From the desk of
The White House, 1600 Pennsylvania Ave., Washington, D.C. 20500
Dear Mr. President-Elect:
I know you're busy preparing to take over the wor ... um, White House. But I just wanna offer a little advice. And hey, my Cuban Republican family forked over $22,000 to your campaign, so you owe me. I hear you're considering my homeboy Manny Diaz for a cabinet post, maybe heading a new department called the White House Office of Urban Policy. Well, I worked for the guy three years. So, escuchame.
Pipsqueak made his name representing Elián González's family. He was even in the house when U.S. Marshals busted in, took the kid by force, and returned him to his dad. I don't know about you, but I'm not too keen on a guy who undermines the executive branch.
Then there was the fiasco three years later, when Manuelito called Miami's beatdown of protesters during the FTAA riots "a model for homeland security." First Amendment, meet Manny. Manny, meet First Amendment.
Short stuff has a memory loss problem too. In 2006, he, Hank Adorno, and I hatched a plan to screw 80,000 taxpayers out of $7 million in fire fees. Later he claimed he wasn't involved. Kinda like a college freshman after his first bong hit — clueless.
Oh yeah, and what about the run-in with the Miami-Dade ethics commission? They whacked little D for $250 and reprimanded him for a conflict of interest after we bought 1.3 acres in Coconut Grove while I was still city manager. Tsk, tsk, Mayor Mini.
And he's a friggin' ingrate. Hell, I worked for a measly buck a year — not even enough for a Triple Stack at Wendy's. Then he nudged me out of office. If you hire this shrimp, watch your back.
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So now that I've dropped some knowledge on you, I need a job too. Holler at me soon, will ya?
P.S. I've included a wallet-size photo of myself just in case.