Dear George

My dear George,
Consider this an open letter, and please just relax, sit back, pop the top on a cold one, and feel asthough it's just two guys, (you and me), havin' a beer and talking on the porch at yer ranch in the Lone Star State.
Remember the old days when Ronnie was in office? Boy I do. Those were some crazy days. We were doing all that sneaky stuff down in a Central American country that I am not at liberty to identify. I was a young buck and full of piss and vineger. I had just taken that oath, you know the one, you took it too, "...to defend against all enemies foreign and domestic..." Well, we did all that stuff that Ronnie asked us to do, and then when it all hit the fan, it always will, watched as Col. North took that round for him just like Mr. Brady took the other one.
On a side note, do you think for a second that a veteran, decorated, carved out of wood, hoorah Marine Corp Colonel with a Blood Stripe was going to look bad as some cake eating dork took pot-shots at him? He had alot of grass roots support because everyone knew exactly what was happening.
Back to our porch-step bull session George, enjoying yer beer? I brought them so they're Guiness...
Uncle Ronnie was a pro. You can call him alot of things, but you can never call him a rank amateur. That guy was smooth and could sell a plan with the best of them. He also had some really neuron rich people around him that had his back above all else. It reminded me of going to a car dealership. You know going into it that you are going to get screwed, but a good salesperson will at least give you the illusion that you are getting a deal. He gave me the illusion, the fantasy, the barest crumb of hope that maybe, just maybe what he was telling me was the truth. I have to tell you George, between you and me, I bet that guy was never without a hot babe on his arm. He was the poster-child for the philosiphy that there is no such thing as a virtuous woman, only clumsy men and bad timing.
This pretty much brings me to the point of why we're sitting here on your porch drinking beer and waxing prophetic about the good ol' days. George, man to man, tell me, what the hell are you doing. From all the sources of information that are out there, I really don't think I'm getting the whole picture, (insert tongue in cheek big understatement here). So I'm asking you, as one man to another, don't suger coat it. Don't look to any of the people behind you that are supposed to have your back, quick tip here buddy, they're watching their portfolio's. Just tell me, in your own words. If you are doing this for money, power, prestige, or God and country please tell me the straight-up unspun truth. I promise I won't tell anyone else. Your secret will be safe with me. Cuz I'll be straight with you, I feel asthough I'm getting the high hard one from the very goverment to which I so readily handed over my innocence, two friends, and depending on your faith, my immortal soul.

Go ahead and keep the rest of the beer, it's a long drive back home and it would probably just get warm anyhow.