Dear Friends: Attorney General Jeff Sessions is neither a bigot nor a communist. Period. We can all see that, and we don't even know the guy. (Of course, those who do know Jeff Sessions swear by his integrity, his intelligence, his knowledge, and his ever-present faith in God, which is what this country was founded on, lest we all forget.) It's just that obvious. If you have working eyes. And a working brain. Or even half a brain. So even all you Democrats have no excuse. And please, to all you progressives out there, grow the bleep up. And move the bleep on. We're trying to repair our country here, and the world at large, and your constant BS is getting tiresome. And that means you, Senator Al Frankenfurter. (Meh. But Hannity already owns "Senator Frankenstein",1 and Laura Ingram already owns "Senator Frankenfraud".1 )
But "Senator Frankenfurter" does provide a clear image of what a fake-name "frankenfurter" really is. It's a hot dog. So please, let's all call it that. And please, with mustard only. What are we, communists? No. So please, pretty please, let's all call it a hot dog, with nothing red on top, ever. And that means you, President Trump. With all due respect, you should trust Vladimir Putin like you trust a rattlesnake. Or Obama. Or any progressive. Just don't. Because it'll all seem all-good at first. Mustard and ketchup? Why not? Let's give it a shot. And then, pretty soon, all the mustard factories will be hacked by the Russians, even French's, and overnight they'll all begin producing ketchup. And then, before we know it, they'll cut off the means of production. Of our ketchup. (And, except on hot dogs, we all love our ketchup. Imagine a hamburger without it, or a cheesesteak, or that second cheesesteak, or the cheese-fries, which are golden-crispy-french-fries, smothered in cheese, and best enjoyed with ketchup. All of which are Philly-favorites, and if you ever visit our great city of Philadelphia, where our great country was founded, let me know. I'm buying.) And then, we'll hafta (not NAFTA, it'll be called HAFTA) import all our ketchup. From Russia. And none of us want to imagine what Russian ketchup will taste like. Caviar? No. Vodka? Maybe. Plutonium? Quite possibly. But we won't know it, because it'll be disguised in a taste-less, smell-less, liquid-ketchup form, or maybe a solid form (wish Einstein were here to explain it all), but it'll kill us all. Quick. And so, President Trump, you're a hyper-intelligent guy, and a hyper-competent leader, and a hyper-awesome negotiator, but please, don't trust Vladimir Putin.
And definitely beware if John "I married into big-time tomato-ketchup money" Kerry comes to you with a special, totally diplomatic, totally Presidential, totally one-time-only-offer from Vladimir "The tomato-impaler" Putin himself. He'll be saying mustard. But talking ketchup.
1Figuratively, of course.