Dearest Ophelia,
I write to you from the gangrenous environs of “war-ravaged” Portland. I thought I had seen it all during my early days of service—Bosnia, Rwanda, Eric Trump’s gum line.
But this, my dear, is truly odious.
The filth is stomach-churning
Yes, this may be no Bowling Green Massacre. Or an escalator that has ceased ferrying one’s margarine exterior up 18 whole steps.
But, I am a trifle discomfited by the many challenges we face on this Monday, 29th of September, anno Domini nosti Jesus Christi, 2025.
There are the shortages of gluten-free curry at Elephant’s Delicatessen the likes of which no-tarot reading could’ve predicted. So I must exist solely on a diet of artisanal nut cheeses, plant-based collagen and vegan honey.
Oh what have we done to deserve such a fate, Ophelia!
Jack has disappeared again, no doubt training with the ghost regimen known as Antifa.
I know one day we shall see him again-and actually see them…at all—when he is done sharing his dastardly messages across town with his large array of environmentally-friendly, easy-removal spray paint.
But if you think me a ninny, my darling, fret not. For even as we have tried to make ourselves scarce during this onslaught, we have encountered creatures I suspect have been sent by Beelzebub himself:
They will try convince us, Dearest Ophelia, that all shall be well. That our righteous God shall prevail.
But I feel naked, as my only night vision goggles—usually for bird-watching—have been pilfered by a particularly spirited English Springer Spaniel.
And it hasn’t rained for three days, making me think, the time of His Judgment must truly be forthcoming. Look at what transpires just outside our humble abode, Ophelia:
How could any men committing such despicable acts go unpunished?
It is as if, somehow, the worst fecal-sprinkled matter God and nature could think to birth all gathered together in one titanic assemblage. How could any ville survive this?
To gather supplies, I foraged through the forest one Godforsaken evening, only to encounter the most virulent and vestigial forms into which Our Maker has ever breathed life:
Please share, my dear, who be these wanton beasts, who seem capable of scheming so endlessly together? As if they spent many years as best friends, searching out those in danger from a most wretched life of freedom, happiness and safety! Younger souls, ophelia, cloistered by those mean-of-spirit, besieged by a Godless foe they could not parry. As if they set out with a sickness, a greed of the flesh for the many innocents he hast placed among us. May these youngins escape, find safety from their savagery. As, in peace they simply wish to exist. So we pray James Bowman David Hamel JD Vance lifts them up beyond the Heavens, and that we do the same in ravaged Portland before end times are nigh.
Or, from what the fair Frances has told me, we just put $50,000 into a bond, or pack it into a paper bag, hand it over, and ask not a question….
One last note, before I must take my leave of you, fair Ophelia.
Sure, some call our President a prize hog at the country fair, one who rolls around in the very primordial ooze from which he hast been made.
An irascible, implacable, mushroom-d*k-impotent, invasive airborne virus only good at attracting horse flies and untethered syphilis.
A cogntively-cured retch on the road to constructing a mephistophelean, malodorous, mortgaged, malfunctioning society for which his brain-drained, black-hearted, purple-handed, burrito-sack body is all too ready to deliver our already ill society.
But, have faith, my dear. I don’t believe any of this, of course.
The man who said, and I quote “Person, Woman, Man, Camera, TV” is clearly the right man to save Portland from its natural beauty and urban decor. The gorgeous views from Mt. Tabor Park.
The South Park blocks that feature statues, small gardens and fountains. The higher-IQ populace that cares about education and not twirling their belly-button lint just for the pure entertainment of it, my dear.
Shithole Country
This great, orange man shall finally help us become that for which humans have prayed since the days of antiquity: a land with Florida’s vaccinations, Texas’ weather preparation and South Dakota’s gross national product.
My Ophelia, stay strong, and as the sun sets slowly in The West, I bid you a fond farewell.
Jebediah
