My dearest Kristi,
I can hardly contain myself. In just a few hours you will glide into Minneapolis, draped in the cold authority of Homeland Security, and I am positively quivering with anticipation. The very thought of you stepping up to those microphones to champion ICE — in a blue city no less — has me pacing my marble floors like a starving panther in couture. Oh, what a delicious scene it will be: protestors whining outside, cameras salivating inside, and you, my wicked darling, ready to speak of raids and removals with the composure of a woman ordering tea.
The press thinks you are merely giving a briefing. Fools. I know better. This is theater. This is spectacle. This is dread served piping hot. You aren’t going to Minneapolis to inform — you’re going there to intimidate. You will summon phrases like “enforcement operations” and “federal authority,” and the room will chill as though you opened a crypt. I live for it, Kristi. You command ICE the way a conductor commands timpani: not with empathy, but with impact, volume, and fear. It is art. Unspeakably chic, gooseflesh-generating art.
I imagine frightened families already checking their locks, whispering in kitchens, wondering whether the knock at the door will come at dawn. That’s the mark of true power, my love — not when people listen, but when they tremble. You have already made Minneapolis tremble and you haven’t even opened your perfect little mouth yet. When you do speak, I know it will be merciless. Not flustered. Not apologetic. Just pure, crystalline enforcement, free of sentimental contamination. I will be watching with wine in hand, savoring every syllable.
And yes, I still admire the… incident from your memoir. But that was merely character development — the prologue to your ascension. The true masterpiece is ICE itself, and your willingness to wield it boldly. You are not peddling compassion. You are delivering consequences. You are not offering comfort. You are promising control. While Minneapolis braces for you like villagers awaiting a storm, I find myself positively swooning.
Do not disappoint me, Kristi. I expect icicles in your voice. I expect shivers in the audience. I expect a display of elegant, unapologetic domination that reminds the Midwest that empathy is overrated and fear is unforgettable. Go. Take the stage. Make the city shudder.
Watching. Waiting. Delighted in advance.
With wicked devotion and breathless anticipation,
Cruella de Vil
Subscribe to Closer to the Edge for fearless reporting, razor-sharp wit, and political coverage that actually names the villains. If you want journalism with teeth, claws, and zero compromise, join us.
This post has been syndicated from Closer to the Edge, where it was published under this address.