Since the publication of my blog post Merry Christmas, First Family! I have received no less than a half dozen more emails from the Comb-Over in Chief. One of them was trying to sell me some shitty half price MAGA hat Christmas ornament. Nothing says class like the leader of the free world hawking clearance rack goodies and begging for dollar donations, eh?
After finding that I was unable to unsubscribe to these inane and rambling correspondence, and not having enough hours in the day to mock them all, I have taken to just hitting delete while I say ‘fuck off’ under my breath. This latest one, though, I just had to respond to. After all, according to Lara Trump herself, she ‘can’t wait’ to see my note. Well put your reading glasses on, Lara, because I can’t wait for you to read what’s on my mind.
It’s nice of you to take a break from your job at
Newspeak Trump TV to write me a complete piece of absolute bullshit lovely note urging me to wish your creepy as fuck wonderful husband a happy birthday. I’ll get to the ‘best wishes’ matter once I get a few things off my chest. Mmmmmkay, sweetie?
I’m so happy to read that 2017 was full of exciting moments for your family, like the ‘historic inauguration’ of your father-in-law. By historic I’m sure you mean how absolutely unprecedented it is that we have someone in office who is quite possibly literally insane and completely unqualified for the job. And, I see you’ve procreated. That’s, that’s just great. Awesome. If there’s anything the world needs right now it’s more Trump DNA swimming in the gene pool.
I’ve had a lot of exciting moments this year too! I’ve almost stroked out a time or two after fearing your father-in-law would start a nuclear holocaust because of his Twitter tirades. My heart was also racing as I watched him desperately try again and again and again to dismantle Obamacare, the only piece of legislation that promises I will always be covered by insurance regardless of my complex medical history. That was, well exciting isn’t exactly the word for it, but I’m sure you know what I mean.
So, your husband is 34, huh? Geez, he’s younger than me by a damn decade. I guess that means that we should forgive his many blunders. Like when he claimed Ellen DeGeneres was part of a conspiracy to bring his father down. Or when he took money under the guise of using it to help sick children and funneled it to his father instead. And that awful time when he tried to defend his father’s use of a racial slur in front of Native American heroes. Mere youthful transgressions, I suppose.
Are you really sure NOTHING would make him happier than seeing my name on his card? Nothing? Doesn’t he have some puppies to kick? Surely he could drive past some homeless people and laugh at them. There’s got to be a grandma somewhere whose shins need kicking. That is what he does for fun, right? He gives off that vibe, just saying.
So, now that I’ve addressed that stuff, let me get down to the birthday wishes. Eric, Eric, Eric. Happy birthday, man. Really, from the bottom of my heart, happy motherfucking birthday you sack of smug, useless flesh that could very well be a true life super villain if your IQ wasn’t so low. Happy birthday, asshole. Now make everyone happy and go away immediately and take your father with you. Kisses.
*Featured image courtesy of Pixabay