Postcards to the White House

A few months back, there was a loosely organized effort to inundate the Trump White House with postcards on a single day. I sent in a half dozen of them myself, but I never heard whether the flood of postcards caused the hoped for consternation. But every now and then, when I have some complaint, I send an impolite postcard.

I don't know whether any of the postcards are read, or if that huge outpouring of complaint got sent directly to the shredder. I like to think that some disillusioned staffer (and there surely are many) got some entertainment from our efforts. Perhaps someone is saving them as part of some paperwork retention act, or maybe somebody just picked his or her favorites and stuck them up in her cubicle. My true, and probably vain, hope is that some of them wind up in a future Museum of American Fascism.

Sometimes I think that I should have scanned mine, because I have no recollection of the messages that I have sent thus far, except for the one I mailed this morning.

Hey, dick, what about PUERTO RICO?? -- Monty

Our president's* dereliction of his duties is virtually complete.