Communique: (n) an official announcement or statement, especially one made to the media

My official communique to America:

President Donald Trump is our leader. It is now time for one group to stop incessantly complaining and another group to cease pumping their
fists as if they just landed on the moon wearing only Bermuda shorts.

This is our system.

We place someone in the White House.

You may feel free to debate whether we actually “elect” them, or rather, “process” them into the position, like Velveeta cheese spread.

If we believe our main problem is the person who is sleeping in the White House, then we suffer the slings and arrows of stupidity which come our way because we fail to recognize our true difficulty.

When I was a younger man, I would caution people not to treat people like dogs.

Now my message has changed.

Please–treat people like dogs, because you obviously love them, respect them and honor them more than you do human beings.

Until we can regain our sanity and realize that certain activities are not choices, but rather, anti-human race, we will have worse problems than whether someone we like sits in a chair in the Oval Office.

So the communique is very simple: look to yourself and those of your household, and make sure that your neighbors are being treated as well as Rover, Jr.

If they are, then you can stop worrying about the future of our country. Goodness has a tendency to get a grip and take hold.

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