OPEN LETTER TO DONALD TRUMP
Sir: I find myself sitting here a-contemplating your regrettable candidacy for President of the United States, a position that, prior to your candidacy, I held in high regard. Consider, sir, the tree you’re pissing on here. This is an office that has, historically, appealed to people of higher-than-average IQ, who possessed, most of them, the ability to play well with the other children (“diplomacy,” “basic social skills”). But you, sir, do not share the sandbox.
You hoard the small plastic shovels and the trucks. You are that kid who is an obvious asshole by the age of three. Kicking sand in people’s faces, hitting the skinny kid on the head with a brick. You are the smelly adolescent who snapped bras and made armpit fart sounds. You were a dickhead. Now you are a demagogue. That word may be too big for you. Sorry. It means “dickhead.”
[The gracious Hornbacher concluded our correspondence with “though that may be not quite what you’re looking for,” adding a spirited dancing Tuzki something like this: