President of the United States
The White House
1600 Pennsylvania Avenue
Washington DC

Re: Operation TIPS

Dear Mr. President:

I am writing to express my gratitude for your innovative Operation TIPS program. A national system for reporting suspicious and potentially terrorist-related activity is exactly the program to which this letter needs to be submitted. Since the program will involve millions of Americans you believe are in a “unique position to see potentially unusual or suspicious activity in public places”, it is understandable that it is only scheduled to be launched in late summer or early fall 2002. I tried to join actually, but the NFIRSCA-issued security certificate issued to FEMA “cannot be verified up to a trusted certification authority” I was warned. That made me kind of nervous. Who can you trust these days? Please consider this the first submission.

I am writing to report someone I believe is terribly dangerous to America. In accordance with the TIPS program, this individual exhibits traits that are worthy of suspicion and concern, although not perhaps quite as unusual as one might think.

Oh, I’m well aware, given the average American’s reliance on pharmaceuticals that turn marginally (and usually appropriately) depressed humans into paranoid psychotics and schizophrenic zombies, that many false reports triggered by irrational jealousies, petty rivalries, delusions of grandeur (if not your basic delusions), misperceptions and overactive imaginations will be submitted fast and furiously. Any good program that results in innocent people finding themselves on the receiving end of mean-spirited investigations, questions, detentions, frames, convictions and of course, executions can be touted as a population control measure, and a classic example of America’s commitment to multiculturalism.

This person I am reporting is really dangerous. He mocks the America you speak of wistfully as tears well in your bloodshot eyes. In your Jimmy Beam-induced, unfortunately non-fatal, pretzel choking “with us or against us” paradigm, he is so against you, that if he saw you clinging for dear life on a precipice he would offer you the sharp end of a razor blade and some Vaseline. He views you as nothing more than a pathetic little thief who is propped up by his Daddy’s oil interests. He feels the act-tough, go-get-'em Texan veneer does little to dispel the fact that you couldn’t even fairly win an election against the plodding personification of Ambien with the personality of a stick of dry wood (not to mention a campaign chest that could have ended world starvation as we know it).

This traitor has zero respect for you or that pharmacologically-pumped thing that dangles on your arm from time to time, that you call a wife. He feels nothing but pity for your alcoholic daughters and your prescription-drug-addicted nieces and car-backseat-fucking nephews. He sees your kowtowing to the bible thumping double-crossing Karl Rove crowd as just another sign of your fraudulent, white-collar, preppy, Yankee Doodle Dimwit, yahoo, nouveau-riche classist blend of upchucking rather than upbringing, who’s parents’ shitloads of oil and blood soaked cash could only buy you a C-grade education from Yale, while you cocaine snorted yourself all the way to the pinnacle of mediocrity.

This most evil of evildoers finds your ignorance and lack of presentational polish an embarrassment and cringes every time you purse that sneered upper lip to offer brilliant and in-depth insights to questions that humankind has pondered for eternity, like “Gee, are there really blacks in Brazil also?” Not to fret too much though. There are many blacks in Brazil who don‘t know that there’s a half-witted moron in the White House with the IQ of an old discarded shoe.

This riotous upstart gives absolutely no deference to that wheezing, cholesterol-filled, artery-clogged, Energizer-battery-operated mute you call the Vice President, who has been about as useful an asset to your administration as Russell Yates was to his children. Yes Sir, this traitor looks at Americans as helpless children who don’t know what the hell they’re doing, or worse, what the hell you’re doing, and looks at you as Andrea Yates about to lead them to the bathroom. She also hails from Texas, no?

This agitator thinks further, that for all the money spent on your Donald Rumsfeld-led military, you still haven’t even been able to catch your own father’s business associate’s son who uses a camel and lives in a cave. While Osama bin Laden mocks you with video releases, your own bumbling, amateur-hour Press Secretary splutters his way through press events like a disillusioned dear caught in the headlights, without the respect of even the tabloid trashy Press who are so complicit in this prelude to disaster, it’s a wonder they’re only being attacked by anthrax laced envelopes that no one seems able to make sense of, or determine where they came from. What happened to investigative journalism? When did it become as insipid and unfruitful as the investigative techniques of the CIA and FBI?

This conspirator jokes about your perpetual ‘War on Terrorism’ that seems to be more of a threat to the institution of marriage than it is to terrorism, as smart bombs obliterate wedding receptions. Yep, smart bombs by smart Presidents, he calls them. He scoffs at how your advisers have hoodwinked you into thinking another war on Iraq will distract Americans from the devastating damage your cronies and cabinet members have done to the stock market and economy. He finds it a combination of sad and disdainful that you’re too stupid to remember that your cabinet was handpicked by Daddy and consists of most of the idiots who told him that his ‘successful’ war against Iraq would distract people from the economy. Maybe one day if Jenna follows in her Daddy’s footsteps and quits abusing substances to become President, she can appoint someone trustworthy; say Oliver North or Kenneth Lay, to spend America’s hard-earned money looking for long lost Osama.

