Letter

Dear Pres-slect Hopeychange,

Well, the big day will soon be here. All your hopes and dreams realized. In just two weeks, you and your court will march under the basketball hoops and you'll be crowned Prom King. You'll dance with your girl and everyone will cheer and there'll be pictures and it'll be magic. Your Dad will finally be proud of you.

But, what about the next day?

See, the problem with designing your entire life on the progressive assumption of more and more powerful posts is the need to do something when you get those posts. Not so hard when you were a community organizer. I mean, show up, scream some slogans against whitey, march with a lot of your thug friends down to a bank and scare them into giving loans. Okay. Not bad. Same with State Senator. Make some glorious speeches about oppression and the underclass, sound ponderous, don't show up for the votes so no one can really peg you, work some real estate deals with Rezko, also not bad.

Prom King, though, different story. People are going to expect, well, that you do something, like-

give them free health care with absolutely no waiting and their very own individual hospital rooms and the best neurosurgeons in the world in attendance; new cars and houses and food; jobs they don't actually have to show up for; a million dollars a day tax free. Oh yeah, and throw all the rich people in jail.

I suspect you're going to have a tough time with that. I suspect you already know and you're going to leave the actual running of things to your Clinton administrators and then throw them, one by one, under your ever-present bus when things screw up. I think you're going to do a lot of hiding.

But it ain't gonna work, because I'm pretty sure we're going to have:

at least four godawful wars
a complete collapse of the economy
a severe uptick in personal violence
and a balkanization of the country

under your watch.

So, enjoy the Prom, King. It may have to serve as your very last good memory for a very long time.

Your friend,

Schlub