Madame First Lady—Mrs. Biden—Jill—kiddo–sweet cheeks, let me give you a bit of free advice: drop the “Jill.”
You’ve had your fun gallivanting around on the campaign, kissing babies, and calling yourself “Jill.” But who are we kidding? You’re not a good kisser and you’re definitely not a real Jill. Sure, your parents (one of whom, shall I remind you, was a woman) may have given you that name at birth, though I must assume they were ignorant to its true meaning.
Technically there’s nothing stopping you from going by “Jill.” But any self-respecting, Reagan-loving, carbon-guzzling sycophant knows the unwritten rule that the “Jill” title is exclusively reserved for licensed medical professionals. Frankly, it’s irresponsible for any “Jill” to be unprepared to administer sutures to those wealthy enough for healthcare.
You think you’re a “Jill” because you wrote a thesis on “Student Retention at the Community College Level: Meeting Students’ Needs.” Well, guess what? I don’t care about meeting students’ needs. Frankly, it sounds like a snooze. I didn’t even know people really went to community college. I thought it was just a myth my parents made up to scare me away from doing hard drugs.
I may not have the qualifications of a professor, doctor, or writer, but I can’t and won’t be stopped from telling you how to live your life. See, the key difference between me and you, Mrs. First Lady is that you are a charlatan and I am a man.
A wise man once said that no one should call himself “Dr.” unless he has delivered a child. That same man also said, “I don’t think there is anything particularly wrong about hitting a woman, although I don’t recommend doing it in the same way that you’d hit a man.” That man was Sean Connery.
I’ve taken the time to brainstorm some alternative titles for you to go by. I’d highly suggest one of the following: Mrs. Joe Biden, Woman, The Wench in the White House. You kind of look like a Betsy, or maybe even a Beatrice. So long as we can refer to you as “That B,” it’s fine by me.