PRISONER EXPRESS

When they appointed you President four years ago, I almost wrote you a letter of congratulations. It was a warm feeling of pride, like a hometown boy making it big in the world. In so many ways we are the same, you and I, only you are so much more. You are the master, I am but and insignificant grasshopper. I might have killed a few people in the war, three more got me where I am now -- that's nothing compared to you homeboy. You have murdered hundreds on Texas Death Row, so they made you Commander-in- Chief, and the body count went through the roof. Prisoners and the insignificant uninsured, Afghanistan and Iraq --- you have no trouble killing women and children, and you do it with gusto. Let's face it: most of us amateur murderers would balk at that. Wusses! How can I not admire the man who can do what I can't, who brings style and industrial scale into the field where I am but a pathetic dabbler? You restore honor to our kind, once again showing the world that murder is good, that just rewards expect those like me. If only I didn't stop when I did! I was only a couple of hundred bodies away from greatness.

Ride on, Cowboy! Show 'em how it's done! I am humbled by your achievements, Great One, and I see the error of my ways now. I shall do as you teach. I will denounce my heathen ways, anoint myself with oil, pledge my soul to Christ the Conqueror and, in the name of the world's only empire of pure spirit, kill, kill, kill until my hand is tired and my sponsors are rich, and bathe in the blood of terrorist infants. Thank you. You give me hope.
Four more years, brother. There's more killing to do.