Dear Mr. President,
I recently watched a YouTube video of your final Correspondents' Dinner speech and, I must say, I found it to be the most literally awesome thing I have heard in quite some time.
I have little shame in admitting that many of the impeccably delivered 'zingers' went over my head, and it was only from context (and the “I just got Jack Nicholson-ed” expression shadowing the faces of certain attendees featured in the cut-shots) that I was able to glean the intent and poignancy of your most excellent soliloquy.
I generally avoid, at all costs, availing myself of the finer details regarding the deplorable situation in which the human race has entrenched itself. Life is hard enough without a comprehensive knowledge of the atrocities permeating every nook and cranny of this 'Global Community'.
I sometimes feel as if we are one big high-school class who have misinterpreted George Orwell's “1984” as something akin to an “Evolution for Dummies” manual. Or that we have somehow become trapped in a depraved alternate timeline where Biff has the Almanac and Monty Burns has blocked out the sun. I mean, is this really the rightful culmination of human intellect and ambition? What a depressing thought!
And so I won't dwell on as I have digressed somewhat.
My original intention, when starting this letter, was to extend an invitation. So here goes...
Given that you will soon have a lot more time, and a lot less 'Leader of the Free World' responsibility on your hands, it seems likely that boredom will be an unavoidable consequence of your return to so-called normality.
So, should you find yourself at a particularly loose end, you would be more than welcome to join me and my crew for a coldie. Or several. And potentially an unimaginably fulfilling kebab at some unthinkable hour of the morning (I know where they make the best in Melbourne!)
I had, initially, entertained the notion of imploring you to run for Prime Minister, but our farce of a government would most likely reject your visa application, or send you to Nauru. Bloody drongos. And it occurs to me a distinct possibility that the best solution may involve taking a more Darwinian approach to “the Donald” and his ostensibly Australian (although stupefyingly UN'Strayan) counterparts. They are all so adamant that they're top shit, let's kick back with a frothy and watch them burn! After all, the cold and tempestuous winds of climate change are presently ravaging this wide brown land of ours and heating is prohibitively expensive.
Anyway, point being, feel free to drop by with the family most any time you like.
Yours, with the greatest sincerity and respect,
Rhiannon Schurmann.
