Dear Mr. President,
I call you Mr. President even though I don’t believe you won either election in 2000 or 2004.
However, you’re the president. And you’re doing a heck of a job of it, the way your boy Michael Brown did a heck of a job as FEMA director for New Orleans after Hurricane Katrina.
I never supported you. I never thought you were qualified and I thought Al Gore was well qualified. He represented everything you did not: intelligent, curious, determined to reinvent government to make it serve the people better even as the budget deficits President Clinton inherited turned into the largest surplus in history.
The election of you ended that. As The Onion said, our long national nightmare of peace and prosperity ended with the Supreme Court’s selection of you in 2000. Deep in your heart, you know the nation did not pick you and most Americans did not want you.
But we’re stuck with you for three more years.
And let’s be honest, you’re stuck with the mess you’ve made for three more years.
Three more years of disaster. Everything you touched has turned foul.
You’ve brought dishonor on the country. And the world is letting you know it. People that loved America on September 11, people that surrounded our embassies to form human shields to show their support for our nation, people who lit candles and sang the Star Spangled Banner and proclaimed loudly that they too were New Yorkers, now despise us.
As well they should. We’ve not been the shining beacon on the hill as in the past, unless it’s a warning beacon on top of a pile of bones.
Do you really want this job any longer? Seriously, life has always been easy for you and as my friend Mike expressed so eloquently the other day, being the Worst President Ever is hard work.
I want to help you. I want to give you advice on how to get out of your predictament.
Walk away from the job.
And you can do it in a way that will restore integrity and honor to your name.
Walk to Patrick Fitzgerald’s office. Ask him to bring out a tape recorder. And then begin talking.
Confession is good for the soul, and you, Mr. President, need to remove the taint that stains your soul. Confession can be cleansing and it can help you on the path to healing.
Tell him everything. I suspect — and I guess most of us suspect — that the decision to out Valerie Plame as a covert CIA operative didn’t come from Karl Rove or Scooter Libby or even Dick Cheney.
It fits the kind of thing you did for your father’s campaigns.
Ambassador Wilson attacked your administration’s rationale for war. And you wanted to be a war president and you didn’t want anyone to question that. Of course you attacked back. It’s what you do, whether it’s Ambassador Wilson or Al Hunt or John Kerry or even your own father when you were a young man.
So own up to it. Confess. And then resign. You can return to your ranch and begin clearing brush. I’m sure it’s good brush clearing weather down there. Clearing brush is so clean and simple. No families to meet with when you’ve cut down a brush at the prime of its life.
No, for your sake and your country’s, confess and resign and go home. Just walk away.
And take Dick Cheney with you.
Sincerely,
Carnacki.
