Please, I Beg You, Mr. President, Do Not Stop Talking About the Golf Course
· The Atlantic
Hush! I must hear! It’s an election year, I am a voter, and I need to know the president’s answers to the most pressing questions facing America today: How upholstered are the chairs in the Rose Garden? Is the helipad at the White House any good? How are things progressing with the ballroom? And is the golf course going to be ready soon? No, do not ask about affordability. That is a made-up word. I could not care less about the price of eggs! What am I, a hen?
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My concerns are more basic. I demand to hear: HOW IS THE HELIPAD? AND IS THAT GOLF COURSE IN EAST POTOMAC PARK BEING DEVELOPED TO THE HIGHEST STANDARDS OF GOLF, TURNING THAT TRASH ISLAND INTO AN ISLAND OF BEAUTY AND SUCCESS?
I was up late last night. I looked at my bills. Pretty high—but that just means the economy is booming. Still, it was hard to rest. I walked down the hall and looked at my sleeping children. How long could we hope to survive, knowing that at this very moment, in Washington, D.C., a judge is preventing East Potomac Park from becoming one of the world’s great golf courses, instead just letting it lie there, old, tired, beaten up, and useless?
My children say, “Father, Father! When will we be able to afford hamburger?” And I say, “How can you talk about hamburger when you know that Trash Island still needs to be developed to the highest levels and standards of golf?” And they say, “Do you even play golf?” And I say, “Silence!” They don’t have their priorities straight. But I’m glad we have a president who does.
The other day, I was at the gas pump. I hate going to the gas pump, because the numbers there are so high, which I know is a deliberate distraction from the real problems Americans face: the hazardous, dangerous trees on East Potomac Golf Links. No one is safe from those trees.
After that, I stopped by a restaurant and ate some salad. Immediately, I felt sick to my stomach. “That was tainted lettuce,” my family said. “No,” I said, “it is because of the shame, pertaining to the golf course.”
I don’t need a fully staffed FDA monitoring lettuce-borne diseases! I need to know that we are stopping our assistance to Ukraine in defiance of Congress. I need to know whether Vladimir Putin seemed happy when our president talked to him. I really hope that our president impressed him; Putin is a big, important man. Maybe someday, America will be a world power too. If we can just get this golf course in shape, we can build on that momentum.
Don’t you dare say that this isn’t a kitchen-table issue. You haven’t seen my kitchen table, on which a replica of the president’s plans for a truly beautiful arch have sat for the past six months, gathering dust. That arch holds all my dreams. “Why did you buy that and not food?” my children ask. They don’t know what they’re talking about.
Don’t try to appeal to me by talking about the cost of living. IRRELEVANT! I want to know: Does the president have a nice-enough plane? Are the right letters on all the buildings in the capital? Good, beautiful letters, such as T, R, U, M, and P—not bad, subpar letters such as K, E, N, N, E, D, Y? These are my concerns, just as they are the concerns of the whole electorate.
For years, I have been unable to hold my head up high, knowing that we don’t have the greatest ballroom slash military complex ever built. How do you think that feels? Every night, I toss and turn, asking myself: Is New Mexico going to keep its disgusting, embarrassing name? Or will it change it to something nice, like New America? Will they ever manage to cut down those terrifying trees in East Potomac Park, so we can finally feel safe? Hurry, Mr. President! Please, hurry! I don’t know how much longer I can keep living like this.