This insurgent prays to the constitutionally protected gods of Pathetic Fallacy that you, the winsome, dim son, dipstick donkey of the party of elephants, will suffer the same fate as your father -- an unimpressive member of the One Term Wonder club. He thinks your contributions to America are as welcome as exploding jet fuel in skyscrapers on early September mornings, and given your cowardly, badly covered-up flight-of-panic on September 11, finds it amusing that the military actually supports you -- especially since the closest you’ve come to combat is a predictable misspelling of a stocky burrowing Australian marsupial.

This same traitor points a treacherous finger at you for appointing that pasty, election-losing caricature, Attorney General John Ashcroft, to violently shred the constitution that men and women have fought and died for. This perfidious scoundrel feels that even those plagued with diarrhea from eating Monsanto tainted corn and E-coli riddled burger meat, and use the American flag to wipe his or her ass, still demonstrates far more respect for the constitution than what’s been exhibited by Ashcroft, Doctor Death incarnate, and the other members of your counter-productive, leak-riddled cabinet, including those in the top-secret shadow version.

Then, of course, this contumacious bastard regards, with unbridled disgust, the lowlife, skulking whores and pimps that roam the House and Senate -- Democrat and Republican -- who pissed on the constitution by passing a PATRIOT Act that none of the losers even bothered to read. This disloyal ingrate believes Attorney General John Ashcroft’s meeting with the Rosenbergs is long overdue and that someone should throw the book at him so hard it knocks him back to Missouri where not only does he see dead people, but where they beat him in elections.

“By going to Afghanistan and fighting shoulder to shoulder alongside the Taliban, John Walker Lindh allied himself with terrorists who reject our values of freedom and democracy and turned his back on the United States of America,” said Ashcroft after a disillusioned kid with nothing more than a misguided ideology was cajoled into plea bargaining for a twenty year sentence for violating rules and laws that neither the Department of Defense, Department of Justice nor the White House understand, let alone can articulate. At least he didn’t piss on the graves of the founding fathers, pretend he gave a shit about Posse Comitatus, due process and desecrate the memory of those who fought to preserve freedom and liberty, not kill it and pervert it. “He will now spend the next twenty years in prison; nearly as long as he has been alive,” a glowing Ashcroft announced John Ashcroft is to justice what box cutters are to the throats of pilots, and about as much fun.

This cynical insurrectionist watches these fawning, sycophantic members of congress preen before a pathological media cesspool that splatter their screens with American flags, ridicule themselves with names like America’s News Channel, while dumbing down news to your level, intertwined with all-American baby abductions, Martha Stewart gloating, talk radio hate at the expense of babies with cancer, all while ignoring Wendy Gramm and that two bit louse, her spouse.

This meretricious critic views the Posse Comitatus Act-purging pussy, Tom Ridge, the Pillsbury dough boy, pudgy-fingered twerp you plucked from Pennsylvania to be your Homeland Defense Busboy with no budget and no authority, as nothing more than an over glorified sidekick who actually looks like Sancho Panza (with make-up by Tammy Fay Baker) to your Quixotic Perpetual War on Peace. This Homeland Security Thief's cruel-to-the-colorblind, color-coded emergency alert system has remained the same dull hue whether John Ashcroft is announcing the capture of harmless Chicago street thugs from Moscow via satellite; al Qaeda members are sneaking into Los Angeles via the Pacific or al Jazeerra airs another bin Laden rerun.

Caught up in the romance of noble deeds, ill-advised crusades and the pursuit of unreachable and undefined goals, your naïve tunnel vision idealism without regard to practicality, experience or history makes you, Mr. President, more dangerous than any suicide bombing idiot desperate for martyrdom by killing a few Jews. The cluster bombing of civilians and daisy cutting of innocent people, as you sign legislation stemming embryonic stem cell research and other advances in science, medicine and technology, leave you as much authority to comment on peace as pedophile priests are now afforded to comment on pedagogy.

And now, as the world waits in horror as you prepare to finish off Daddy’s unfinished dirty work in Iraq and make it even more difficult for whistleblowers to report corporate malfeasance – another word you can’t pronounce properly -- this obstructionist believes you are a threat to everything that is good about this country. As you continue on this mad rampage, urging Churches and places of worship to become law enforcement arms of the federal government, you continue to cheapen religion to low points previously unimagined.

I am a traitor in your eyes, Mr. President. I don’t support your War on Freedom, I don’t trust you, and am gravely suspicious of your motives. I despise what you’ve done to a country I loved and to a constitution I respected.

But you see, Sir, although the traitor I refer to throughout this report is me, the reality is, however, that when all is said and done, you are the one America needs to be worried about, not me. Yes, the first person I am reporting to TIPS, is none other than you. I hope you are punished accordingly.

Eat me 43.
A man named Clinton.