Letter: If you can’t beat ‘em … | AspenTimes.com
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Letter: If you can’t beat ‘em …

I slept a little late today, thanks to my husband who decided I didn’t need to wake up to the nightmare until I had to. After the standard ways to deal with crisis-denial, anger, depression, I resorted to my long established comfort — eating.

After consuming hundreds of empty sugar (not non-GMO) calories, I remembered my soon-to-be president scorned women with fat butts. But then I remembered he basically scorned women in general, objectify them, making lewd and lascivious comments, and cheating on two of his wives (one right here in Aspen — both wife and mistress being in our town at the same time).

So I decided to treat myself to a pedicure, which was great. But then I wrestled with whether I should actually pay them. Our up-and-coming commander in chief didn’t pay lots of people whom he contracted with and received the services as promised; and besides, these were not white, born-in-America people. Would he say I just wasn’t smart enough to figure out a loophole? So, upon arriving home (after not being smart enough to stiff the working stiffs), I decided drinking was a great way to get to that forget place (after passing though anger, depression and thoughts of suicide). I remembered my friends who had cancer and now won’t be able to get insurance (‘cause we’re doing away with that dratted Obamacare).



But I guess when they can’t afford their meds they will die and quit draining the capital of the rest of us. Good business, eh!? Could I actually wake up to find it was just a nightmare and that my world was actually still sane? If I can’t actually wake up, I guess I will have to practice cheating on my taxes, lying, being disrespectful and hating other races. I will only look at what serves me and disbelieve science so I don’t have to make any changes (I don’t have kids, so screw the next generation!). I will do business just like he does business.

I can emulate my soon-to-be leader. When “God” is on your side, you get to do plenty of deplorable things.



Denise Handrich

Old Snowmass


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