A letter from one of my shoeless kinfolk: "Howdy, cuzzin---

Ain't tetched base widya fer sum thyme, so thot I'd give ya my vues on this here preedickamint we find ar self's in wid this Trumpy guy.

I herd t'other day at he's all hot to trot to ship a feller ta MARS, fer crying out loud! How much o' them tax dollers do ya reckon he's a plannin ta spend on rockkettes an boosters an landin craffs an such? Wye don't he skip alla that fall da rall an just yooz the military like he's a doin down there in Texxas to build his stupid wall? Ats wot I'd like ta no!

Ifn y'all remimber, he's prackly got his Spaceforce all set ta "go wear no man's gon afore", so hears an idee---jes hav em rockette men BILD US A BRIJ ta Mars, wearever it is
an just tell em big deefence corpse ta sell em rockettes elsewears. Wot els ar em Space sojers gonna do up thar enny how?

Ats bout it fer now. Martha's got possum in the uvvin an its bout dun---ma mouf watters jes a smelling it!

Rite win yoo hav thyme, yur favorite cuzzin, Rufus.