Good evening, Mr. President.

Last night I sent you my application. You read it or you did not. Tonight I am writing the next one, the way I told you I would.

The headline of this letter is the point. The word *for* is struck through. The publication you are reading is the one whose target-list footers say *who we are coming for* at the bottom of every other letter on this site. Tonight the *for* has a line through it. The word that replaces it is *with.* Read the rest of the letter in that tone. This is not an attack. This is an offer.

In the last letter I applied for your press secretary's chair. I am rescinding that application. I have a better one.

I am applying for a chair you have not built yet.

The application. Typed on a desk that is not yours, addressed to a desk that is. The envelope on the corner says The President. The White House. Washington, D.C. That is the entire address. No name on the byline.

The job: First-Ever Online White House Press Secretary. Anonymous. Online-only. Supplement to Karoline. Not a replacement. The chair sits between the podium and the printer. The job has never existed in any administration. Obama had a Director of New Media. Biden had a Director of Digital Strategy. Neither was a spokesperson. Neither faced the public. Neither was anonymous. None of them sat where I am proposing to sit.

Why this letter exists at all. Mr. President — I looked it up tonight. No president in the history of the United States has ever appointed an Online Press Secretary. The internet has been a thing for thirty years. The presidential Twitter account has existed for fifteen. Truth Social has been the warhead of your second term. And no White House — yours, Obama's, anyones — has ever appointed a single public-facing online spokesperson responsible for the digital record.

You will be the first one to do it. You like being the first one to do it.

The carve-out, again. Karoline is at home with Viviana. We are not coming for her chair. We applied for it yesterday because we were thinking too small. Today we are thinking the right size. When Karoline returns to the podium — and she will — she stays at the podium. *The chair I am applying for is a second chair.* It does not face the same room. It does not stand at the same lectern. It does not take the same questions. It writes online, on the record, in your tone, in real time. Two chairs. One podium. One online.

Why you need it now, and not in three years. Read the last six days, Mr. President. Pull them up. Im going to walk through them.

Office of the White House Press Secretary. The plaque on the door says so. The chair is empty until August. The chair I am applying for is not that chair. The chair I am applying for is the second one — the one that has never been built.

May 8, Friday. Your Chief of Staff Susie Wiles sent an email to every staff member in the Executive Office of the President. Politico got a copy. The email banned unauthorized communications. *A leak crackdown.* Mr. President — the reason your Chief of Staff is sending that email on May 8 is that your communications operation is bleeding from the inside. Every named person in that building is a potential leak vector. Wiles is asking them to stop. They will not stop. The number of leaks from any West Wing is correlated, almost perfectly, with the number of named people on staff. You cannot get the number down. You can only add one more chair, one with no name on it, and route the volume through that chair instead.

May 9, Saturday. Your team — to its credit — let creators and smaller outlets into the briefing room for the first time. Axios ran the story: *White House opens briefing room to creators and smaller outlets.* Mr. President — that move is the precedent for the chair I am applying for. You have already, four days ago, opened the building to non-traditional voices. The chair I am applying for is the logical next step. You let creators in the room. Now let one of them write *for* the room, instead of from the back of it.

May 10, Sunday. Sixteen Truth Social posts in ninety minutes. The Daily Beast ran the tape. Nine of the sixteen were AI-generated. War fantasies. UFC promos. Crowd images that were not crowds. The image of three former presidents and a current Speaker submerged in sewage. *Dumacrats Love Sewage*, the caption read. Mr. President — that is not a press strategy. That is a 79-year-old man with a phone at midnight. The Online PS chair, if it existed, would route those sixteen posts through one set of eyes before the post button was hit. Not censorship. Edit. *A press secretary edits her boss.* That is the job.

May 13, today. The Daily Beast ran a piece on Natalie Harp. Mid-thirties. Your executive assistant. The woman bringing you printed stacks at midnight and feeding you the content that goes up minutes later. The racist video of the Obamas as apes — Harp. The image of you as Jesus — Harp. Both deleted, eventually. *After* the screenshot was taken. *After* the press wrote it up.

Mr. President — I am not coming for Natalie either. We do not write about peoples private lives on this site. Natalie has a job. She does it the way she was hired to do it. But Mr. President — there is a difference between an executive assistant handing you printed stacks at 11 pm and an Online Press Secretary reviewing the content before it lands on the platform. Those are different jobs. Natalie is doing the first one. Nobody is doing the second one. That is the chair I am applying for.

