Dear Congress,

Clearly, you do not have your Health, and clearly you do not Care, so why pretend otherwise? I mean, you don't hold seeings and you done smelt a gas. The risk really is -- if you neglect your well-being, then you may, in fact, imperil your senses, and that may jeopardize your Hearings. What ever happened to Aer Lingus Presents Charles Mingus? That whole thing. See? See how the priorities change once you get (re)elected -- and thence (re)invent a whole new round of dishonesty? Instead, you offer us Riverdance w/ The Oscar Peterson Trio, and that, Dear Congress, is some tragic H1N1 re-bop. In your realm, the Lord created Special People, followed by Special Interest, followed by Special Police. The Pulp does not hold Mass and the masses do not rest their bums in pupae. Olde English is a language we all start speaking after we consume The Malt Beverage, and once we adopt that tongue, we begin to revere the Norsemen and their fiscal pall. Oh, and by the way, the term "Filibuster Proof" has nothing to do with alcohol content, and, I mean, it has nothing, even, to do with content. If anything, we are clearly traveling Discontent Avenue toward The Burning Waterway, and the bridge is OUT. How would you have us make that crossing, Dear Congress -- on a Bloat?

Yrs,
Constituent

Dear Congress,

You need to Stimulate the economy's Erogenous Zones in a hurry. Hotpants, to be clear, is neither Stimulus nor Erogenous Zone, it is "humid breathing", it is dungarees, it is not Policy, Hotpants is not a Marble Corridor. Oh, it must be so de rigeur to meet a colleague for organic arugula and espresso, to discuss how you can maintain your "Political Independence" in the face of a popular inauguration, its augurs and Okies, bloggers and Blokes. To Curry Flavor is not to press one's agenda in a Bengali restaurant, to Curry Flavor is to spice and celebrate, it does not involve a big gut & insufficient girth of towel at the steambath, it is to butter the chicken, to sample tasty chickpea, to perspire beneath the heatlamp. Do not Stimulate Detroit, Dear Congress, for the country no longer requires an AutoErogenous Zone. Do not Stimulate our hidden areas of Surprise & Exclamation, Dear Congress, for the country already sports too many Gee Spots. Americans would rather lose weight than kiss their representatives. Americans would rather suffer a shortage of High Fructose Corn Syrup. Six Figures is not a band, not a group of concubines, not a Monet or Manet, it is money, ahead of the rest, it is your elite, avant garde salary. It is not a theme park, although a fine interactive park would The Legislature make. One could sign a bill but skip out on the checks and balances; filibuster with minorities and caucus with Caucasians; explore openings and cloture in the cloakroom; ride the secretaries and override The Precedent. Don't take such pride in your multiple hindrances that you record them on your Curriculum Veto. Don't be so skittish, buck up, you are not a Deer Congress, Dear Congress, you are bicameral mammals, you are not camels, you may or may not be humped. Well all reet, then, well all root, then, well Orate, then.

Yrs,
Constituent