Saturday, July 14, 2007


Uh, Let's Talk About Those Tax Cuts Again...

Dear Dubya,

I know that I have railed against your tax cuts before, but now that I am about to become the proud winner of $10 million, I need to discuss them with you anew.

You see, I received an envelope crammed full of papers that tell me that I am the probable winner of the next Publishers Clearing House Sweepstakes. So, if I'm going to join our nation's millionaire pool, I need to anticipate the greedy gal I will become by lobbying for a reduction in the sweepstakes winner's tax bracket. I need to be in the best position possible to stimulate the economy for a stronger America.

How do I know I'm going to be the winner, you ask? Mock me not, Mister President. On the outside of the usual white envelope there was affixed a special yellow envelope with a note from Dave Sayer! Who is Dave Sayer, you ask? Only the most respected sender of yellow envelopes in the United States of America, that's who! Even as such he seldom sends out yellow envelopes, especially attached to white ones. So I am confident that he has sent this notice to only about 20 million of his closest, most intimate friends.

Dave also told me that my village in Vermont is up for some heavy duty action this August, and it would not be impossible for the Prize Patrol to stride up my walk to award me with a five-foot long check for 10 million Big Ones, just in time for NBC News Tonight with Brian Williams. It's a sure thing, since the initials of the winner are my very own. I will be expected to swoon and tear at my tired old house dress without vomiting or doing anything else untelegenic while weeping tears of joy.

So you can see that with all the demands about to be placed on me, I'm clearly going to need to see some tax cuts in my soon-to-be status in order to secure myself in the large, heaving, yet entirely moral bosom of the Republican Party.

If you are reluctant to advocate for the nouveau riche stepping into the fold, consider the tasks that lie before me. I will have to find the tiny stamp with my initials on it and affix it to its corresponding place in my official entry form. I must agonize over the little stamps of the magazines offered at drastically cut subscription rates. There will be tiny stickers buried deep in the advertising copy of the Tater Mitt or the Forearm Forklift that will need to be spotted, lifted, and pasted into their proper places. Just thinking about it exhausts me.

What will it be that catapults me to my new financial bracket? Perhaps O: the Oprah magazine, for its assurance that the stimulation of negative ions will lead to positive thinking and the attendant animal magnetism for money and prestige. Or maybe I'll subscribe to Us, knowing that soon I will grace its cover, showing Paris Hilton that I can be twice the brat that she is. I might be best served by a subscription to Money, in order to manage the manna that should soon rain down upon me.
Since money is soon to be no object, I may as well subscribe to all three... and treat myself to the Pewter Angel Visor Clip that will watch over me for the rest of my natural days.

Now, Mister President, I must close. I have a great deal to do--the Winner Search Authorization Entry-Order Document demands my full attention. I can only hope that you will see the wisdom of having a winner like me in a party like yours. Remember: my campaign contributions to the candidates of your party are riding on your consideration of my upcoming circumstances.

Very truly,
Lulu Maude

If you're planning to be a bigger brat than Paris Hilton, you better go off the wagon.
Besides, if you have ten million you don't actually have to be in recovery- look at Bush.
Lulu, my dear, I've nominated you for a Schmooze award.
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