Open Letter to Huma Abedin

Saving a Woman from “Danger”

“Sigh”

I love her guys, and she doesn’t even know I exist.  We’re from 2 different worlds, yet it feels so perfect.  She’s smart, beautiful, she’s lost, and I can find her.

Ahhhh, ya’ll are gonna think I’m fooling, but you don’t know me.  The heart wants what the heart wants…

Dear Huma,

You can do so much better.  You may not know me, but I sure know you.  Why do smart people like us always feel so stupid?  You had a plan.  On paper, who would argue?  You’re a beautiful woman, doe eyed and ready to taste the world.  An untamed wild stallion.

You made all the right moves and became the assistant to the 1st lady.  You married an up and coming politician who looked like the future of the party.  You didn’t take his last name (strong, feminist move… or hedging your bets?).  He was Jewish, your a Muslim making a bit of an odd couple, but maybe if that stereotype breaking, odd couple can make it work, so could the world, right?

Sometimes life doesn’t go the way we plan.

How were you to know it would come crashing down?  Maybe after the 1st dick pic the public would forget.  Then came another, and another it seemed. The name “Wiener” became synonymous with, well, you know.

Plus it turned out, Hillary didn’t have a likable bone in her body.  Who knew? (except everyone)

How were you to know some loud mouth billionaire would be more relatable than a former 1st lady?  You tried to be strong, and you were, my brave little toaster, you really were.

Underage girls?

Messes you were cleaning up for your boss? 

FBI took the computer?

I saw the picture of you crying from October, my little spoonful of coriander, and if I’m to believe the rumors, you’re trying to “work it out” with Anthony Weiner??   How many times do you bet on the same losing horse before you shoot it??

Your way isn’t working.

I’m here for you.

Now I’m sure people on my side think I’m sarcastic, and people on your side will dismiss me as a troll, but if this gets to you, I want to feel, whole heartedly, that it could be a world for just me and you.  I’m saying you have options.  Hillary?  Weiner?  Stop!  Not if papa bear has anything to say about it.  There’s another way for you, Huma; another way… for us.

I’m 33 years old.  I’m a film director who’s helps run Proud Boy Magazine.  I have a lot of tattoos (some might say too many).  I love music.  I drive a Jeep Wrangler.  My future isn’t a black, endless void made of shit.  On my down time I like to tend to a small vegetable garden behind my house and play hockey.  My biggest short coming is my optimism gets in the way of my instincts.  I’m ambitious and patient.  And as a lover, I’m the devil himself.  Really.

I’d fuck the brown off your eyes, you little freak.  (I know the freaks when I see them).

I’ll fuck you till the room stinks.

I’ll fuck you till you make cat noises.

I’ll eat you’re pussy like an angry scorpion.

We have our differences.  I spent my life hanging out with punk rockers, right wingers, drug addictions, and loud mouths…. and you’ve spend you’re life hanging out with human garbage.  I’m willing to overlook that… let’s face it, I’m overlooking a lot of things here, Queen Baggage.  Take a page outta Sharia Law and have a little humility when reading this.

Is it really so ridiculous?  What are you doing right now?  Eating Ben & Jerry’s without make-up wondering if Hillary’s gonna “suicide” you?

Something you’d never need to worry about; I’d never take a picture of my hard-on with a toddler beside me…. really.  Anthony Wiener did that.  For me, it’s not even an option.  I might forget to pick my socks off the floor, I’m a prude when it comes to baby/hard-on side by sides.  Upgrade already.  An atheist libertarian jerk would make a far better role model for your children.

I can be a pervert, but that’s never turned you off before, so let’s not pretend we have morals out of the blue, my little Christmas mouse.

I’ll probably try to talk you into some 3 ways down the road for sure.  How unusual is that really though?   We’ve heard rumors of you… and a certain “paints suit aficionado”.  We could be getting far better chicks than that 70 year old Real Estate lady.  T

he things she makes you do!  The outlandish unsubstantiated whispers that she can only get off if you fart in each other mouths or whatever.  Deplorable!   No more!

Not my Huma-nator.

Huma you are beautiful, ambitious, well intention, and now completely attainable.   You just fell in with a bad crowd.  If nothing else, I hope I made you laugh, but I hope I planted some seeds.  Hate me, judge me, argue with me, nothing I am can be worse than your reality.

Let’s have one cup of coffee together.  You’ve been in the bubble for so long, why not have a friendly conversation with a strong masculine type, like myself?  Maybe on the car ride over we can both think about, what you have left to offer… me.

We make rules for this topsy-turvey space ship we call life.  I don’t care about you’re politics, I don’t care about your religion, I don’t care about your past.  Looks aren’t the only reason I love you, (but they’re in the top 5). I felt a spark, my little thigh master, and it’s up to you to fan the flames.  Maybe I’m the hope and change you were promised all along.

Goodnight my little second act.

You got one handsome bastard waiting for you when you wake up.  And one morning soon, you’ll whisper to me, “Taxation is theft”.

Love,

Pawl Bazile

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Written by PawL BaZiLe

PawL BaZiLe

Pawl is a film director and journalist living in New Jersey. Pawl is a fan of history and avid reader with a background in theater. He has used his debate skills to win over 30 Internet arguments. Pawl Bazile directed a punk rock documentary called “Living the American Nightmare” and is currently working on a motorcycle film called “Savage”. For Proud Boy Magazine, Pawl is in charge of digital media, new programming, and talent relations. He takes his coffee black. Follow him on Twitter @PawLBAZiLe.

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