Monday, 11 December 2017
Dear Mr President,
We saw on the big TV over the bar in the Retrofit that you had ordered the Chair of the Republican National Committee, Ronna Romney McDaniel, to stop using her middle name because you don’t like to be reminded of her uncle whatshisname, the guy who ran against you and lost (like they all did) and whom you then humiliated by pretending to consider him for Secretary of State just long enough to make him come to Trump Tower to kiss your ring, I think they say, which is kind of a funny expression considering the Latin term, but never mind.
Now the state Republican committee has refused to endorse our county chair, Orrin Romney, for Mayor of Sal Si Puede, who is not even a nephew of whatshisname, unless he stops using the last part, which is awkward because it’s his last name.
Which reminded us all that Sarah Huckabee Sanders is in kind of an ambiguous situation namewise because she has to keep using her middle name to remind everybody that her father is the ex-Governor of Arkansas, evangelical preacher, and opponent of gay marriage and of women who can’t afford birth control and so want Uncle Sugar to buy it for them and especially of gay couples who want to adopt the babies that the poor women who can’t afford birth control keep having, and at the same time she has that unfortunate last name that reminds you of that other guy that your pollster recently said could have beaten you if he had been the nominee.
And now the state Republican committee has refused to endorse our county chair, Orrin Romney, for Mayor of Sal Si Puede, who is not even a nephew of whatshisname, unless he stops using the last part, which is awkward because it’s his last name. They have suggested that he have the court change his name to Huckabee to pull in the evangelical vote or even to Hatch to confuse people in Utah into sending him money, but he is 71 and doesn’t want to change his name. Even for you. In fact, especially for you because he has a piece of Viet Cong steel from a land mine in his foot instead of the bone spur that kept you out of Viet Nam and doesn’t make you limp any more now that the war is over – which he still does.
Melba says it all reminds her how in the old days, and right through the 20th century, African-American servants in Alabama and such places were renamed by their employers if they didn’t like the names their parents gave them. So maybe your mother named you William, but the boss called you Remus, just for a joke. The servants found this “calling you out of your name” offensive for some reason, even though according to your pal Roy Moore, back when America was great, families were united and strong and had slaves whom they got to name whatever they wanted.
Received by the White House at 4:25 AM EST, 11 December 2017
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