I am retired, and was sitting around today, weary and spent like a used cartridge from trying—and, as usual, failing—to save the world, and now with evening and night fast approaching.
“Cursed again! mentally says I—like the now antiquated villains in—Wait! Were they Bugs Bunny cartoons of the late1940s until mid-1950s that featured comely damsels in distress tied up by black-mustachioed bad persons with large ropes to railroad tracks? Train was always bearing right down. Comely woman was always rescued at last minute by nice guy in white hat.
So—trying desperately, knitting my brow(s) and dropping a stitch here and there—to be hip (notice I started this sentence with “So” like the hipsters or whatever the current phrase for them is), I am reading the Times “Letters to the Editor” from September 17th, and, as night follows day, the writers are excoriating Mr. President. Name starts with a “T,” if you didn’t know. Anyway, top part of the “Letters” is about Iran. Saudi Arabia. Persian Gulf places.
Now, like Lt. Columbo back in the day, I, too, claim not to be the brightest bulb in this episode, but I just ask—or acs, as we used to pronounce it back when I was a blue-collar youth hoping no one would ever notice my fairly poor origin, and that people never notice my real and alleged defects. So I am acsing this:
“Wait, one more question, madam or sir! Just a minute more before your much-deserved leave taking. Which, incidentally, you so richly deserve. I mean, here I am a second grade drop-out am taking up so much of your valuable time. I bet you even went to a coupla years college, am I right? Anyway.
So you say dat one of the countries outside of the US of A—I forget now if it is Iran or Saudi Arabia right now—is disrespecting us.
So why can’t there be reliable think tanks, let’s call them, of the kind that the President can just phone, or Tweet or whatever it is he does, and get a fast, and hopefully currently accurate, lowdown on what is going on with that particular country, and, say, figure out why are they doing that? You know?
So, then he can Tweet away like a blue blood and not scare, say, duh stock markets in udder countries.
Incidentally, I love your jacket. Can I acs you where you got it? Y’know, later today or tonight maybe I can go to one of those knock-off thrift stores and get it for an affordable price, you know, on my Lieutenant, j.g.’s salary.
Oh, I am sorry to tell you that sorry you can’t leave today until you answer my question about where the President receives his sources.
Sincerely, John F. Early