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Dear George,
You know its over, right? I mean, in your heart of hearts you know its the very end of the line for you. You wanted to best your Daddy. You wanted your place next to Churchill and FDR and George Washington and Abe Lincoln and (shudder) St. Ronald of Reagan.
But you know that'll never happen.
Remember when you bought those bad drugs back in college? How it fucked you up so bad that you almost got in a fist fight with your father, but instead chose to drag Doro up the stairs by her hair? Well, the advice you bought from the hangers on and enablers you surrounded yourself with is pretty much the same shit.
Your fate is sealed, buddy. Worst President in History. You own it, pallie.
But you know. There's a way you can make it all better. Well, maybe a little better. Maybe a way to get history to say at least one good thing about you.
Resign. And do it now. And take that Dick with you.
Think about it. You can give some heartwarming, tear jerking speech about the good of the country and the loss of faith in leaders and owning up and taking responsibility. You know - all those platitudes that you really don't believe but always are made by your handlers to say?
Hey, get Laura to go along, too. Get her all Xanaxed out and let her stand there with that cold, plastered smile on her mug and hold your hand. Hell, you could even stage it to look better than Nixon when he did that wooden wave from the steps of Marine One as he made his Great Escape.
The next two years are gunna suck any way you slice 'em, so why hang around, yanno?
Go back to the pig farm, put it on the market, and go down to the new family compound down there in .... what was that place ....... Paraguay? Hey, the kids are already there. On the company dime, too, so you'll save their airfare and all.
Anyway, why would you wanna stick around? You don't need this shit. Poppy's gettin' old and you're gunna come into some serious cash then, the Nazibux and all that. Plus his stake in Carlyle and whatever other secret holdings he has. I know you can't make the kinda money he's made, but you don't need to, really. I mean, he's richer than God, so what's to worry about?
And look, this war thing. It ain't going so well. In fact, even the Centurions and the Palace Guard are in revolt, buddy. You lost it. So just forget about it and move on.
Resign, George. Its your only hope. Stay around and you'll be the rotted cherry on top of the shitheap of history. Resign, and you'll just be run-of-the-mill garbage.
Think about it. I'll call ya soon to. We'll talk.
Okay?
Your old chum, Stinky
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