Day 7: Let's Get Ready to Rumble!!!

Wow! I can't believe what I read in the news today! Are you seriously going to build a ballroom in the White House? A fucking ballroom!? What, so people are going to start prancing around in the House of the Brave and Free like fay ballerinas? Or masquerading in freakish costumes like those perverted drag queen storytellers? If you hadn't just aced your cognitive test, I’d fear that old age finally addled that brilliant mind of yours. This is totally not like you!

I shouldn't even have to tell you this, Mr. President, but you know what needs to be put in the East Room: a wrestling ring! I mean, what could possibly sound more presidential than “Let's get ready to rumble!!!”? It would send a clear message to the rest of the world: Trump’s America is no one to fuck around with. Seriously, think of the possibilities! Pay-per-view sales would be insane, foreign dignitaries and big money donors would be awed into submission (haha, see what I did there?) witnessing the raw power and sheer athleticism of the most noble of American sports, and it could even be used for diplomacy … want to end the war in Ukraine? Just throw Zelensky and Putin in the ring, make it one of those old school steel cage matches! Just imagine, this could be you!

Anyway, if I'm going to go to sleep tonight, I'm just going to assume this ballroom bullshit is one of your famous jokes. I actually grew up on wrestling. Rowdy Roddy Piper, Hacksaw Jim Duggan, Ric Flair, Andre the Giant, Jake the Snake, and of course you know Hulk Hogan personally … They were my childhood heroes! I can't count how many times I and my classmates almost got hospitalized during recess, trying out those crazy moves. In fact, I think my dad even once took his Camaro to Rowdy Roddy Piper's auto body shop.

At least that triumphant arch idea of yours is pretty solid. Except you and I both know that it should be you on top of that thing instead of Lady Liberty (who looks like she should be pushing a shopping cart and sleeping on a New York subway) … though if she had the body of Leavitt and wore a bikini, I’d have a hellaciously hard time choosing between the two.

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Oops! I forgot to include a screenshot of the actual form submission field on the White House contact site.

Day 6: Every Day Is Groundhog Day

I'm sure you already guessed that yesterday was another fuck-the-human-race day for me. Actually, some days I just don't want to say anything to anyone because I've nothing new or interesting to offer.

Homelessness (you remember I'm homeless, right?) is very much like that movie Groundhog Day: a tedious repetition of mostly boring and stressful non-events, occasionally punctuated by true terror. I wake up, go to my storage unit to prepare for the day, then I loiter at a nearby New Seasons to watch my drug addicted peers brazenly shoplift or neighborhood yuppies act entitled, after which I usually chase some free food or pick up some bottles and cans or go to a (recovery) meeting; sometimes I run errands (e.g. wash a load of laundry or work on my bike), sometimes I just sit in my truck and play games on my phone or read … and eventually I go to bed. I suppose everybody's life is like this, only not so soul-crushingly aimless. Being disabled and unemployable sure doesn't help.

A far cry from your busy schedule! In fact, I noticed you haven't gone golfing lately. My uncle and my grandfather really enjoyed playing golf. At the time I didn't get it, but I was a teenager; now that I'm older and my body’s way too battered to do things like inline hockey or roller derby (fun stuff!), golf seems like something I wouldn't mind trying. Still, golf courses seem like a sinful waste of valuable real estate, and it's definitely not a sport for poor folk like me. Hehe, how about I challenge you to a game of foosball instead? 

Just about anything, even Butts Up, seems like a much better use of your time than eulogizing the late pseudo-Nazi blowhard Charlie Kirk. Yeah, I get that he was in your corner, and that you're all about appreciating those who are in your corner … but the guy was a moron, whose head was full of bigoted small-minded garbage; even the guy’s Christianity was nothing but cherry-picking the most vile bits from that dogpile of a book called The Bible (I was a board member of a Pentecostal Church, a long time ago! Can you believe that?). His argumentation style was that of a negative attention-seeking sophist: there was no humility, compassion, or reason behind his words. Still, it sucks that he got shot. What the fuck is with us Americans assaulting and murdering those whose opinions differ from ours? Fucking savages. 

Anyway, I suppose I should roll out of my truck and do something constructive. I've been laying down for three hours trying to take a nap, but yesterday's COVID-19 booster has made my body too sore to get properly comfortable. Besides, I need to take photos of my ID so I can enroll in an online outpatient drug and alcohol program — for some reason each in-person option I've checked out didn't appeal to me. Anyway, Mr. President, go out there and play a little golf, take a load off! Maybe invite Erika Kirk, grab some of that sweet sugar snatch … call it spiritual healing!

Day 4: The World Is a Vast Human Graveyard

Sorry about the lack of correspondence yesterday: I was in one of my surly fuck-the-human-race moods. I feel this way pretty regularly, though ever since my last traumatic brain injury I seem to get like this much more often. I'm probably a textbook definition of a misanthrope: I seriously believe I'm surrounded by idiots and morons. In fact, I believe we humans are by nature evil narcissistic animals driven by fear and lust, always looking for something beautiful in the world to devour and destroy and always on the hunt for a fellow human to victimize in some way. Ours is a graveyard world of restless zombies with perpetual boners.

That's one hellishly bleak worldview, isn't it? I suppose it makes more sense when you understand that I'm a product of childhood abuse and because I never learned a better way to live in the world as an adult. Seriously, after I turned 18 I spent most of my time either living on the streets or in shitty housing projects (which really are just like living outside, except with walls, a roof, and doors — but it's the same people and the same bullshit). Living in poverty or abject dereliction really is traumatizing; it's effectively not much different than being in combat or incarcerated. And, of course the self medicating didn't help any … but, hey, I've managed a week clean and sober! Congratulate me, dammit! Haha, just kidding: I still have a long way to go.

