The perfect man for the job

John Bolton
Under Secretary for Arms Control and International Security
United States Department of State

Dear Mr. Bolton,

I have a problem that I think you can help me with. My neighbor, Mr. Novak, likes to do his gardening wearing one of those man-thong things. It's driving me nuts. Every time I look over there, he's bent over, flashing his flabby cheeks at me. It's disgusting--my God, the man's approaching seventy.

I've asked him nicely to put his pants on, bet he just yells at me saying he's a journalist and that he'll expose me if I don't leave him alone. Then, he thrusts his hips at me in a way that draws attention to his man-bulge, which I'm sure is stuffed with a sock or something to make me feel inadequate. The worst part of it is that this act prompts certain, shameful thoughts that cause me to blush. Seeing my reaction, he always laughs and says, "you know what I'm talking about; don't make me put it in my column."

I don't know what to do. He's too famous and too white to shoot and get away with it. I can't call the police on him because he might write about my blushing.

That's why I'm asking you to kick his ass. From what I understand, you're very experienced in that department. You could pretend he's an underling or someone who says that Venezuela doesn't really have a secret fleet of Vorgon Battle Cruisers. Once you've worked yourself up to a near-homicidal rage, you could go to town on the old geezer.

I'd really appreciate it. I'm a GOP Team Leader.

Heterosexually yours,

Gen. JC Christian, patriot