My dearest Presidents,
I've filed for divorce. It's not me, it's you. I don't agree with how you run things - never have – and I don't like the way you treat our marriage like it's a major inconvenience to you. You're never home and you never call. You insist on being called Mr. President (even when we're alone!) and why you need your own plane is beyond me.
Neither of you turned out the way I hoped you would. To think, you weren't even my first choice. Nor second or third. That may be painful to hear. Truth is, I had my heart set on anyone but you yet here we are living out someone else's nightmare like we're tucked away in a province in rural China.
The whole thing feels arranged, to be honest. Not only arranged, rigged. There, I said it. You somehow tricked me into taking you in but guess what misters? I'm rigging myself out. That's right, I'm taking the kids and we're moving to the Vatican – if they'll have us - where presidents only pop in to say hi. Failing that, we'll head to the North Pole to be governed by the weather.
I'm also taking the flat screen, the dishwasher and what's left of my dignity. You can keep the secret service. I'm sure they'll come in handy when you need some broad shoulders to cry on, you whiny little bitch.
I don't want to get mad. We had some good times. Lowering taxes was almost selfless on your part and when you announced another public holiday, I felt something close to love.
I don't want to get mad. We had some good times. Lowering taxes was almost selfless on your part and when you announced another public holiday, I felt something close to love. You could always make me laugh and the way you contradicted yourself without even noticing is something I'll cherish forever.
Our friends have decided to side with me. I know, shocker. The Merkels contacted me personally as have the Clintons, the Gordhans and the Obamas. You can have the Guptas and the Klu Klux Klan. I never could stand them anyway. As for that prying tramp Putin, I hope he chokes on uranium cake.
I've hired God as my attorney who informed me one of you has broken your oath to "uphold and maintain the Constitution" and the other is guilty of being an asshole. It doesn't look good as far as the Eighth Commandment go either. God also filled me in on my rights - of which there are plenty - so I suggest you lawyer up. The court date is set for January 20, 2016. If not then, Judgment Day.
One last thing, I've hidden the nuclear codes for your safety and mine. And no, it's not negotiable. You can't art-of-the-deal your way out of this one. I don't know how, but it looks like you killed Leonard Cohen and by God, I won't stand by and watch you kill the rest of us.
Yours very sincerely,