Dear John,
I don’t know what has happened to me, and I’m embarrassed to ask my friends.
Squawking about the nation’s debt after your party spent like drunk sailors on leave is like eating a rib-eye at Ruth’s Chris, then planting a fly under the bone to get a free meal. You ordered and ate the steak, sir. Yes, but I didn’t order the fly that came with it, and don’t you think your prices are obscene?
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