Missive on Effective Time Management, Sent From Jared Kushner’s Orgasming Dimple

Hello. My name is Jared Kushner. And these are my dimples.
As per the spectacularly well-attended press conference I gave in the driveway of the White House on Monday, I am innocence incarnate.
Furthermore, per the statement I made in prepared remarks to meddling investigators — let me just quote myself directly here, because I was deeply convincing — “Reviewing emails recently confirmed my memory that the meeting was a waste of our time and that, in looking for a polite way to leave and get back to my work, I actually emailed an assistant from the meeting after I had been there for ten or so minutes and wrote ‘Can u pls call me on my cell? Need excuse to get out of meeting.’”
Do you see what I did there? I turned “you” into “u” and “please” into “pls” — to save time! Clever, right? In retrospect, I could have shaved off a few additional seconds with: “Cn u pls cll me n my cl? Nd xus 2 get outa mtg.” But the point is: who has time to collude with Russia when they’re charting brave new frontiers in text shorthand? Nt Jrd!
It gives you shivers, right? The force of my aversion to poor time management?
You, Dearest American People, do not yet know me well.
But among my closest frenemies, my enraged house staff, and the two tiny squirrels who keep my dimples tight as drums by yanking on horse tethers from inside my mouth (Denny & Lenny, but we haven’t time for their backstory), I am known as a master of effective time management. I am also known as “Master.”
No, you do not yet know me, America — but you will. You will brush against my shockingly smooth skin at some future date and erupt in creepy giggles.
But for now, more “Jared Fun Facts!”: I am known to gargle mouthwash as I urinate, so as to nudge efficiency. I am known to shower while my kids try to talk to me, to shut them up. I am known (per above) to nod/smile/beam flashing lights from my dimples while I simultaneously defraud the American people — so as to knock out two birds with one stone. I am known to exfoliate while I procreate.
Do you see? I really am the best and cleverest. You are the worst and not-cleverest. At a yet-unscheduled future date (“Astnt, pls fnd dt 4 me 2 rlly scrw Amrcn pple”) I will tie a literal blindfold across your doltish eyes, to really drive the metaphor home.
Where were we? Oh yes! Me.
I ask you, American Idiotoid, have you ever chanced upon the majestic site of the graceful Snowy Egret touching down on a perfect mirror of a lake? Don’t bother, it’s a total waste of your time — the Snowy Egret isn’t long for this world.
But my point: that same balletic quality MOVES IN ME, yes me, your new friend Jared Kushner.
As I crossed the White House driveway toward the podium at Monday’s conference, you might have noticed that I sauntered, meaningfully, with the hippy sashay of a certain Blanche Devereaux — long-ago portrayed by Rue McClanahan, but now portrayed with aplomb by your new friend Jared Kushner! Or was the vibe I threw more: “self-satisfied Boy Scout who has just murdered a milder mannered Boy Scout?” Get that Jared a badge!
And while on the subject of boys, let me ask you, American Ladies: of all the boys/boy-men you’ve encountered, who would you say has, like, The. Most. Winning. Dimples? Is it your 5-year-old, Kyle, with his sweet, unruly cowlicks and big dumb grin?
No. It’s not. It’s me, Jared Kushner.
“Funny Jared Tidbit!”: sometimes I wake in the middle of the night to find Ivanka swiping blush contour up and down my cheekbones, as if I were a (Russian) doll. Dear one: save yourself the time!, I laugh. She does not laugh. But truly, Icy-Danger Petal, Kiss of Death I’m Scared to Kiss, Sexy Spider Face: your powder blush is wasted on this special little school boy. I’m naturally rosy! I look like this from dawn to doom! As the sun rises, an escapee canary flits in through the window and pecks my cheek rosy with his love.
Yes, it is the canary from the coalmine.
I apologize. That was a digression and we have very little time to waste, friends. We have no less than America to destroy, after all. Ooh! My left dimple just had a small orgasm.
Dearest, Most Pliable, Dumdum American People: time is ticking, and the Apocalypse waits for no one!
So I’ll end here. “Scary books” writer Stephen King recently made the following inflammatory statement: “The news is real. The president is fake.”
Well, watch me turn that on its head like a prawn at a disco, Mr. King! I say: “You’re not scary. I’m the one who’s scary!”
Quick, someone skedaddle and find me a seesaw, so that I may mount it and act as nimble grasshopper counterweight to my father-in-law’s patriotic paunch! I will show up with sandbags. Cement blocks. Whatever it takes. There’s no time to waste — just get me to the park and get me on that seesaw!
I am, after all, a moderating influence.
