706 Hart Office Building, Washington, DC 20510
I think My postman must be drunk or something. I just got a postcard from you that must have been meant for Harry Reid. I’m afraid all the blubbering and artful tear-stains are wasted on Me, since I’m on vacation. That’s not to say that I’m not impressed with your Olympian twisting & turning. You, My friend, are like a cockroach wearing a life-preserver, who has pictures of the exterminator shtupping the boss’s daughter. I mean that in a good way. You can survive anything.
I mean, Satan could learn a thing or two from you. You may recall that He and I had a slight disagreement some years back and as a result, I gave Him a permanent sunburn, shrank His shoes and superglued them on, then banished Him to Gitmo Hell. And that was just for using powdered creamer in My coffee. Imagine what I would have done to Him if He’d called Me a Marxist and kicked Me in the Holy Stones? If Satan had half the luck and chutzpah you do, He’d be getting a massage in a 5-star hotel right now and I’d be manager of Hell, working for minimum wage plus tips with a slim hope of a bonus at the end of eternity.
Really; you’re a heat-seeking, radar-guided windsock. I know those guys you “caucus” with are kind of, well… pussies, but you deserve some kudos for playing them like your worst enemy’s unattended Wii. Once they get through apologizing for getting their wedding tackle tangled up in your chainsaw, you’ll be free to buckle down to some good, hard backstabbing. It kind of makes Me nostalgic for My smiting days.
Of course, you know if I were in their place, I’d turn you into a grease spot on the sidewalk faster than you can say, “You know what.” But, hey; that’s just Me. Inever understood why Goldfinger didn’t kill 007 as soon as he caught him. Your “caucus buddies” probably didn’t see anything strange in it. So you’ll most likely weasel out of trouble like a weasely weasel that… is uncommonly weasel-like.
Nice job of it, though. You’ll probably be Majority Leader by the time you get this postcard. Just do Me a favor and don’t pass along any pointers to Satan, ’cause I’m not a Democrat and I’ll smite you six ways to Sunday.
Wish You Were Here,