First, since I will be sharing this letter, let me be perfectly clear that ‘Poopface’, although it may sound endearing, is quite the contrary, and is fully and intentionally meant to be chiding and demeaning.  Try as I might to restrain from using your given name, it still escapes my lips or keyboard from time to time and is always accompanied by a gagging reflux of bile…Poopface, not so much.

Go fuck yourself!  To help in this endeavor, you may consult Steve Bannon, (if he’ll still take your calls), who we’re told by the Mooch, may be able to suck his own…need I say it?  Barring that, since your Tweets would indicate at least an entry level understanding of the InterNet, Googling the phrase, (I’m unbelievably tempted now, but I truly have not done this), should provide you with endless technical and graphic assistance.  Or…just re-watch the Putin Piss Tape, there’s bound to be something you can use in there.

Unlike others who have called you to task for your limp dick, (this is going to be thematic…it’s how I roll), response to the horrors of Charlottesville, I neither expect nor require a better, more heartfelt response from you.  You showed your true colors on Saturday.  Your scripted, compassionless, tacitly supporting shout out to your goose-stepping minions on Monday remained shamelessly true to your vile nature.  Then Tuesday…oh my fucking god, Tuesday…you unhinged piece of shit.  Actually, we should all thank you for your petulantly adolescent lack of control when confronted by anyone questioning your bad behavior.  It spoke volumes, (and with greater clarity and articulation than I’m ever able to muster without resorting to profanity), to your black-hearted nature, as those unfiltered rantings exposed you as the worthless gutter trash you are.  Wednesday, you began your bleeding-heart support for Confederate monuments.  Thursday, you gave us your regurgitation of the blatantly false story of General Pershing and the pig’s blood bullets.  Friday, you ousted Bannon but otherwise laid low as the backlash escalated from politicians, CEOs, Carl Icahn, (“one of my best friends and top economic advisors?”), while countless charities canceled fundraising events at Mar-a-Lago.  Saturday, according to the Old Testament, you should have rested, but I’m sure the implied Jewish symbolism could have been offensive to some of those really good, peaceful, Nazi protestors, and what sort of message would that be coming from the President of all people?

You are a disgrace to your office, the country you pretend to serve and any human being who gives a shit about…well, anything good or wholesome.

It’s clear that you don’t give a rat’s ass about your Party or the overwhelming majority of its leaders that still, (what the fuck does it take?), won’t denounce you.  You certainly don’t care about the chanting idiots at your rallies.  You don’t have a dog…even Bush 2 had a dog.  You have neither understanding nor compassion for world, national or community concerns.  Oh, and for the record, it’s not ‘supremists’, it’s ‘supremacists’, you dumb-ass.  But, if you want to come out of this thing with any semblance of a better-than-OJ-end-of-life, here’s a suggestion that might work for us all.  Call for an all-networks press conference.  Show up wearing sneakers, jeans and a Beavis and Butthead t-shirt.  Ask Peter Funt, (Allen’s son), to stand conspicuously over your shoulder.  Giggle a lot and rub your hands together like the golden hand-blower in your T-Tower bathroom didn’t quite finish its job.  Then, make the following statement, (don’t even think about going off script or this will never work):

My fellow Americans, (giggle), 

I understand you may be confused by my attire and the nature of this broadcast, (giggle).  I will explain it all next week, (belly laugh).  No…no…not really.  That’s just a thing I like to do when I get so deep in my own bullshit that I can’t come up with an answer on the spot, (giggle).  Look…I’ll get right to the point.  You may notice my good friend Peter Funt standing behind me.  Well, he and I came up with this idea for the greatest TV show ever, (coughing laugh).  We pitched it to all the networks, but those idiots didn’t get it.  So, we did it on our own.  First, I started publicly grumbling about having all the answers to the problems of the world.  Then I made a big deal of switching parties and exploring a run for the Presidency, (belly laugh).  It was going to be like the greatest Candid Camera bit of all time.  How about the escalator thing?  Brilliant…right?, (cackle).  It was only supposed to last through the Primaries but it got a little out of hand.  I acted like the worst candidate ever, with no grasp of the issues or qualifications for the office.  I shamelessly attacked my opponents, debate moderators, journalists or anyone else who questioned my resolve, (choking-sputtering-guffawing).  I made up crazy, demeaning names for everyone and preposterous, though easily debunked, lies about their shortcomings or my superiority, (ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha).  I reached out to every group that nobody else would give the time of day to…oh, and I was the one who whispered, “basket of deplorables”, into Hillary’s ear during one of our debates, (hee-hee-hee-hee-hee-hee-hee-hee).  I couldn’t have tried harder to be seen as patently unelectable…go figure, (laugh so hard you spit out pieces of lung).  I colluded with Russians, I’m a well-documented sexual deviant…that wasn’t acting, by the way, I do love the ladies…I’ve openly cheated and lied in my businesses and lawyered my way out of trouble and into a shit load of money.  I suck at a lot of things, but…I know TV.  “The Apprentice”?  Are you kidding me?, (gag…chuckle…gag).  Then…holy moly!…I got elected, (Hoo-hoooooo-hooooooo).  Thanks, Vlad…thanks Hillary!  Just goes to show, be careful what you pretend to wish for, (snort something out your nose, use the back of your hand to wipe it on your shirt).  Even brain-dead W had a better handle on this job than me.  I mean, I could have been great, the greatest President ever, but that wasn’t the gig.  No need to get into the well-documented details…right?, (clear your throat in a meaningful way).

But…enough’s enough!  My Chinese clothing sales are off 12%, I don’t like people criticizing my weight or my golf game, my son might go to prison for treason and, not to sound ungrateful for the free digs but, the White House really is a dump, (smirk, but don’t laugh).  I never dreamed it would go this far.  Crap, I almost started a nuclear war.  But, Peter tells me we’ve got enough footage for ten years of syndication, so, we’re closing this puppy down.  Don’t forget me at Emmy time!  POTUS 45…OUT!, (smile…point…give several thumbs up…hug Peter Funt…wave…exit stage left…FOREVER).

If you can’t get behind this win-win idea, just disregard everything except “go fuck yourself!”

You were never my President.

Joel