Dear President Pence

Super Bowl 51 is history.

It's time to get back to the business of toppling this regime. I've been writing lots of letters lately. Here's one I think you might enjoy...

Dear Mike,

I hope you don’t mind the informality. It’s not like we know each other.

I’ve never even been in Indiana. In fact, in light of the 1987 NCAA Championship game in which my Syracuse Orangemen lost at the buzzer to the Indiana Hoosiers, I don’t have fond feelings for the state.

Nevertheless, I’ve been married close to 25 years and consider myself a keen observer of human behavior.

With that, and without the aid of any hypersonic listening devices, I’d like to replay for you a conversation that has taken place in the Pence household between you and your wife, Karen, who you call Mother.

Mother: …he’s a Pig.

Mike: Please don’t refer to him that way, he’s my boss.

Mother: Well we’re not pussy-grabbers. We’re Midwesterners. We’re nice people.

Mike: Now, Mother.

Mother: And we don’t lie, either.  5 million illegal voters?

Mike: Up to. It could’ve been 3 million.

Mother: Do you even hear yourself, Mike? Do you hear him?

Mike: I know he can be a little rough around the edges.

Mother:  The toilet paper at the statehouse can be rough around the edges, he’s just crude.

Mike: Are you gonna bring up the speech at the CIA again?

Mother: OK, how about we talk about the National Prayer breakfast?

Mike: Oh jeez.

Mother: Don’t jeez me, Michael Richard Pence.

Mike: I don’t know why he’s so obsessed with the TV ratings.

Mother: He’s the President of the United States of America. And instead of talking about Syrian children, unemployed factory workers, skyrocketing college costs, or homeless veterans, he’s blabbering on about that German muscle-head and Celebrity Apprentice.

Mike: He’s Austrian, not German. Schwarzenegger is Austrian.

Mother: The point is, the man is unhinged, unfit and unconnected to reality. You and some of the other senators need to get going and pull out the 25^th amendment before this so-called president gets us killed.

Mike: OK, Mother. Can we just turn on Wheel of Fortune now?

And, like many a husband who has been on the pointy end of a good henpecking, you probably ignored her wise counsel and went about your business.

But I’d be shocked if you don’t wake up every day and just before brushing your teeth and combing your perfectly coiffed white hair, look yourself in the mirror and wonder if Mother knows best.

Because in this case Mike, she does.

Yours truly,

Rich Siegel