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From The New Yorker Magazine: A Heartfelt Plea From Sarah McLachlan & The A.S.P.C.R.



Forwarded to you by Noah The following piece of satire on late night celebrity TV pleas, written by humorist Sarah Hutto, was recently published in the New Yorker Magazine. I find its premise overly optimistic but hilariously effective just the same. Being a fan of speculative fiction, I have wondered what might happen if Republican voters ever really did ever wake up to the con they have so eagerly bought into because it came to them all neatly wrapped in their endless list of pet grievances and, more importantly, bigotries. As for me, I can't imagine myself ever having an ounce of sympathy for any Republican. Help a Republican after all they've been putting this country through? It just wouldn't be right. Besides, they would just bite the hand that feeds them anyway.



Here's Hutto's piece:

Hello, I'm Sarah McLachlan Every hour, a Republican loses an election. They are cold and afraid. Ok. maybe they're not cold, but they are afraid. And alone. They are losing support because their constituents finally caught on to how shifty their platforms are and to the stupidity of their refusal to accept the outcome of the election. Will you help them today? Some of them are going to have to move to Florida, The ones who already live in Florida will probably move to one of the islands, at least temporarily, while they come up with a new career strategy and move money into offshore bank accounts. These politicians have never hurt a soul. OK, they've hurt millions. But still, they owe people money and favors that they now can't deliver. Won't you be the person to help one of these vulnerable Republicans today? Please call the number on your screen, sign up with the American Society for the Prevention of Consequences for Republicans, and you will be providing a suffering, frightened Republican with a monthly gift. For just eighteen hundred dollars a month, you can supply a Republican with yacht fuel, Plan B for their mistress, legal aid for insider trading, and helicopters to the I.C.U. when they inevitably get the coronavirus that they don't believe exists. And love. Just kidding. They aren't capable of love. Call today, and we will send you a picture of Mitch McConnell cleaning graffiti off his front door. You will also receive this beautiful tote bag, in which you can store the fucks you have let to give after the Senate approved a six-hundred dollar stimulus package--a hundred bucks per month that you've been in lockdown since the last payment. This is your last chance to stand up and say, "I won't sit idly by while another rich animal is pushed into the private sector due to being an ineffectual, nefarious prick." Please call or go online right now, if your internet is still hooked up. Our young, white interns are standing by to take your call.


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