Dear Mr. President,
I found out recently that my great-grandfather was a baron in Luxembourg. When you think about it, that kind of puts us on the same level. I mean, I’ve never seen you naked, but, in terms of valuable blood, we’re practically the same.
Will this get me into any clubs?
Your friend (brother?),
John Gordonenom
Dear Mr. President,
I was hoping to find out why your left eye sneakily looks at its counterpart on the other side of your nose. It’s mildly disconcerting, to say the least, as you deliver important speeches such as your famous (and ingeniously penned) “Axis of Evil” speech and, just as you’re hammering home your point about freedom, your eye checks to see if its buddy is still in the same place as it was earlier that day.
Does this upset you as much as it does me? I mean, I really find myself getting into the groove with you as you begin to emphasize the “nucular” threat we all face in the hands of our evil terrorist nemeses and then—ZIP! It happens again and I’m no longer afraid. My wife turns to me as I start to giggle and says something like, “Eyeball again, eh?” I mean, I wanna be afraid, because then I feel protected by you and Mr. Cheney, but I’m unable to reach my maximum fear level when your eyeball is whipping across your face.
What happens in your line of sight when that ocular phenomenon begins to inspect the bridge of your nose? Do you, say, drive over the middle line on the road? Do you begin reading the wrong teleprompter? What a drag it must be to have a maverick eyeball.
My uncle’s a glass blower. He said he could hook you up with an eye that wouldn’t veer unless you hit it with a ball-peen hammer. Let me know if we can help.
Sincerely,
Scott Schneider
Dear Mr. President,
My church has gone ahead and replaced the name “Jesus” with “George” in all of our worship songs and hymns.
Hope you don’t mind, but we really like you. You should see the fervor that erupts when we sing “All hail the power of George’s name, let angels prostrate fall!”
Amen.
Sincerely,
The Butcher
Dear Mr. President,
Just wanted to say thanks. Thanks for disillusioning me. My dad loves puttering around the house all day because he can’t find a job that pays more than $10 an hour, you know, since he’s got a family to feed and all.
I want to thank you for health insurance rates shooting so high that I get to try and monitor my diabetes out of pocket. It’s great really, because instead of checking my sugar three times a day like I should, I do it once a day to make the strips last for longer. My fingers aren’t as sore as they could be, and for that, I thank you.
Sincerely,
Alica Espinoza
Dear Mr. President,
Try pronouncing it like the words “new” and “clear” were put together into one word. In that order: “new-clear.” Try it out; it may be hard at first, but you’ll improve over time. Be sure to practice a bit before doing it in public.
Sincerely,
The American Language
[NOTE: The opinions expressed in these letters do not necessarily represent those of McSweeney’s, Knopf, Vintage, Kevin Feeney, Jessica Rabinowitz,
or Gabe Hudson.]