Dear Reader(s),
It has been my long-standing policy with The Blog to steer away from political topics, or, at most, glance at them with a passing smirk. I do this to cater to my readership as a whole, ignoring the small differences which separate us. It is not, nor has ever been, my intent to offend and alienate a rolling-fraction of my audience – picking and choosing select topics that push just the right buttons – so that nobody feels left out. Instead, I find it much more entertaining – and I hope you do as well – and, frankly, easier to try and offend everyone. Then hope you come back for more.
Unfortunately, that policy ends today. Given the goings-on in the World right now, and the patently weird emanations wafting out of a key North American player, I must jump into the fray and directly address a disturbing political trend from the great U.S. of A. Given the nature and goals of The Blog, this trend concerns that subject that is nearest and dearest to my heart: Words.
To that end I ask you to indulge me as I offer you my open letter to President Donald J. Trump.
Dear President Trump;
Wow! It’s just all I can say. How can one guy make such drastic changes to everything in such a short time? Those NWO conspiracy loonies never saw this coming! They were too busy focusing on Soros and the comet and lasers. I am impressed! Good job! And keep it up!
But, with so much on your plate, I can imagine that a few things will end up dropping through the cracks. I am writing to address one of them, including specific policy proposals, so that your former supporters – those weak-kneed, closeted wokesters – don’t jump on the TACO bandwagon and bury the new White House Ballroom in rubber chickens.
Please feel free to insert my policy suggestions wherever you feel appropriate into the Project 2025 Manifesto. The deeper the better.
I am, you realize, talking about The Gulf of America.
Of course, those batshit cray-cray doomsayers who think the whole Pax Americana thing is on the ropes instead of just getting started, are going to be out in force saying Oh, the history! or Oh, those poor excluded people South of the Border!
But they don’t see what you’ve actually done. Renaming the ever-more-hottubby Gulf might be the single most inclusionary thing done by any US President in history. Forget Johnson and his wimpy Civil Rights Act. Forget Lincoln and that pesky war. Forget, though I know you can’t, Obama and his flawed attempt to bring healthcare to the undeserving voters in Red States. You, sir, have topped them all. With a single stroke of your pen, you have united all people in all three Americas and set a welcoming beacon shouting to all who can listen, we are all Americans and we are all the same.
Clearly, that’s not what you meant to do.
ICE is strapped enough for manpower and funding. This is only going to make it worse. Dean Cain as an ICE agent? You’ll be down to whoever is below that level at the bottom of the barrel. While your initial intent was to placate those mouth-breathing, bottom-feeders who don’t realize there are three Americas, the Law of Unintended Consequences kicked in and now there’s another problem needing your urgent attention.
But I wouldn’t be writing you if I didn’t have a solution. And that’s to go all-in.
The United States is a nation of immigrants and it’s situated on a continent of immigrants which is tied to another continent similarly populated. But all of those immigrants and immigrations bumping up against each other is confusing the base and distracting your whole Project 2025 crew away from the whole point of the Gulf’s renaming:
There is only one immigration that matters.
Forget the “Native Americans”. Regardless that they beat the white folk here by about twenty thousand years or so, they were merely the first wave and should be properly termed “Early Settlers”. Forget the “Native American” revisionist mythology of powerful empires, technological sophistication, and bureaucratic efficiency. Both continents – plus the bit in the middle – were effectively conquered by like thirty guys wearing shiny helmets and funny pants.
The Vikings didn’t even know where they were and were driven away by the bugs.
And those Spanish “conquistadors”? Please. They were just disease vectors dropping names and microbes across the landscape every time they dropped trou in the woods to honor their Papal overlord. If it weren’t for the then-unknown germ theory of infection the only people speaking Spanish in the New World would be working at embassies.
The French. Ahhh… The French. With their beignets, croissants, and crayfish, there is very little record of their attempt to settle on the new land besides some dainty pastries and Quebec.
