B Taylor García
Jan 21, 2018 · 2 min read

Dear Oprah,

And The Rock, and Kid Rock, Cuban Mark, Ivanka, and any celebrity who has designs for ‘The’ office, or any office, now, or in 2020, or at any time, from here until the end of our democracy. Don’t do it. Please! Don’t put your name anywhere near a ballot. It’s not worth it. Don’t give us this choice, our daily choice, to look to you, our Supreme Leader, on the Idiot Box, the endless cycle, where you, oh You, will be under the filthiest microscope for all of us to see, watching your flagellum wag, our fascination with your tail growing bigger and bigger each day.

But should you run, keep in mind what Michelle Obama once said, stumping for the Lady everyone thought would win in a landslide: “Being president doesn’t change who you are, it reveals who you are.” Haven’t we learned this already, watching the Least Racist President only pad his pockets whilst pampering his princess, cordoning off the country, to make this land his land, not our land? If this is true with him, what can we expect with you? A book club in every neighborhood? A magazine where we can read policy? A network where you can OWN us? Or what about required fitness regimens and body art? Mandatory diet plans to get in Herculean shape? Government-issued fedoras over long hair, handlebar mustaches? A manufactured-in-China feminism?

We The People don’t want this Brave New World of yours. We don’t want another personality for President. Give us a diplomat, a civil servant, a wonk, or a bureaucrat — not a goddamned brand. We don’t need the jocks crossing over to theater, or the artists going into student council. We don’t need another hero, or another stylized icon thinking it can play the role of one. Have we learned nothing?

Let us only dream of how spectacularly awful it would be to have you as our leader, feeling your way through it, shattering the awesome institution that is already so badly damaged. Please, please, PLEASE, be the you we love to hate.

Love,

America

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