"Dear Barron Trump" by Alden Nagel
"Dear Barron Trump" by Alden Nagel
An Open Letter
‘BOUT THE AUTHOR
Alden Nagel is the founder and editor of Nut Hole Publishing, and also a writer. You can find him on Instagram: @alden_nagel_. His debut novella FAG SYMPHONY is out now via us.
Dear Barron Trump,
What’s kraken mee sweet delilah blondie ol’ fluttered boyo from whey on yonder? I don't say that thou mustn't be’eth of that whiche’th has the family to say that youth are not a wrong ladder and yet dour think that, here mee mustn't allow thee to be the tallest a feller I a fellow has ever did see. Yee be so feckin’ tall! But you mee feller must never understand that way I speak ever where two follow gone astray. Ay see, yer father is not a man but a silly bitty little crematorium from doe’st hells and the sweetest bells, ya hear?
O’est lo! How the angels strike upon such a mare but I eve’r doth see! However I do now say, mee young blondie boy, however tall yer arr! Why mustn't I put those supplements in yer system but don't say anybody like a eve’r gone be such a king as yerself! Now Barry Keoghan mee gobdaw feller, what yee must understand yoo see is that in a college as you are about to embark on now I need to tell you if you will give me ya ear, hey—now PUT THE DAMN OLD MOULDY VAPE DOWN NOW AND LISTEN TO ME BOY!
Thank you kindly. As I was sayin’, in the environment you willsn’t not ever see such a laddy as fine as yourself and yet I does’t declare yer daddy long legs there papa is not a man, bet merely a fine ol’ bucker, ye hear? Ay. I don't hear much about a about year hammed vaping habit that was simply a melter taken by mother Melody back in the day, but perhaps that was only a mere figurine—the news! Oh, the news, mee lad! You little bitty whittle boy oh Barry Keoghan, me boy! Now what you must know is not very hard to explain but you must understand ; it doesn't get what yeer dryshite figurin’ on all there gone on about hereafter!
Laddy, yeer banjaxed Daddy’s not much a kip Wes Anderson figure but a mere feckin’ chancer thick Woody Allen copy kitty who has the shallowest of decency to take a plane out to sea! But lad, does’t ever peer into this soul o’ mine and do see, oh please, oh please listen to oh me Barry Keoghan mee lad, that thou are a mere tall lad whoever does not see what has gone wrong with his own fine rented suit from that which extends so much further than the lookin’ Brookswash Soul Sisters Outlet or wherever thee get them! You look like how you always look to me, a minus crack pox boy and yet I do not see what has ever happened to me ya Javorius dosser! I hear yer parents do not like each other and yet I do believe, me boy! Me boy now listen to me! Put the gombeen vape down!
I say, oh how do I say ya yoke HEY PUT THE HURLING, GOWL VAPE DOWN THERE BARRY, and I shall tell yee, that thou are not much of a dope sap more than an ol’ golden ghoul cretin which allows any them Carl Marks mallion order scut not ya like to see mee boy! Oh mee dear Barry Keoghan, it is but fierce and mild out there at all the same mild tiding. How aren't you now but if you ever, oh how I do say please, now Barry if you must be a Trump you should if I do say, perhaps if you could, hey PUT THE MANKY TOPSY VAPE DOWN!
Now—whatever’s you do you must remember one and only one important thing me lad. That be, put some conditioner in your hair else your hair will start fallin’ out oh me boy the Vitamin B shots will due yer eejit nothin’ at all! Dander oh dander mee boy yee mustn’t not see what it is about! It’s a day for the fire and the sun is splittin’ the stones (yet not made of any ol’ lapis lazuli, with our blessed archangel Sister Tiffany’s blessing) out on there plains yonder. It be wetter than an otter’s pocket in the city, oh my dear Barry, oh my Danny boy! The hills, they are alive with the music, and the music be a Gregorian trap remix chant beat, such as youhereafter and forever shall and then nowest ever must listen to the music! Listen to the music Barry, please! I beg of you! Even if you must hit yer vape, please, listen to the music! The tide is calling, the riptide is screaming, and you must there see the frolicked putty light my little man!
Signed,
Alden Nagel