Let me tell you that your friend Behr (who is me) is a big fan of the Make a Wish Foundation. I am not usually a supporter of charitable organizations as they help people who were cursed by God to suffer and they are therefore interfering with The Lord's Work. Nevertheless, the Make a Wish Foundation tends not to change people's circumstances long term (which would be a sin according to Matthew) but give short term relief to children suffering with terrible illnesses.
I am not saying those children are innocent victims, far be it from me to ever judge another human being, but I saw an angle in the organization's way of doing things. I went down to downtown Baltimore and went looking for a sickly looking kid I could photograph. I then sent that photo to the Make a Wish Foundation saying my name was Berhardt Goats and I was dying of bone cancer. I then went on to tell them that I was inspired in my struggle by the great achievements of Donald Trump, who I had learned about after staying in a wonderful Trump Hotel and eating delicious fish sticks that were shaped like Donald Trump's profile. At least I was pretty sure they were shaped that way on purpose (it may have been incidental).
So, I went on to say that after I was inspired in my struggle with bone cancer at the age of eleven, reading about the achievements of Donald Trump inspired me to get a job in a machine shop, work extra shifts, and sell newspapers on the side. I was no longer a dependent child but a hard-working real American whose life had been changed by Donald Trump. And my wish was not just for me, who had already been helped, but for the whole country and the world. My wish was that Donald Trump would get elected as President of the United States.
When I wrote the letter in 2011, it was a shot in the dark, a hope against hope. Kenyan strongman and ISIS founder Barack Obama had illegally seized control of The White House and the Democrats running Congress refused to hold free and fair elections. The grip of this chilling, relentless and sadistic dictator was pretty secure at the time and with the Republicans being a vast minority in Congress, nothing could be done and no one did anything when Obama took extreme liberties with the power of the presidency.
Then, when Obama finally went too far, issuing an Executive Order requiring companies lay off enough people to put eighty percent of the population on welfare, solidifying his belief that people are best when suckling at the government tit, Congress finally reacted, demanding a free and fair election, and the party in power, the Democrats (liberals), put forth Hillary Clinton as their candidate. The Democrats didn't expect a serious challenge from the Republicans, who had been out of power for twenty-four years and barely had any power structure in place to field candidates at the state or local levels, not to mention national candidates.
The only viable candidates the Republicans could manage to put out there was Agatha Christie's son Chris and another Bush, trying to probe at people's brains for memories of a better time before George W. Bush left office 24 years ago. This guy, who didn't even have a full name because his mother died giving birth to him and never finished saying the name, so they stayed with what she moaned out at the moment of death, "Jeb!"
And then I got a call from the Make a Wish Foundation.
"Is this Bernard Goats or his caretaker?"
They mispronounced my name, which made me feel less guilty about the scam, so I let it go. The woman calling then went on to say that they had arranged for my wish to come true. She also said she agreed with me that what Donald Trump had done for me would be good for him to do for the whole country. And so began the long campaign to become President Trump, the most inpirational historical figure since before there were newspapers so we don't know his name.
It was like a beautiful dream as I watched the rise of Trump, and began to hear talk of work camps and returning to open torture of U.S. citizens to restore law and order in our country. I had to say I was a little aroused to the point of a partial erection when I imagined U.S. citizens being flayed alive in town squares, the way it was when American was great. I would leave the work I do and the big money I make in sales to become a low-paid flayer. It is just something that arouses me more than I see it having any function use in society, but every experience is different.
As much as they battered My Man Trump, he kept punching back, keeping his cool and never being rude as he defended himself from unproked attack after unprovoked attack. And now they are paying professional protestors to mock him in the streets. If they need a paycheck that bad we have a place for them in the work camps and on flaying night in the town square.
There was one time in the 1980s when I paid a good deal of money to go on a flaying junket to Malasia to watch secret flaying rituals conducted in the hills. Finding these events is getting harder and harder, thanks to meddling liberals, but I still get to see a good flaying at least once every three or four years. I remember back in the day when people would say "give me some skin" as a way of saying to high-five them and I tell you that was like an open invitation to reach into my secret box for them.
After Donald Trump won the presidency and put Obama in jail, I got a newfound respect the the Make a Wish Foundation. They really made my wish come true and if you are willing to pretend you are a sick kid then they could do the same for you.