WHEN YOUR COUNTRY CALLS

Our beloved orange-faced crap weasel™ has vociferated again in the direction of Iran. This might count as psychological warfare, except that it's clearly indigestion; a diet of Big Macs and Twinkies at two in the morning wreaks havoc on the internal organs. To alleviate this problem high colonic flushing is recommended, but who knows what that could dislodge?
No one dares come that close.
Not even Ben Carson.
A medical man.


Far be it from me to ignore my duty as a loyal American.
I have written a strongly worded letter.


San Francisco, August 7, 2018.


Dear President Rouhani,

Kindly ignore the frightful noise from Mar-a-Lago. He only speaks for Sarah Huckabee Sanders, AND his tummy hurts. If you want to make him chill, just strike a deal for a golf course OR a casino, to be built mostly with Russian mafia money, and be sure to get a son or a son-in-law involved. It will facilitate things remarkably.
Even a daughter. She's at loose ends right now.

A small huge! classy boutique, on-site, selling steaks, wine, and bogus college degrees, would also be a nice touch.

I would also suggest having bagpipe music in the lobby; he loves the Scots, and they love him. So it would be appropriate, and really incredibly sweet (we've got ear plugs if you're interested).

Pipe it in ... excuse the wordplay.

Please give our regards to everyone in Tehran. The national nightmare may be over soon.


Oh, and send water. California is burning, and more importantly, farmers in the Central Valley need it to drench the gays.

Sincerely,



---Governor Jerry Brown



Well of course I signed someone else's name to it.
President Rouhani has never heard of me.
Don't thank me, I'm a giver.


Next up: solving the Cuban situation.
After that, the Middle East.

Soon everyone will be able to sit down and share some Israeli Pizza!
Plus tall glasses of Tapuzina; it's non-alcoholic.
Oh, the joy. So happy.



No haggis. Unless it's topped with bacon, cheese, and special sauce.




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