Roy Moore

March 6, 2018 Roy Moore

(sent via email) Dear Mr. Moore, I am writing with regard to your recent Facebook post, in which you begged your supporters to send you money so you can fight those asshole lawyers who are giving you such a hard time. As a fervent supporter of yours, I am more than happy to contribute what I can to make sure that you end up where you belong - in a large, dimly lit facility surrounded by other men who are seeing that justice is served. And by that I mean the U.S. Senate, and not a federal prison.

What resonates with me most when I hear you speak is your talk of God’s plan, and God’s word. I truly believe that He communicates with you, and tells you what is best for the state of Alabama, the country, and the world. Why do I believe it? Because He speaks to me, too. In fact, it was the Lord our God who told me to send you $15,000, nearly my entire life savings. But I will not hesitate to send you this money, because you will use it to right society’s ills, while I would probably just blow it all on moonshine and chewing tobacco.

However, and perhaps unfortunately, this is not all God has told me. He also informed me that I should send you the $15,000 in pennies.

I’m not entirely sure why He would make this request. It’s one of those “works in mysterious ways” situations, I guess. But I am no one to question His divine plan.

Anyway, you should see my garage right now! $15,000 comes out to 1.5 million pennies—that’s enough to fill up more than a few Mason jars, as I’m sure you can imagine! I also haven’t had the easiest time converting all that cash to small change. Those folks down at First Jackson Bank raised quite the eyebrow when I told them what I wanted to do. For a second there, I wasn’t sure they were going to oblige me, but after I told them it was the big guy upstairs who wanted it done, they had no choice but to start stuffing pennies into coin wrappers.

The only difficult part is figuring out how I’m going to get all this change over to you. Having emptied out my checking account, the shipping charges alone would break me. Could you give me your address, and I can have my son drop them off? Or, if you happen to be in the Huntsville area soon, maybe you could swing by with a van or flatbed truck?

Well, however we get it worked out, I’m grateful for the opportunity to leave myself penniless—literally! I will rest easy knowing that my hard-earned cash is going to a much better place.

And good luck dealing with those liberal bastard lawyers. They picked a fight with the wrong man, and now they’re just asking for it, like a fifteen-year-old girl in a tube top. Sincerely, Mark Gruen