Dear Mr. President,
I write you from the southwest of France, known for Bordeaux wine, foie gras, and roquefort cheese.
Mr. President, I know you must have a lot on your Un-Do list to clean up the mess that Mr. Bush left you, including telling Israel it will no longer have a green light to wreak death and destruction and experimental weapons on Arabs even if it names its operation after a Jewish children’s game, saving the planet after Bush tried to redact its endangerment, closing Gitmo, restoring the Constitution, protecting it from further erosion by a line-flubbing chief justice who almost gummed up your swearing in, getting the national kitty back from the free-loaders Bush tried to give it to, and finding out what was in those boxes Cheney was trying to steal away with before oh-so-divine providence intervened, but when you have finished with all these redresses, I would like to ask you to consider reversing the 300 percent roquefort tax the Bushies installed as they were heading out the door in retaliation for the Frenchies refusing to accept hormone-pumped beef.
That’s right, Mr. President. I know this makes about as much sense as the grammar in that note Mr. Bush left you, but apparently, because France refuses to subject its citizens to American mystery meat, about the most dubious agriculture product this side of lettuce that the U.S. produces, the U.S. has decided to in effect deprive the very middle class whose standard of living you’ve sworn to restore of one of the most delicious luxury gourmet products France exports. Because that will be one of the two dire effects of this sur-tax, to put roquefort cheese out of the reach of ordinary Americans. The other is that the tax will impose yet one more hardship on French shepherds, at a time when you’ve also sworn to rebuild the U.S.’s tattered relationships abroad.