BREAKING: Kushner’s Disclosure of Private Emails Omitted Cache of Haikus to Chipmunk

BREAKING: A former employee, as yet unnamed, has leaked more than a dozen emails to The Washington Post, detailing an intense and indefatigable correspondence between Jared Kushner and a chipmunk.

The emails — the timeline of which traces Kushner’s ascent from behind-the-scenes influencer to Senior Advisor to the President — cast doubt on the veracity of statements made by Kushner last month. On September 24th, Kushner’s lawyer Abbe Lowell disclosed that his client had used his personal email account for government business, but made swift assurances that all pertinent emails had been “forwarded to his government account, to make them part of official records.” The discovery of the chipmunk correspondence, however, opens the door to further probes.

Below is a selection of the emails turned over to the Post, spanning October 2016 through August of this year.

The chipmunk, named Chet, could not be found for comment.

TO: Chet the Chipmunk <>
DATE: November 9, 2016
SUBJECT: Hey Chet! It’s me! Jared Kushner!

Tiny hero! I
am so grateful to have slipped
on your wet acorns.

Friendship does not come
easy for Jared Kushner.
Humans no likey …

maybe chipmunks do!
After all, chipmunks are small,
striped rodents of the

family Scluridae;
I’m a small, striped rodent of
the family Kushner!

We share much, brother.
Our love of nuts, our awesome
hiding places, plus

for our cheeks we are
known! Wild Beast/Dimpled Freak — 
I SEE YOU, furry

Comrade. And YOU SEE
ME (!) among the foliage
of my smooth-skinned youth …

that’s a metaphor.
I went to really top-notch
NJ private schools.

Once a lady threw
her handbag at me, trying
to assassinate

gentle Jared. “Ma’am,”
said I, Cool it! I’m but a
sweet inocente

prancing and laughing
in Spring’s first blush! I always
have two cheeks packed full

of … something. No, not
bullshit. Don’t be smart lady,
I sue fast and loose,

yeah, I sue hard like
Daddy #2. Screw you.”
Anywho! Super

psyched for our pen pal
awesomeness to commence —WOO!
You get me, Chetty!


TO: Chet the Chipmunk <>
DATE: November 9, 2016

Chetty! How be you?
I’m floundering. Woe in a
high tree! Me drunk on

wild treachery
which, incidentally, tastes
just like red Hi-C.

Thus, the bed-wetting
is back. Boo. Satin sheets aren’t
very absorbent.


TO: Chet the Chipmunk <>
DATE: February 14, 2017
SUBJECT: taking responsibility (also: romance)

Apparently it’s
Valentine’s Day — Ivanka
informed me with a

wooden spoon HARD HARD
to my head, while shouting LOUD
LOUD in my ear: “Fool!

I am not wielding
this dumb wooden spoon under
the false pretense of

I have weaponized even my
Sur La Table

just as you, husband male,
will weaponize your crude skills
as hack ‘editor’

and ‘very big boy,’
transforming yourself into

Weapons Broker!” Sure,
it’s a leap. But I once owned
a Super Soaker!

So I pledged, “Babe, I’ll
squeeze greed from greed. I got this,
grrrrrrl. Our paychecks, like

our Love, will span the
continents and centuries
— like real cool comets!”

But! Furry bestie,
me oh my it’s fear on high
as I kvetch in rooms

with too many zooms.
Oh god, Chet! Ivanka has
spies in every nook,

every Japanese
toilet in the house, fuck fuck
fuck fuck fuck fuck me.

Do you, my Chubby
Cheeked Chet, ever feel squishy-
saddy inside? Oh

why did I marry,
why did I marry why why
why!? Ohhhh right: POWER.

Chet, don’t you cry now.
If these soft sentiments touch
your hyper heart, I

so appreciate
your friendship but to be clear:
we’re just platonic

and please don’t let slip
about the Russia meeting, 
‘cuz that one’s gonna be

my Valentine’s Day
Surprise Twenty-Eighteen!
Head ouchy. Night-night.


TO: Chet the Chipmunk <>
DATE: April 30, 2017
SUBJECT: self-actualization

Little Maria,
the housekeeper’s kid, says I
sound like a “eunuch,”

seriously Chet she’s
so mean to me, yells “BOO!” from
the walk-in closets.

But I wonder, is 
Miss Smarty (Butt!) Pants aware: 
those walk-in closets

can’t be unlocked from
the inside — no matter. Fuck
that noise, man! B-’cuz

my voice — like those five
helpless kittens crying from
inside my sock drawer —

sounds way lower in
my head. I long-ago learned
from Tiny Hand Man

it’s only who you
are in your own diseased mind
that matters. Thus! I …

am Jean-Luc Picard,
Captain of the Enterprise!
Or an Arms Dealer!

A real nice lady
gave me peanuts on the plane.
Hey haters! I speak

two octaves lower
up in here! Yeah, yeah! Mic drop.
Also: my balls dropped.

Seriously, thanks for listening dude.

OO (XX?),

TO: Chet the Chipmunk <>
DATE: August 1, 2017
SUBJECT: scary dreams

The NSA says
email indiscretions make
me a big blazing

target for foreign
intelligence. NSA
is dumb! Says Jared.

Scary men say, “Sure
you are fine-boned as a lark
across a wide pond,

but remember a
pond is open water, you
unscrupulous tool.”

Ha! A-ha-ha-ha!
Say I. But now Jared’s spooked,
Chet. Dreams — nay nightmares! —

come now to cradle
my adorable face as
I snooze, do I lose?!

Chants of “Lock him up!
Lock him up!” ravage the nine
hours of beauty

rest I require.
But recall all that haughty
JK has pulled off:

Kremlin back-channel
plotting with no consequence,
Natalia V.

“poof!” like boobs in a
sex dream. I tower, dear Chet
on a high wire

between death and doom
irony and evil, wits
and dumb luck — like you!

Yo, I dead lift two
hundred in big boy fraud and
froth every time I

hit the gym (gym is
imaginary — I lift
a teacup: bone spur!).

I might well be a
fine-boned boy, but my golden
acorns are mighty!

That’s another rad
use of metaphor, Chetty!
I went to Harvard.

Love ya man,