Dear President Obama,
I think I may have the solution to some of our troubles overseas, a solution that will, I believe, bring our troops home safe without jeopardizing the countries we are trying to help by leaving our work unfinished. A solution that will, unless I am gravely mistaken, smoke out the Taliban, Al Quaida, the Iraqi insurgents, and all the other naughty people in one fell swoop.
Mr. President, I believe that all you require in order to accomplish this is the sound of my son expressing his displeasure with me.
Imagine, if you will, the sound of a tea kettle left to boil. The high-pitched whistle that invades your brain and won’t allow it to do anything else, such as remember how to make the noise stop (NB: turn off the stove, remove the stopper from the kettle). Now imagine that sound twice as high, twice as loud, and going on indefinitely (apparently three year olds do not require the actual drawing of breath in order to supply their lungs with oxygen).
This sound, capable of forcing me to give in to his terrorist demands such as Looney Tunes cartoons, chocolate, and a seventh time around the block when I am ready to fall down from hunger, is not (I hope, oh god I hope) reproducible. As an American and a patriot, I am offering you full access to my son’s wrath. All you need provide is an amplification devise and earplugs for your staff (I would not say no to a pair myself).