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SH*T MY UNCLE SAYS: Profiles In Cowardice

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BY WILLIAM C. HENRY Listen up, all ye would-be retainers of your precious Republican (in name only) Senate and House seats, all you timid, trembling, yellow-bellied, come to truth latelies, who’d reluctantly proclaim you’re finally willing to put your country above pandering to Trump and his pestilent hoards of punks and chumps, and meekly beg the forgiveness of the REAL Republican party. Pay attention! I’m about to present you with a guaranteed, fool-proof, fail-safe means of doing the right thing, the patriotic thing, the SMUSdecent thing for a change; something that just may provide you a second chance at salvaging the courage that no one is sure you ever had; something that just might earn you the dignity and respect you’ve only dreamed of having; something that could offer you the possibility of regaining at least partial use of that spine you lost on Trump’s nomination day; something that perhaps might grant you at least some hope of garnering the self respect you’ve always seemed to show was never worth the bother; and, yes, even possibly getting the gift of some day soon finding the perfect Republican donor match to replace the guts you lost five years ago. So, pay close attention because I’m about to hand you what in all probability will be your last chance for redemption: a step by step means of how to defeat those cretin-ish Trump-cult challengers the Impeached in Chief will be primarying against you because he feels you’ve become insufficiently subservient to his still autocratic ambitions and thus are no longer fit to carry his big blood-soaked red necktie-shaped banner with the noose-encircled snow-white RBX (Racism, Bigotry, Xenophobia) acronym execrably tattooed in its center.

Step One: Secure a recent picture of your opponent’s face, preferably with a submissive look on his or her face. Photoshop said face into an oxen yoke with the words “Property of Donald J. Trump” burned into its beam. Add a big shiny brass ring through his or her nose. A visible inscription on the ring should read, “Donnie and (add your opponent’s first name) Forever” plus the current year. Don’t be concerned about your opponent’s sex. In fact, in this instance, if it’s a man it will work out better anyway.

Step Two: Make her lips appear to move in sync with the following message: “If elected, I promise to be the instrument of Donnie’s every political wish and whim. I promise to have no mind of my own whatsoever when it comes to politics–or anything else for that matter. His voice will be my voice. I will take no action whatsoever without The Donald’s express approval–which, of course, includes seeking and obeying his council with respect to any and all votes which I may be called upon to cast while in office. I have accepted Donald J. Trump as my Lord and Master. I shall have no other Gods before him.” After a short pause, you will no doubt be required to add, in your own voice, the following: “I am so and so (your name) and I approve of this message. Unlike my opponent, I will always independently represent the best interests of my constituents and my country.” Say it like you mean it!

Step Three: Get the ad up and running and keep it going on every state and/or local TV and radio station and major social media platform. Run it ’til your campaign contributions and matching public funds run out, whichever comes last.

Step Four: Start packing for the move to Washington. And, by the way, You’re Welcome!

Remember, from this point forward, you must always refer to Trump as Donnie. Never again allow him the dignity of being referred to as “the former President” or “former President Trump.” From now on it’s Donnie, period. If you feel that the situation absolutely demands a wee bit more formality, you may use “Donnie the Would-be Infante,” but that’s the only exception.

Oh, and this is extremely important: you’ll want to immediately get started formulating an ironclad, bullet proof, mea culpa response to the question(s) as to why you suckled from the teats of the fetid fat-ass former Oval Office sow for so long. Sorry, you’re on your own on that one.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Fed up early stage octaagenarian who has actually been most of there and done most of that. Born and raised in the picturesque Pocono Mountains. Quite well educated. Very lucky to have been born into a well-schooled and somewhat prosperous family. Long divorced. One beautiful, brilliant daughter. Two far above average grandsons. Semi-retired (how does anyone manage to do it completely these days?) and fully-tired of bullshit. Uncle of the Editor-In-Chief.

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