Dear Aunt Agatha,
Excuse me writing to you on my personal e-mail; I don’t want the Feds to see it when they rifle through my official stuff. I want your advice on what I do next. I married a philanderer, using him to set up my own political career. The only thing we had in common was an uncanny ability to make money quickly though corrupt business deals. He thought he was good, but I put him to shame. I’d hoped that our daughter might inherit my intellect and his charisma, but unfortunately, it was the other way round. I had a terrible time when he achieved high office, because his guards actually tried to speak to me instead of just genuflecting as I passed. I overcame my humiliation by taking my carpet-bag to the Big Apple to gain high office myself, and pretending not to notice the interns who worshipped him so much that they went down on their knees before him.
When I tried to follow in my husband’s footsteps I was passed over for some upstart Chicago attorney, so I consoled myself by demanding a top diplomatic job, one that let me do favours for foreign dictators in return for contributions to my “charitable” foundation. I assumed I’d be a shoo-in for the top job next time by backing every fashionable cause, but alas, fashionable causes turned out to be unfashionable, and the people had the temerity to think for themselves. I didn’t mind the million dollars I’d prematurely spent on a victory party, because as always, it was someone else’s money, but I did mind coming second to a clown with an orange thing on his head. What Happened, and what do I do now?
(signed) “Shrill Voice.”
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Dear “Shrill Voice,”
This is difficult. Normally I tell has-beens and never-has-beens (and you seem to be both) to rake in the loot and live comfortably. But you’ve already done that. Clearly domestic political office is out because nobody likes losers. And you couldn’t win international office because all the countries you bombed would vote against you. Clearly, you have to make some Hard Choices.
Why not trade on the fact that you are not the most loved and respected person in the world? License virtual reality game arenas named after you in which contestants would face 100 avatars of you in various settings and have to kill as many as possible. This would be incredibly popular, and players would readily pay $100 a game, with the money going, of course, to the “charity” of your choice.
Who knows “Shrill”, third time lucky perhaps? It worked for President…um maybe not though.
No, your daughter sure didn’t get hubby’s charisma. But she still has Web Hubbell’s wax lips.
Who knows “Shrill”, third time lucky perhaps? It worked for President…um maybe not though.