You know, I thought Texas was the greatest state in the greatest country on God’s earth.  Last time I checked, we didn’t crumble in the face of migrant caravans, cancel culture, fake pandemics, stolen elections, or any of the other tests of our mettle foisted upon us by socialists and transgender wrestlers.  So what the Sam hill is going on now?

I get it, we’re a little cold.  (So much for global warming, am I right?)  The power grid is a little bit unstable.  They must have hooked the wind turbines up to all the poor neighborhoods, just like they probably do in Venezuela, because most of the people I know haven’t had any problems, but I hear it’s pretty rough out there for some of you.  There are some busted pipes and a few people maybe succumbing to hypothermia and whatnot.

Listen, I’m gonna speak my mind frankly, and let loose a little here, because you’re my constituents, and not a former President who called my wife ugly and said my dad was a serial murderer.  But what the heck?  Can’t a man unwind a little bit after months and months of grueling work in our nation’s Capitol, safeguarding democracy by being uncomfortably chummy with a bunch of Bass Pro frequent shoppers who wanted to overthrow it?  I’ve had my nose to the grindstone and my tongue on a boot since I can’t remember when.  Papa Teddy needs a break!

Not that I was taking one, mind you.  I routinely, at their request, take my pre-teen children to other countries during a pandemic, drop them off, turn around and come right home, flouting all sane quarantine protocol, inexplicably lugging multiple suitcases behind me.  Kids these days, am I right?  They say the darnedest things.  “We want to go to Mexico.”   “Stop throwing family members under the bus.”  “Why does your beard look mangy all the time?”  Being a dad is a full time job!

But so is being a United States Senator, I guess, so you know what?  Here I am.   You win.  You got me.  Where do you want me to start?  You want me to go rub my hands on a pipeline and get the natural gas moving?  Replaster your living room?  Replace all the ruined stuff in your flooded basement?  Bring your dead relatives back to life?  What was so all-fired important that you needed ol’ Tedder’s flip-flops on the ground for this?

They always say it’s easier to ask forgiveness than permission.  By leaving for Cancun, then coming home and trying to weasel my way out of it, I’ve managed to fuck up both of those options.  So now instead of sitting on a beach in the sun drinking margs with Heidi, I’m back here within a few ZIP codes of actual cold poor people.  And for my troubles, I’m being vilified and mocked all over the internet!  I tell you what, I don’t think there’s anyone in the Lone Star State more put-upon than old Rafael Theodore Leonardo Donatello Cruz right now.

I hope you crybabies are happy. 
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P.S. sorry to hear about your grandma and your house and your job and your neighbors and the food in your fridge and your pets and stuff.