a letter to Donald Rumsfeld
I hope you don't feel too bad about your cousins disowning you. Take it from me, the pain goes away after a while. Just have a shot of tequila, burn a few pictures of your spiteful relatives and it's all good.
I know your pain, Donald. When I was twelve, one of my sisters disowned me because I developed a huge crush on The Bay City Rollers. All of them. Years later, my entire family disowned me when it was discovered that I was secretly rooting for the New York Rangers instead of the Islanders in order to please the guy I was dating at the time. I'm sure you can relate to that, Donald. It's the whole "rooting for the wrong team" thing. Your family roots for appeasement, and all you want is to kick some ass. We were on opposite sides of the ice for a while there, me and my family. At least your cousins are a world or so away from you. Keeps all those fistfights from breaking out at Thanksgiving dinner.
In fact, I've been disowned and brought back into the fold more times than I can remember. I won't even tell you about the thing with the porn star and the nun, because I know how you feel about such delicate matters of the flesh. Just suffice it to say that I have stood where you stand now - scorned by family members, labeled a black sheep.
Just hang in there, Rummy. Don't let those weasily German cousins of yours make you feel bad. They'll come around to your way of thinking when they have nukes sticking out of their asses. Of course, then it will be too late. But you'll have the last laugh.