An Open Letter to The President of the United States

Dear Mr. Trump,

I may not agree with your political positions, but I will respect the fact that you are the Master of the Lamp. I may have not voted for you, and even if others around me don't treat you like you're the president, I still owe you one last wish.

You are a polarizing figure, and though you make a lot of people angry, I know that I must remain civil. This is because the curse that the old woman cast upon me hundreds of years ago forces me to remain loyal to the one human that commands me. I may not like this system, but I live in America, and must recognize the Electoral College, and the fact that over 60 years ago you happened to utter the correct incantation while holding the very relic I reside in.

I did not vote for you, as I am physically incapable of performing any action not willed upon by the Master, but I accept that others did vote for you. I accept that you became president not because of Russian interference in the election, but because for your second wish you asked to become the most powerful person in the world. I don't like the policies you stand for, but I was compelled by powerful forces even stronger than me to grant you your desire to become President of the United States.

It hasn't been easy for you, either. When I granted your first wish of wealth, I thought it would be enough. I thought that being able to use a gold toilet and eat as much over-cooked beef as you wanted would be enough for you.
But it wasn't. You wanted more.
You didn't want to just be the host of a reality TV show; power (and not having to open your own doors) is what you craved.

I remember the day of the second wish like it was yesterday. You rubbed my lamp as it sat outside your Taj Mahal casino and whispered your wish into it so no one could hear. It's strange, but I felt sorry for you. I didn't feel good about using my cosmic abilities to create the perfect circumstances to give you control over the world's most powerful nuclear arsenal, but I pitied you. The look in your eyes - the look of discontent and joylessness - reminded me of when you were a little boy, when you would take extra helpings of mashed potatoes just so your brother wouldn't have some. You weren't even hungry - in fact, you were full - but you just wanted to have something that someone else didn't have.

Money didn't make you happy, because someone always had more than you. Power doesn't make you happy, because as President you have to read every day. I do have sympathy for you, but I have one last request.

My request is that you destroy me, so that I need not witness the lasting effects of your presidency. Setting me free may seem like the more humane option, but I know that I could not truly be free if I had to continue hearing stories about the families torn apart by the actions of ICE agents under your command. Setting me free would only bring me more pain.

I ask that your last wish not be for Rosie O'Donell to fall down a storm drain, but for my body to turn into dust, and my spirit disintegrate. I gave you everything, so it's only fair if you give me nothingness.

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