Dear Mr. President,
Late last week, in between starving to death and juggling 18 credit hours, I generously donated the last $5 on my unemployment debit card to the Obama/Biden campaign.
I am in receipt of your (see attached picture) most recent electronic plea. The minutes are ticking away before you metaphorically set fire to Mitt Romney's Sacred Mormon Bishop Holy underpants. Dude. You OWN the show. It's in the BAG. Chill the fuck out.
No, I will not send you the odd amount of $19. Next time you run to 7-11 for Funyuns and a Big Gulp, and forget your ATM card, it's your own damn problem.
I strongly urge you, as a proud American, to rid your campaign of publicists who misuse the native tongue and say things like "prouder" and that we need to "finish this campaign strong" with your signature attached to the correspondence, for it is beneath you. I couldn't be more surer that you'll emerge more victoriouser.
Linguistically yours forever,