From: Warman Pete “Boom-Boom” Hegseth
To: Codename Pumpkin Spice Palpatine
RE: Presidential Executive Order 4242, Commanding U.S. Troops into Big Blue Cities Riven by Vicious Violence Not Seen Since World War II or Maybe World War III Because Democrats and It’s Good Practice
Update: The Battle of Broward
Sir:
The battle goes poorly. I fear we will not reach Mar-a-Lago and its precious cache of bathroom file cabinets by sunrise.
The SEAL teams craftily came ashore in broad daylight in the Broward County stronghold of Delray Beach, just as your maps instructed. Tank-carrying landing craft followed. Resistance is minimal. After years under kale-heavy Democrat rule, the best these depleted souls could manage upon seeing our beachfront invasion was lifting their heads — no more than a few inches! — before laying them down again. There they remained. Some bold few lobbed white balls at us, but my brothers in arms spiked them back, thus easing tensions using the universal language of beach bro.
Pat Beall is an editorial writer and columnist for the Sun Sentinel, focusing mainly on Palm Beach County issues.
And, Sir, grateful men came up to me, big grown grateful hulking men, men with the word “lifeguard” on their T-shirts, men who honored us by yelling at me the very same words General Eisenhower yelled at his troops at Normandy on D-Day: Get off the #^$*!@& beach.
Truly, I did not expect such camaraderie.
I must also tell you this, Sir, and I do so with tears in my eyes: By nightfall, our tanks had been chalked. The villainy of this rainbowed region knows no bounds. And yet, my love of country comes over me like a strong wind, the kind of wind that might have been generated by the clapping of 700 generals in a single room, had they clapped, which they did not, which I do not hold against them*, even though they also did not buy my book, or laugh at my two jokes, including the one about the book, or pick up the pink slips that I left under 678 chairs.
Rather, I take heart from finding allies everywhere. I speak of Byron Donalds, a Trump man through and through, though a man with the whisper of a beard. Beardos: Not a Good Look in my military,** but do unto others that which you would have done unto yourself, as the Good Lord said***, so I took the implements of precision from my kit bag and styled him on the spot.
Sir, on that subject: I do not want to over-burden you with the minutiae of your random-destruction-for-the-heck-of-it orders. Still, for the sake of my soldiers, and their hair, and the standards I have created for their hair, and the generals I pulled from all over the globe at an estimated cost of a whole, whole lot to lecture them on their grooming, including their hair, it is my duty to inform you that the pledged cases of Pete & Pedro Sea Salt Spray have not arrived. Please know that I do not cast aspersions, nor is it my intention to accuse anyone of profiteering from wartime hair care hijackings, but it has also come to my attention that Matt Gaetz is looking especially fetching these days.
Finally, with no wish to further throb your partly tanned temples, I must also relay certain disturbing dispatches: In New Orleans, we continue our search for The Lost Platoon, last seen turning left on Bourbon Street. In Chicago, our undercover agents put ketchup on hot dogs. We pray for their speedy release. And sir, though I hesitate to say it — and in particular I hesitate to say it immediately following mention of tomato-based condiments — but in Portland, where five ounces of sustainably sourced microlot honey goes for $18, our warriors went in armed and came out artisanal.
As for my regiment, sir, we ride for Mar-a-Lago at dawn. Look to the south, and our armored rainbows.
*He really does.
**He really said that.
***The Good Lord really did not. But Hegseth did in quoting Him.
Pat Beall is a Sun Sentinel columnist and editorial writer.