Open Letter to Nancy Pelosi
Now about that missing mask
Dear Nancy,
I knew it. All that haranguing about poor Donny’s not wearing masks — and now this! The image you projected to the world of having an airtight spacewoman-style helmet to keep out the virus is forever shattered.
You took off your mask. At the hairdresser’s. We’re shocked.
I also wanted to mention that the other day when you were standing at the microphone to criticize Donny for having put his cronies into all major government posts, I noticed a run in your stocking.
How could you go out of the house looking like that? We’re supposed to take the Dems seriously? I can just hear my grandmother tsk-tsking at such a showing. While we’re at it, one of her life mottoes was “Red ‘n yeller to catch a feller” — so let that be a warning to you not to combine anything yellow (which should be confined to kitchen walls and daffodils, as far as I’m concerned) with that lovely red winter coat of yours. I know it’s September and Washington is still as hot as hell (ahem), but come November you’ll probably be donning that coat again.
November indeed — brrrr. I shiver at the thought of November in Washington. Brrrr. Brrrrr. Brrrrrrr!!
Speaking of red, it’s come to my attention that you hardly ever wear black. Don’t you think that’s kinda racist?
Also, sometimes your lipstick doesn’t always completely match your gorgeous suits. You could take your cue from Donny, who has avoided this sticky “How do I look?” problem by whittling his choices down to three: 1) Am I feeling normal nasty? Blue tie. 2) Am I feeling extra nasty? Red tie. 3) Normal nasty — but on the golf course? I know, this is a tough one…Yes! I got it! White polo shirt, super-wide white pants to accommodate the presidential paunch and white baseball cap to hold down those brassy locks.
On second thought, keep the fancy suits. One overweight, horrible dresser at the helm of government is enough.
One final consideration: I loved the way you confused Donny boy the other day with that hundred-dollar, multisyllabic word: confabulator. I looked it up and it means “to replace a gap in one’s memory by a falsification that one believes to be true.”
Now we all know he’s not going to stop doing that. You may as well ask a kangaroo to stop jumping or a fish to stop blowing bubbles, but I’m sure you at least snowed him a bit with that one. After all, “fab” is in the word “fabulous” too, something he likes to croon, especially when talking about himself. That surely rang a loud bell in his mind. “Fab” is also in “fabricate” — another word that plays a big role in Donny boy’s life.
On the other hand, confabulator sounds like a car part. Isn’t that the engine component that combines fuel with hot air to form a mixture that is ignited by a spark? The result is combustion. Exactly! That’s just what he does. A perfect fit.
One last thing. I saw when you were sitting at the podium the other day that you had gum stuck to the bottom of your pump. Do us all a favor: Scrape it off and plug up you-know-who’s mouth with it. You’d have a clean shoe and we’d have one less confabulator in the world.