Speaking of journeys, it looks like you finally got Israel to stop killing innocent civilians in Gaza. Yeah, I'm one of those guys — Israel’s been a Zionist apartheid state since the Six Day War. (When I worked at the library at Portland Community College one of my co-workers was in a wheelchair because when he was nine years old he was paralyzed from the waist down from an Israeli soldier’s bullet; all he did was throw rocks!) It's not even eye-for-an-eye retaliation they engage in! What they do more resembles some of the “street justice” I've seen in my neighborhood … like when a guy firebombed a trailer because the guy living it fucked his girlfriend. Fucking savages.

…And here come those damn helicopters of yours again. How'd you know I was about ready to go to bed? I can't believe some assholes posted flyers encouraging portlanders to throw a “laser party” …  this last saturday, I think? That totally sounds like Antifa, doesn't it? Any dildohead who pulls that kind of shit needs to have their balls roasted over the coals — that’s not protesting, that can kill people! (It's not like helicopters can fly by themselves.) I assure you, as someone who will probably attend the No Kings march on the 18th, most of us Portlanders hate those wannabe terrorists almost as much as you do.

Day 2: A Werewolf Walks into a Pizzeria…

Whuddup, President Trump!?

Sorry for the exuberant informality! I'm enjoying delicious pie from a local pizzeria. Silly me! I almost asked if you like pizza. But, being a New Yorker, you definitely do. You probably know your pizza even better than the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles! (Though I suppose out of respect for you I can stop nuking the stuff with my favorite Vietnamese hot sauce?) Did you know Portland has recently become known for its pizza? Isn't that crazy? When I grew up here, there were nothing but the major mediocre chains, and of course Chuck E Cheez (where a kid can be a kid!).

You really ought to visit and check it out for yourself. And I'm not just talking about pizza. Portland is actually an all-right town… It sure as hell isn't burning down, like you keep claiming. I don't know who keeps feeding you that bullshit, but ask the helicopter pilots flying over my neighborhood. They’ll tell you they haven’t seen any fires. We do have our problems, though, but what city doesn't? There’s a large unsheltered homeless population (I'm one of them), and sadly, many are using those terrible hard drugs. That's what happens when someone has to work 65 to 70 hours a week at minimum wage just to pay for a roof over their head. And as it happens, many homeless individuals resort to substance use to cope with the trials and tribulations of living in the urban rough.

I did, and boy howdy did that coping mechanism backfire on me! Actually, I started drinking when I was in high school in Switzerland: the drinking age over there is sixteen, and the Swiss sure look at you funny if you don't drink at least one pitcher of beer a day. But it totally ruined my life: it prematurely ended a potentially bright career in the army, it got me kicked out of Job Corps when I was a promising student lead in the culinary program, and I'm pretty sure at least 95% of the broken bones in my body happened when I was blacked-out drunk. But, hey, I'm about to finish day six of sobriety; I'm trying really hard!

And it is hard! I feel like a fucking werewolf! As I mentioned, I also quit smoking cigarettes and smoking marijuana, so I'm having an especially rough time of it. It sucks: I've even been nutting up on my best friend…remember, the one who calls me her favorite valley girl? I feel awful about it. I'm soooo going to have to make it up to her, big time! I'm lucky she's understanding, but we all have our limits (except maybe the Buddha?). I don't want to lose her friendship. She's the only person in my life who doesn't drink or smoke. I had to stop hanging out with everyone else, of course.

Anyway, before I forget: congrats on your clean bill of health, both in body and mind. Haha, I don't know how you do it with your diet! Though I can totally relate with you there: I'm pretty sure a third of my diet comes from Jack in the Box and Frito-Lay. Except I'm not going to live as long as you, I'm sure.

Day 1: A Beautiful New Friendship

Hello, President Trump. It's me again, Jeff. It just occurred to me that instead of being a belligerent asshole to a belligerent asshole, I’ll start writing to you daily as an acquaintance. It'll be fun! At least it should be more fun than listening to me rant and rave like some far-left wingnut, right?

Without further ado … How's things? Are your nefarious Project 2025 machinations proceeding to your satisfaction? How's that pussy grabbing going, or has the enormous workload of your second presidency forced you to give that up? I must admit, I'm a little jealous that you're surrounded by such bodacious babes. Yes, I said “bodacious”— haha, my best friend calls me her favorite valley girl for a reason.

As for me, I'm pretty damn tired. I'm on day five of having quit tobacco, alcohol, and marijuana (all at once!), so my withdrawals have been fiercer than I anticipated. Of course, those damn helicopters of yours last night didn't help, but I suppose you have to waste a little taxpayer money in order to Make America Great Again? I'm still wondering why they were flying overhead when I live about three and a half miles away from the ICE detention facility in South Portland. But, hey, what do I know? I'm just another schmuck bereft of grandiose ambitions; all I want to do is overcome my addictions, figure out a way to deal gracefully with my insufferable fellow primates, and enjoy life … and maybe grab a little pussy of my own every now and then.

Anyhoo, I'm going to try to take a nap now. It's not the easiest thing to do in the back of a truck on the border of an industrial neighborhood, but I'll give it a shot. After all, those damn helicopters will probably be back for at least a couple hours before midnight. If I can catch up at least somewhat on my sleep tonight, I may be able to attend two (recovery) meetings tomorrow to make up for the one I skipped out on today. Say hi to Noem and Leavitt for me; I try very hard not to think about them too much, as I'm sure you understand.