Dear Secretary Noem: My unit commander won’t let me wear swastikas or SS lightning bolts attached to my uniform. How can I express my sincere political beliefs?
A: One solution is the Iron Cross. It’s from World War I, so technically not Nazi, and you can always justify it as an expression of your Christian faith. Or follow the example of War Secretary Hegseth and fill your chest with Crusader tattoos that send the same Christian Nationalist message. I didn’t like Pete grabbing my ass in the White House pool, but he does look really hot in all that ink.
Dear Secretary Noem: When I’m kicking in an apartment door, sometimes I’ll get attacked by a dog that mistakes me for an intruder. Is it okay to kick the dog?
A: It is never acceptable to kick a dog. Always shoot the dog between the eyes. As an added bonus, the look of horror on the suspects’ brown, subhuman faces when you’ve blown away the family pet is priceless. Best part of the job.
Dear Secretary Noem: Sometimes when I’m zip-tying naked children together, I get an erection. What should I do?
A: This is normal and nothing to be ashamed of. Just ask President Trump! That said, if you give the little terrorists a black eye or knock out a few of their teeth with the butt end of your rifle, they will look less attractive to you. Those are baby teeth anyway, so the only permanent damage will be psychological.
Dear Secretary Noem: My fello agints mak fun of me coz I dont read and rite to gud. How can I stopp them from hazzing me.
A: What are you, some little cuck? Take it like a man. As soon as you read this, drop and give me 20. You’re worthless and weak. Remember: It doesn’t take brains to be an ICE agent—just brawn and absolute loyalty to America’s Greatest President, Donald J. Trump.
Dear Secretary Noem: When I get home after a long day of beating on Democrat politicians and the lamestream media, I’m too excited. The only way I can get to sleep is to pleasure myself looking at your photo, which I keep next to my bed. Sadist by day, masochist by night. Would you and Corey dominate me so I can at last fulfill my greatest fantasy?
A: Come by Quarters 1 in the Navy Yard on the 15th at 7 p.m. sharp and we’ll make you wriggle like the little worm you are. Don’t be late or there will be serious consequences. You won’t believe the dungeon we’ve set up in the cellar.
Son of Mammon
A dystopian glance at an American future
This is satire. “Leaves of Oak” © MMXXV Lindsey D. Eck. All rights reserved.
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