A letter to the president

To Donald J. Trump,

You’ve always fancied yourself a master of branding, but the only legacy you’ve cemented is one of disgrace. The Epstein files - now flooding Congress thanks to bipartisan pressure - paint a damning portrait of proximity, silence, and cowardice.

Emails from Epstein himself describe you as “dirty Donald,” a man who “knew about the girls” and “spent hours” with victims at Epstein’s house. And yet, your response? Deflection, denial, and a laughable press release claiming the emails “prove absolutely nothing.” If innocence were your truth, transparency would be your weapon. Instead, you’ve turned the Situation Room into a bunker for damage control.

Your economic record is no less appalling. Grocery prices remain sky-high, wages stagnant, and your administration’s answer to affordability is to blame immigrants and dodge accountability. Even your own MAGA base is beginning to ask: is this the populist champion they were promised, or just another grifter who sold them out?

On the world stage, you’ve turned America into a punchline. Allies flinch, adversaries gloat, and global trust in U.S. leadership has cratered. You’ve traded diplomacy for tantrums, policy for propaganda, and respect for ridicule.

And let’s not forget your schoolyard nickname obsession. “Crooked,” “Sleepy,” “Sloppy,” “Little”; your rhetorical arsenal reads like a third grader’s burn book. It’s not clever. It’s not strategic. It’s the verbal equivalent of flinging mashed potatoes in the cafeteria and calling it debate. You’ve weaponized immaturity, and the cost is our national dignity.

You once claimed you’d “drain the swamp.” Instead, you’ve built a luxury resort on its banks and invited every leech you could find. The Epstein files are just the latest leak in your crumbling dam of denial. The economy is bleeding, our reputation is bruised, and your legacy is rotting from the inside out.

History will not be kind to you. But for now, the country you’ve betrayed is demanding answers. And no nickname, no tantrum, no Truth Social meltdown will shield you from the reckoning you’ve earned.

And frankly, you bloviating bastard, you've done the impossible, and made this nation look back on Dick Nixon with fondness, and wish that we could have him back. I, and millions more, look forward eagerly to the day our long national nightmare ends and you are relegated to ruling over your cheesy country clubs. Or better yet, wearing an orange jumpsuit in an 8" by 10" prison cell. And your cellie's name would of course, be Bubba.

Sincerely,  

A citizen who refuses to be gaslit by a conman in a red tie.