana.
The Mexicans will pay for it manana. It will stop the rapists, the drug lords, the terrorists manana. It’s a win- win.
And if Operation Manana hasn’t finished the wall by 2020, there is nothing in the Constitution preventing him from making the wall a campaign issue while throwing his golden mane into the ring for a second term in 2020, especially since he has been campaigning for the job since the reading of the last line of the Inaugural Address on Jan. 20, 2017.
I may be getting a little ahead of my skis here, sir, but you can claim to be the most experienced candidate in the field. “The best president we had” is a campaign slogan worth its weight in Moscow gold, as they used to say.
In the meanwhile, Mister President, I realize you don’t read anything, and you probably never heard of Robert Frost. It might be only an empty gesture, but I wish somebody would send you a copy of Frost’s poem “Mending Walls,” the one that asks “Something there is that doesn’t love a wall.”
Jan. 14, 2019