In any event, for your renaming plan to work and have the desired effect of the map reflecting only the names that can be considered truly American, you’ll have to wipe the map clean and break out your Sharpie. Everything – states, cities, towns, mountains, rivers, lakes and creeks – will be renamed in compliance with the only immigration that truly mattered:
The British.
Gone will be all the uncertain pronunciations associated with the First Settlers. No more Massachusetts. Goodbye Minneapolis, Mississippi, Missouri, Huron, and Ontario. Sayonara Seattle (Sealth? Si’ahl? Seathl? See-ahth?) See what I mean? You honor a guy by naming a city built on land stolen from its residents and he can’t even give you the correct spelling of his name. Immigrants! Amirite?
The Spanish might be a bit more problematic as white people continue to think that the Spanish names for places and things that are now part of the lingua franca are still useful to make them sound so… so… ethnic. Admittedly, this one is going to be a tough rio para cruzar but the welcoming arms on the other side will be those of clarity, consistency, and our true national heritage and not those of the Border Patrol. The problem is that the terminology is more deeply embedded with the white-culture warrior clan than it is with any other subset of True Americans. I mean, really, can you picture Ron DeSantis (the notable landlord of Alligator Alcatraz and managing technocrat of the “Free State of Florida”) or Marco Rubio (the former junior Senator from that same sun-drenched peninsula), saying “Florida” and not smiling? What they’re thinking is “Yo yumas, we already won, bitches.” You know what needs to be done.
That particular attitude needs to be smothered in its crib (much like “avo” from last time) before it becomes so entrenched that nobody even thinks about “California” (or “Cali” as it’s known to the in-state, OCD abridgers) as not being an American name.
The French. Ahhh… The French. As usual, there’s not much to say about the French. Their geographic footprint being not much more than the crumbs on your plate after breakfast. Although, somebody needs to make an executive decision about “Duluth”.
So, call out the National Guard, wait… never mind. Just tear up some Rand-McNallys, give the already-called-out-and-bored-AF Guard members the pages, some erasers, and Sharpies and let them go to town. It’ll be like a real-life monkeys and typewriters experiment. Except…
… Out of the roughly 1.1 million place names in the U.S., tens, or hundreds, of thousands will need to be changed. But those of us of proper British American origin are notably unimaginative. Given that the first attempt gave us things like New York, New Jersey, New Hampshire, Washington, the various Norths and Souths, Boston, Cape Cod, Long Island and over a thousand places named after somebody named Smith, the Sharpie-armed Guardsmen are going to need some guidance.
Which is where you come in. As you have so well demonstrated, the way to lead is to do so by example. And the best way to start is at home: Mar a Lago. Now, you could just do a straight translation – From the Sea to the Lake – but that has a bit too much of a “From the River to the Sea” vibe about it and might end up alienating a large voting block. So, you’ll probably have to start from scratch. Maybe, “Party Town” as one would surmise from all the press coverage? Dunno. That would be your call.
Which brings us to the thorniest hedgerow in the whole process: the name America itself. History teaches us that the luckily named Amerigo Vespucci was (another) do nothing Italian Navigator whose sole claim to fame was that he realized that Brazil – which wouldn’t exist for over 400 years – was not (would not be?) on the same continent as New York (a place still undiscovered by yet another one-trick pony Italian, Giovanni da Verrazzano). Duh. But, thanks to the French, our continent(s) received his first name to honor Captain Obvious’s deep thinking.
But here, Mr. President, is your golden opportunity. A chance to wipe the slate truly clean and remake history in your AI generated image; a chance to finally sever the ties that bind us to the Old World.
I offer you The United States of Trump.
You’re gonna need new hats.
With my Warm and Best Wishes, etc.
James Ewing
That’s it, readers. Sorry to go all political on you but certain things needed to be said; even at the risk of offending some of you. The next Blog post will go back to its roots and attempt to offend everyone.
Vive la France!
