Dear Friends and Family:

I know what you all must be thinking: why, out of all the places to spend the precious, formative year between high school and college, would anyone choose to plunge into the grease canyons of Mitch McConnell’s flaccid mandibles? Why not distribute mosquito nets in the Congo? Or build schoolhouses in Haiti? Why not do literally anything other than venture into America’s most treacherous turkey wattle?

I’ll tell you why: because I’m a goddamn American hero.

Since the mid-1980s, not a single person has volunteered her time to explore the dark recesses of Mitch McConnell’s gelatinous chin skin in the hopes of making it a kinder, more hospitable place for the American people. Who knows how many helpless children are trapped in that nebulous neck-curtain, their cries muffled by the thick folds of McConnell’s stubbly jelly gullet? Can you imagine the stench? The smell of Eucerin mixed with the rotting heart muscle of lady liberty herself? I shudder to think. Shudder. But soon, it will be my reality. Please, do not cry for me. Cry for our country. Cry for freedom.

I once stood behind Senator McConnell at a town hall meeting and do you know what I saw fall from his shirt collar? A baby shoe. A single, bloody baby shoe. Not a minute later a full-sized crow flew into his throat and instantly disappeared before my eyes. Within seconds, the malevolent maw betwixt his chin-flaps burped out a single feather. And do you know what the crowd of people did? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. They simply watched on, normalizing.

Now look me in the eye and tell me I should distribute water filters to villages in sub-Saharan Africa. I dare you.

More than ever, the dangerous crevasses of Mitch McConnell’s fetid turkey-gobbler need young people like me to set down roots and start working toward a better future. My first priority is to establish a solid infrastructure complete with roads, solar panels, and perhaps some kind of romantic Venetian canal system. My dream is that, in ten year’s time, Mitch McConnell’s pasty, shit-eating throat-jiggler will have a school on every corner and a Trader Joe’s on every block.

I don’t know about you, but every time I boil up a package of expired chicken gizzards or find myself ankle-deep in a pond full of dead blob fish, I can’t help but think of Mitch McConnell’s underserved chin and the blind eye the American public has turned on it. How many more days do we, as a country, have to watch the molten layers of his reptilian throat flesh quiver on CNN before we stand up and do something? How many more times will America sit back as our Senate’s most vile slab of neck flubber silences yet more patriots like Coretta Scott King and Elizabeth Warren? How many more victims will we offer up to that ravenous, blubbery abyss of corruption? Where is Habitat for Humanity? Where is FEMA? Where is Sarah McLaughlin with her maudlin infomercials? I’ll tell you where they are: nowhere. There is only me, and the awesome volunteer experience I’m going to put down on my college applications when the year is over.

Thanks, in advance, for your support. Please send care packages as well as large quantities of money and baby powder.

— Becky