A Modest Request

Dear President Obama,

Let me begin by stating that, sure, I disagree with some of the legislation you’ve either pushed forward, or allowed to become law during your tenure in office; but that’s to be expected (I’d hope) since I have a fully-functioning and critical mind – as trained by years of publicly-funded education, both here and in Europe. Overall, and especially considering the alternatives during the 2008 election, I’m very happy when it comes to where my vote went. I’d go far as to state that you’re in the same league as Clinton, at least in terms of moderation in government and your overall sanity. (I haven’t heard you state that you’re on a mission from the Divine, and I hope I never do.)

So, all that said, this request might seem to be a bit, ah, disingenuous, but I assure you, it is not.

In light of the current political atmosphere, also taking into consideration the level of discourse found in America’s talking heads and message boards, I humbly request that you issue a Presidential order that would put me into exile.

Obviously, as this is a request, and you have never heard from me before, please allow me to further take advantage of your attention by suggesting a setting. (In doing so, I reference for precedence a work of fiction: The ending to Huxley’s Brave New World.)

I suggest France. I’ve been there, and I find their climate, food, coffee, and educated (if not employed) populace agreeable to my tastes. (I’d suggest England, but I don’t think the Tories would have me.) Would it be possible for you to set something up with Sarkozy? I know, your predecessor was more of a Sarkozy guy, but I’m sure you two could come to an agreement. Lille is nice. I could handle Lille. Or Marseilles. Anywhere but Paris, as the people are snobs, and the city has a less-than-great odor.

I’ve been driven to this point by a simple, logical conclusion: Donald Trump is going to run for President. Further, I believe he could win. Not that he’s qualified for governance at all, but The Apprentice is very popular, and Trump could easily fund a couple of Presidential campaigns.

To paraphrase Churchill: Democracy’s not great, but it’s the best we have. By this token, it is a fact that the vast majority of those of my fellow Americans who watch reality television – such as The Apprentice – are given a vote. This is an inalienable right, and I am not suggesting it be done away with. However, this translates to every Joe Six-Pack who would fail a citizenship test being able to control the way the government works. Further, a good number of these people are able to think, and yet – YET – might believe that Trump would be able to lead a country because he leads a company. Further, a good number of those people believe teachers make more than $90,000 a year and get off work at 3:00. Even further, some Americans believe you are a Kenyan – Trump included.

This makes me weep, because these are the same people who believe that international relations boils down to threatening allies as well as enemies, and that “Saudi Arabia exists because we allow it to.” (Trump’s words, though they sound like the reasoning the rednecks at my high school used to deploy.) There is also the distinct possibility in my mind that these people would elect Trump and, of course, Tea Party Congressmen who believe Jefferson et. al. were demigods and that the Constitution is infallible. They could be led to believe that Trump is best for them, and then, in months, we have the equivalent of a non-murderous Patrick Bateman in the Oval Office.

This thought is too much for me to bear.

I’d become an ex-pat, but don’t want to marry anyone right now, and am not wealthy enough to live the life I want to live. (Read: Lounge around reading books all day.) I’d seek asylum, but any country, save Israel, would turn me down–and, you know, rockets and suicide bombings, so that’s out of the question.

So I could renounce my citizenship, but by my reckoning, I’d have to exist in international waters, floating around on some large raft sort of thing and stealing coconuts from deserted islands as I laze on by them. But, frankly, I like the Internet too much for that to happen in my life.

Thus, I come to you, Mr. President, with my request. It’s nothing personal; I like you, and you might be my favorite President, save for FDR or Teddy Roosevelt (who was an unquestionable badass). It’s just that I can’t take the possibility that Trump would lead the country like a corporation. Nor can I accept the possibility that Palin would run the country and turn it into Jesus and Gun Land. It’s enough to give me nightmares, and now that I’ve put it in writing, I don’t expect to sleep for a week.

Do people even get exiled anymore? No matter. We can work it out. You could accuse me of… oh, sedition. That’s romantic, isn’t it? Chicks dig seditionaries, right? No one ever gets busted for that anymore… Oh, I could write a best-selling memoir about the trial, and then I could live out my days in a villa in Marseilles! You and Michelle and the kids (and why the fuck not, Biden) could stay there. We’d go yachting!

Whaddya say? One slip of paper, one order of exile, and one signature. It’s the best way I know of to make me a happy (soon-to-be-ex) American. Hell, I’m not even proposing that you protect public school teachers; or save NPR from attacks. You know, the important stuff. All I’m asking is that you exile me. That’s it.

I don’t want to live in Trumpland, USA.

Yours sincerely,

Aaron Simon

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How To: Deal With Rejection

Well. I can’t think of any stories to start. I don’t want to even open the behemoth that is The Canterbury Tales: Part Deux. I’m still scared of opening the Glenn Beck book to get to reading it for my review. So, it looks like I’m going to churn something out for this here site. Again.

What’s been on my mind recently, no surprise, is the severe onset of depression/self-doubt that comes with a continuous stream of rejections. It’s rough, and, more depressingly, it’s part of the glorious package of writing (along with anti-social tendencies, reading in social settings when it’s not appropriate and, at least once in your life, alcohol poisoning). But, as I’ve just read in Ender’s Game, humanity has evolved to survive. And part of surviving is coping. And because I’m human, and thus have all of the traits that lead me to not want to off myself every time I see another form rejection e-mail, I have a growing number of coping mechanisms. Further, I’m going to share them with you.

It should be noted that these coping mechanisms might just work with anything else that constitutes mild failure, but I wouldn’t know. Like Charlie Sheen, I have Adonis DNA and tiger blood, and, in everything apart from writing, well, WINNING.

Which brings us to…
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Missing The Point: St Patrick’s Day

Hooray, Stereotype Day!

From: Tina Jones
Sent: Thursday, March 17, 2011 8:55 AM
To: _EVERYONE
Subject: St Patrick’s Day!!!

Top o’ the mornin’ to y’all,

Just wanted to let you know today is your lucky day because:

1. If you’re lucky enough to be Irish, you’re lucky enough………and
2. Everyone’s Irish on St Patrick’s Day!

May you live as long as you want and never want as long as you live.

Happy St. Patrick’s Day!!

Tina Jones
Blog-Watcher and Forwarder

From: Aaron Simon
Sent: Thursday, March 17, 2011 9:03 AM
To: _EVERYONE
Subject: RE: St Patrick’s Day!!!

Tina,

I know. I’m so excited because, today of all days, my Irishness is upped from ¼ to 1/1. That’s a pretty big increase. Just erases the Heeb right out of me.

To celebrate this yearly occasion, the one day I’m considered saved by the Roman Catholic Church, I get blackout drunk on Irish whiskey. Today is no different. I have in my desk three bottles of Jameson Irish Whiskey. I had intended on drinking them all by myself – one per hour – but because I was reminded that today, of all days, everyone’s Irish (in some genetic anomaly shared by the human race), I’ve decided to share them.

Shots begin in ten minutes. We’ll be playing a drinking game I like to refer to as “The Pogue Mahone.” Essentially, I’ll have several albums by The Pogues playing on repeat. Every time Shane McGowan is indecipherable, we drink.

Slainte,

Aaron Simon
Enrollment Coordination Specialist, Drunk

From: Tina Jones
Sent: Thursday, March 17, 2011 9:20 AM
To: _EVERYONE
Subject: RE: RE: St Patrick’s Day!!!

LOL

No one’s drinking, you joker.

What’s slaint?

Top a the mornin, everyone!

Tina Jones
Blog-Watcher, Forwarder

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