It has come to my attention that you’ve expressed calm and rational feelings of discontent at the use of unflattering pictures of you by news organizations in publications. First of all, I would like to apologize for not realizing you experienced “feelings”—after observing your mockery of a physically-disabled reporter, as well as a determined lack of empathy for women and minority groups, I assumed with good reason that you were in fact an unfeeling lizard person in a shoddily-crafted orange person suit with tiny hands. That being said, I have been wrong before, and I see that I was wrong now: You do have feelings! Big-boy, super-sensitive, sad-mad feelings. Congratulations, you big, bawling baby, you!
The image you took issue with, to my understanding, was this one:
(I’d like to apologize for the fact that I have it saved on my computer desktop as “ShoutyCarrot.jpg.” As you are not shouting in this picture, it is inaccurate, and therefore potentially hurtful.)
We at the Other Press try to dedicate ourselves to responsible writing and reporting—oh, if you’re struggling with the word “responsible,” I’d suggest looking it up in a dictionary. You might just learn something!—and in that spirit, I would like to take this opportunity to apologize for any unflattering photos we may have used in the past.
Photos like this one, for example:
Oh dear. That really isn’t very flattering at all, is it?
Actually, while I’m going through photos on my desktop, here’s another one that could be potentially hurtful:
“Man, that was the spiciest ketchup I’ve ever eaten! Reaching out to the Hispanic community is hard,” is what I can only imagine you said after this photo was taken.
Oh, man, what about this one?
I like to think this was your expression when you realized that a president, like, does stuff. “You mean I actually have to know something about international trade law? Fuck, someone should have told me!”
I also found this gem:
I have no idea where it came from, or who brought this monstrosity into the world—oh, a quick Google search tells me it was a lovely woman by the name of Mary Anne Trump. Fascinating! I also don’t know who Photoshopped this image, but what would the world be without its little mysteries, hmm?
In conclusion, Mr. Trump, you don’t know who I am. You will likely never read this letter, never know my name, never know that there is a Canadian college newspaper with a somewhat sadistic Humour Editor who derives a great deal of pleasure from mocking you relentlessly. If I know one thing though, it is that the scariest people, the most narcissistic of dictators, can’t abide being laughed at. Nothing saps power from fear like laughter. So as long as you continue to put white nationalists in positions of power, as long as your running mate is a man who believes in subjecting people like me to psychological torture and shock therapy to “fix” us of something that isn’t broken, as long as you go unpunished for your multitude of crimes against women, as long as you, Donald Trump, are in a position to hurt a great deal of people, I plan to laugh you into the fucking ground.
What I’m trying to say, Mr. Trump, is kiss my ass.
Very sincerely and with great pleasure,