Dear David Gergen,
Did you eat your peanut butter? You have a tendency not to. I am very concerned, as your levels of vitamins K, A, B12 and R5 have been decreasing.
This worries me because it is supposed to. It is my job. I am your mother. I am the mother of my son.
I don’t know how to say this to you, but I must. We created you. We used 10,000 popsicle sticks and some papier-mache. The nose and the rectum were the hardest. But we stuck with it. And here you are today.
And this is how you repay us?
We crafted your lungs from two paper bags and four jumbo rubber bands. Your duodenum and genitals were taken from a raccoon. We could leave nothing to chance.
You are a robot. And a very good one. You very seldom destroy other peoples’ lives and only once did you set fire to your father.
For this I think we should be grateful. Perhaps we should have used one more popsicle stick. Perhaps we should have filled your skull with more than mashed potatoes. Perhaps we should have painted the papier-mache to make it look like skin.
But the past is the past And the future is here. And the present you gave us for Christmas was rather sweet, if not highly toxic.
Eat your peanut butter, my son. Eat it because you want to. You will make me and your scorched father very proud.