26.9.17

TELEGRAM FROM THE GENERAL CROOK TRAIL TO THE PRESIDENT OF THE DISUNITED STATES


First of all, the whole idea about what happens

when the tree falls in the forest and whether or not

it makes a sound: You sent me out for this scientific

question and quite frankly you must be some robot

who only thinks anything happens when a dollar

gets digitized in a bank in the Cayman Islands.

Stop.

Second, there is very little internet access along

the Forest Road on the Mogollon Rim, dude. Stop.

How are we supposed to relay any kind of message

at all if you don't even know that? Stop. You promised

coverage for all, and we were naked to the winds,

thus requiring daily runs to Walmart in Payson,

and I ate red vines that made me sick as a dog.

Stop.

Third, no savages were found in the area other than ourselves,

since there's little water up there, short of what

falls on your head, and rumors of bear

were just wild stories made up to keep

us in our tents. Wood was picked clean

throughout, as the Imperial Cruisers roaming

up and down had run up the dust, down the rest.

Stop.

Fourth, and I mean this sincerely, sir.

No one mentioned your name once

up there, probably due to the lack

of a decent Twitter feed,

as well as a common desire

among those present to get away from any idea of you,

since we are all running from that daily disgrace in the first place.

Stop. End Message.


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