Dear Mr. Bush,

You made me feel like a war criminal. You wrecked my health with the lies about toxic air at the World Trade Center rescue site and, as a result, my grandchildren will be feeling the financial devastation you caused my family. You invaded an innocent country and have killed countless people. You neglected our troops, downtown New York, New Orleans. And your so-called stewardship of the economy has now broken millions of Americans and people around the world.

There is a ranchero song in Spanish entitled "Rata de dos patas" or "Two-legged rat." This describes you. The lyrics are below.

Sincerely,

A good American citizen

Dear Mr. President:

Thank you for helping me see beyond the flag of my nation. Thank you for helping me see not only what other countries think of us, but why they think that way.

Thank you for helping me see why faith based science is better than *actual* science. Thank you for helping expose the Evangelicals for who they are - rabid bible thumpers who will stop at nothing to push their agenda.

Thank you for attacking Iraq; we just couldn't have another country that doesn't see eye to us. Thank you for killing many, many people; it really helps the global overpopulation problem.

Dear Mr. President,

Thank you.

I sincerely mean that from the depths of my heart.

You’ve pushed the government to such levels of secrecy, intrusion, and abuse that people have finally stopping sitting around complaining ineffectually about their government. They’ve actually decided to vote to have it changed!

Dear President Bush,

I spent over half of your presidency living abroad. Playing the role of The American as I went through high school, college and then into the work force was a unique experience. See, a lot of people don’t like us: our greed and selfishness, our sense of 'exceptionalism', our ignorance and especially our president. Because I was The American, I have always been pressed to defend my country, which was easy, as well as your decisions and your personal shortcomings. This particular task only got harder as the years went by.

Dear Mr. Bush:

When the Florida vote was under dispute and it seemed certain that your father's Supreme Court would step in and appoint you to the job, I remarked to a roomful of colleagues that your presidency wouldn't be worth the proverbial bucket of warm feces. It was one of the best predictions I have ever made.