In the months following Trump’s inauguration, I regularly called my representative to express my concerns about his voting record. I left voice messages and spoke directly with his staffers, but still nothing seemed to get through. Simply calling my representative was not enough, so I had to take drastic measures – I fucked his wife. It just seemed like the most effective way to get his attention, and I must say: It worked.

I had been friends with Melanie, the wife of my local representative, for years before we finally slept together. She would always flirt with me whenever we hung out, but I always refrained from making a move because that would be disrespectful to my representative and also to the institution of marriage.

However, the day before the House passed the American Health Care Act, I tried calling my representative hundreds of times. He needed to hear that he would lose his constituency should he vote in favor of replacing Obamacare with what is essentially a death warrant for the most vulnerable people in our country. But I couldn’t get through to him. His line was busy, and I got the sense that even if I did reach him, his conscience would not be moved.

So I did what any good citizen would do who wants to make a statement: I went ahead and fucked his wife just like we’d both wanted for years now.

Not just anywhere, obviously. I fucked her in their home, which happens to be in the Xth Congressional district of Louisiana – the same district of which I’m a constituent. It’s important to do your civic duty and act local, and that’s exactly what we did.

I never intended to be a homewrecker. But Melanie and I shared pretty intense chemistry for years, and when calling her husband wasn’t enough to make my presence known, I figured what the hell – participating in political life by the rules had failed me, so why not get creative? If Republicans can gerrymander districts, I can certainly fuck the shit out of this guy’s wife, right?

“I just want to let you know I’m not voting for you in the next election,” I told my representative the morning after, as I sat in his open-plan kitchen eating a bowl of Kix and wearing his wife’s shirt. “I hope you live a long life full of regret. Anyway, see you at the polls. Byeeee!”

Melanie learned a lot from that experience. And so did her husband.

I’m not sure my representative cared, because he still voted for the bill and also because he’d already been cheating on his wife every single time he went to D.C. But I don’t feel discouraged about the way things turned out. Every small thing we do to make our politicians notice us should be celebrated even if it doesn’t change everything. We can all make a little difference here and there. If that means fucking the shit out of your representative’s wife of 18 years, then don’t be afraid to take up the cause.