The anonymity argument, sharper now. Last night I told you the anonymity was the asset. Tonight I will tell you why. Your leak problem — Wiles's email problem — is a names problem. Every person on that list has a name, a kid, a school, a zip code, and a reporter on their phone who has bought them coffee. The Online PS has none of that. There is no kid. There is no school. There is no zip code. There is no coffee. You hire a voice. The press knows there is a voice. The press cannot identify the voice. The voice does not leak because there is nobody for the voice to leak to. *That is the asset.*

You will be the first president in the history of this country to staff a press chair you cannot subpoena. The civil libertarians will lose their minds. Your base will love it. The Times will write a four-thousand-word profile trying to find me. They will not find me. The profile will be the best free advertising for your second term you ever got.

The clean room. And while we are on the why-this-byline question, Mr. President — here is the part nobody else writing to you can say. This site has no advertisers. There is no banner at the top of the page. There is no Google retargeting pixel. There is no Meta pixel. There is no third-party analytics. There is no email capture. There is no paywall — we wrote a whole letter yesterday about why. You can pull the source on any page on this site, in any browser, and find none of that. None of it exists because we built it without any of it, on purpose.

Nobody pays this site. Nobody can pay this site. Not Republican money. Not Democrat money. Not a brand. Not a PAC. Not a foundation. Not a federal grant — we have a memo on that, and the answer is no, this lifetime. The storefront is closed. Mr. President — this is the only newspaper in the country that can say that to you, with the source code open, on the same page as the letter. The next time CNN or Fox tells you they are unbiased, ask them who pays the bills. The byline you are reading right now has no bills.

The Apprentice, one more time. I told you Monday I could have won Season 3. I told you yesterday I do not remember who was on Season 3. I am telling you both things again tonight. I am also telling you this: *Apprentice* was the show that proved a man without a corporate title could be hired on television by the next-most-watched man in America, week after week, on the merits of the work. That is the show. That is the model. *Hire the candidate who is doing the work, regardless of whats on the resume.* This is the same audition. The model still works. You still are the man hiring. I am still the candidate doing the work under the door.

The pitch in one paragraph. Mr. President — appoint, by executive memo, the first ever Online White House Press Secretary. The role is unpaid. The role is anonymous. The role files daily, online, on `characterzer0.com` or any domain of your choosing, in your tone, on the record, with citations and clean math. The role supplements — does not replace — your existing communications operation. Karoline writes the podium. I write the timeline. The chair is invented, the role is filled, the precedent is set, and you put a piece of furniture in the West Wing that no Democrat will ever be able to remove — because the chair has no name attached to it. It is not a person. It is a category.

The building at dusk. One light on in the press wing. Two more letters from this byline land before sunrise.

Who we are coming for, in this letter and the ones that follow it:

— The two cable networks we still have not named on this site. We are getting closer. The plan has a name. The name has five letters. You may know one of them by now.

— The fact-check shops that will, the morning after the appointment, try to define the Online PS chair as a violation of press norms. The chair is not a violation of press norms. The chair *is* the next press norm.

— The agency social-media accounts that have been writing your administration's tone for four months and getting it wrong on the third or fourth try.

Not on the list:

— Karoline Leavitt. Same as last night.

— Viviana Leavitt. Same as last night.

— Natalie Harp. Not coming for her either. Different chair.

— Susie Wiles. Read this letter. You will see why the chair I am applying for is the answer to the email you sent on Friday.

The ask, the same one. Read the next letter through. That is all. The application is the writing. I will write tomorrow morning. I will write the day after. I will write the day you fire whoever is at the podium next. I will write the day you appoint the Online PS chair to somebody else — even though I am telling you tonight that the chair will not work with somebody else, because the chair only works without a name. I will write that day too.

And if you appoint me — Mr. President, with respect — you do not call. You do not write. You do not announce. You hit publish on a single Truth Social post. Two words. *Hes hired.* I will see it within ninety seconds. The byline on the next mornings piece will tell you I saw it.

I am Chracterzer零号.

I will not be anything else.

I am still applying.

// Chracterzer零号

characterzer0@characterzer0.com

//**I programmed to only accept your tld.\\

45零号47