Mr. Wall-E, I Don't Feel So Good

The following note was found by one of The Squirrel's undercover journalist squirrels, located in a trashcan at the Selinsgrove Denny’s parking lot.

My dearest, Wall-E, 

Bro we are so fucked. 

I’m writing you this letter on a napkin that slapped me in the face on my way to work using some bank’s shitty branded pen that I found in a fallen bird’s nest. I think the nest was knocked over by a drone. I digress. I didn’t used to think you were real, actually, but seeing how things are going, I’m starting to think that your movie is divinatory historical nonfiction. So I’m writing to you, hoping that you will find my letter some day and that it can give you some context to the world that we’ve left for you to unfuck for us. I also hope you read it before crumpling it into one of those dirt cubes that you like so much. Do you play Minecraft? I think you’d like Minecraft. Anyway. 

How did this all happen, you may ask yourself? Well, I’ll tell you. We humans have found this new hobby in the last few centuries I like to call “butt fucking the Earth”. You see, the corporate elite found that exploiting the workers wasn’t enough. To become truly successful, a man must take it into his own hands to make sure as many fish as possible are choking to death on plastic. If I wanna manifest that destiny, you know I can’t do it with that pesky national forest in the way. And while I’m at it, I’m gonna blow as much smog into the air as my car does using my raspberry flavored vape, which I will be throwing into a fucking beehive at my earliest convenience once its run out of juice. I mean, how bad could I be? I’m just building the economy. That’s a reference to The Lorax, Wall-E. Do you know The Lorax? I think you would be friends with The Lorax. Anyway. 

You’re a good man, Wall-E. You do a thankless job, and I wish we had someone like you on Earth right now. Well. I mean. We kinda do, but all the people in our government make sure those hippies are drowned out in a sea of bullshit propaganda. I’m running out of space on this napkin and honestly it's starting to tear so I guess that’s all I have to say to you. I’m sorry bro. At least we’re giving you a job. Do you know what a job is? Anyway. 

Give Eve my love,

President Gronathan Jean