ATTN: Mr. Donald John Trump Sr.:
It was with the greatest interest that I received word of your impending plans to escape that coastal hellhole you call home for a visit to the greatest city God ever gave man in the history of the world: Dallas, Texas.
As you know, a not-inconsiderable time has passed since you queried me — asking that I keep the matter out of this public forum — in search of an outline as to the most strategic means by which you might launch a bid for the second-greatest office to which a personage might be elected by the common rabble.
While I was as pleased as Punch you heeded my advice that no thing beats the modern marvel that is a de-escalating staircase when it comes to making a dramatic entrance, I was perturbed not to have received so much as a memorandum of gratitude ahead of your campaign’s initiation.
Furthermore, this week brings to light the difficult-to-stomach notion that eccentric billionaire Marcus Tiberius Cuban is the frontrunner to be selected as your running mate on the Grand Old Party ticket. When I encountered this news, I dern near spit out my morning repast. Only the presence of a certain special someone who had the occasion to spend the previous evening sharing my trans-corporeal abode inspired me to steel my stomach in time to prevent involuntary expectoration.
My initial reaction to the insult of not having been consulted on this important matter was — naturally — to insist upon pistols at dawn. However, I was struck by a far more magnanimous frame of mind once I pondered a mite bit longer on the opportunities afforded the people of Dallas by your planned visit to the American Airlines Center on Monday.
I call your attention to the way in which our singular burg has been too long maligned for what happened to befall another man in the midst of a presidential electioneering swing 50 some-odd years back. Dallas has a chance — with you surrounded by thousands of our brethren in the midst of a capacious sporting arena — to strike a blow that will likewise resonate in the national consciousness for decades hence. Many will consider our actions a form of recompense for that dark day so long ago.
I’ll elucidate my meaning shortly, but first I’d like to compliment your deployment of our previously discussed tactic of speaking entirely in buzzing words and catchable phrases. I’ve caught a clip or two of your televised addresses, and they are positively mesmerizing in their utter lack of content. You’ve outperformed even my own modest hopes by reaching the absolute zero of political discourse. You’ve left so very much for your audiences’ imaginations to fill in for themselves that they’ve no choice but to assume that yours is an intellect of the highest order as their confused brains strain to puzzle meaning out of the verbal entropy. As a wise man once said, chaos is a ladder.
Speaking of which, I’m likely to sow a little chaos of my own via a signal to my acolytes (in Dallas, that’s everyone) on hand at the AAC on Monday. I am outraged that you didn’t approach me before considering Cuban for the V.P. slot. It’s as if all our late-night talks and hours-long consultations about the most proper approaches to business, life, and hair care meant nothing to you.
Obviously I’d have refused the offer of a position that’s not worth a lukewarm pail of a saliva, but it should have been made all the same. And for that, dear friend, I’m afraid you must be punished. Don’t be surprised to find yourself fleeing the dais as banners like these spring up all over, and a swell of chanting “JNB! JNB!” erupts.
Your insolence has spurred me onward. I can deny my public no longer. It’s time I straightened this country out.
Feeling a draft,
John Neely Bryan is founder of the city of Dallas and an expert on all matters. For advice, to have a dispute adjudicated, or seeking wisdom on any of a myriad of topics, [email protected].
