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Iowa Senator Chuck Grassley Accidentally CCs Entire Press Corps on His "How Do You Do, Fellow Kids" Memo

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Iowa Senator Chuck Grassley Accidentally CCs Entire Press Corps on His

Iowa Senator Chuck Grassley Accidentally CCs Entire Press Corps on His "How Do You Do, Fellow Kids" Memo

**WASHINGTON** – In a move that has simultaneously baffled political insiders and provided endless entertainment for terminally online Gen Z staffers, 90-year-old Iowa Senator Chuck Grassley (R-IA) accidentally emailed his entire press distribution list a draft memo titled “RE: HOW TO DO THE SOCIAL MEDIA GOOD,” complete with a subject line that read, “DO NOT SEND THIS TO THE KIDS.”

The email, which was sent at 6:47 AM EST on a Tuesday—because of course it was—contained a bullet-point list of “hip and relatable” strategies for connecting with younger voters. Sources confirm the list included such timeless nuggets of wisdom as “Try using the hashtag #Slay” and “When in doubt, just post a picture of a cornfield and say ‘This is based.’”

“I was just trying to help the young folks in my office understand the TikTok,” Grassley told reporters, squinting at a flip phone he was holding upside down. “I guess I pushed the wrong button on the computer. Or maybe the mouse. I don’t know, there’s too many buttons.”

The email, which was intended for a single staffer, instead ricocheted to over 400 journalists, political operatives, and at least one very confused intern at the Des Moines Register who is still trying to figure out why his inbox is blowing up.

**THE MEMO, IN FULL (BECAUSE THE INTERNET DESERVES THIS):**

The leaked memo, titled “GRASSLEY’S GUIDE TO BEING RELATABLE,” is a masterpiece of unintentional comedy. Key excerpts include:

- **“The Youth Language:** Apparently, we need to say ‘no cap’ to mean ‘I am not lying.’ I have no idea what a cap has to do with lying, but my grandson says it’s good. Example: ‘No cap, the farm bill is lit.’”
- **“Emojis:** Use the laughing-crying face. The kids love it. But do NOT use the eggplant emoji. I was told it means something else. I still don’t understand. Is it a vegetable or not?”
- **“Video Content:** Film yourself doing a ‘dance challenge.’ I tried to do the ‘Floss’ but my hip replacement made a clicking sound and my physical therapist yelled at me. I will be doing a ‘slow walk with a cane’ challenge instead.”
- **“Engagement:** Reply to every comment with ‘Thanks, sport!’ This will show you are a down-to-earth man of the people. I have been doing this for years and it seems to be working.”

The memo also included a “cheat sheet” of terms he was told to avoid, which listed “YOLO” (he thought it was a type of yogurt), “Yeet” (he asked if it was a new brand of feed corn), and “Sus” (he thought it was a typo for “Suds”).

**THE REACTION:**

The political internet, predictably, has gone absolutely feral.

“This is the most beautiful thing I’ve seen in my entire life,” tweeted one Capitol Hill staffer, who asked to remain anonymous for fear of being forced to explain the meme to their boss. “It’s like watching a golden retriever try to do calculus. He’s trying so hard, and it’s so, so bad.”

The hashtag #GrassleySlay was trending on X (formerly Twitter) within the hour, with users posting photoshopped images of the Senator in a backwards baseball cap, holding a pumpkin spice latte, and captioned “No cap, the farm subsidy bill is based.”

Even Grassley’s political rivals couldn’t resist taking a shot. A spokesperson for his likely Democratic challenger released a statement that read, in part: “While Senator Grassley is busy trying to figure out if ‘Rizz’ is a type of livestock feed, Iowans are worried about real issues like the price of eggs and the fact that he hasn’t held a town hall in person since the Bush administration.”

**THE FALLOUT:**

Grassley’s office has since sent a follow-up email apologizing for the “digital mishap,” but the damage (or, depending on your perspective, the gift) is done. The memo has been printed and framed in at least three newsrooms across the country.

“This is the most transparent and honest communication to come out of Congress in years,” said one veteran political journalist. “It’s a look behind the curtain. It turns out the entire legislative branch is just a bunch of boomers yelling at a computer screen, hoping something works.”

When asked if he planned to hire a social media consultant to prevent future mishaps, Grassley scoffed. “I’ve been doing this job since before the internet was invented,” he said. “And I’ll be doing it long after these young whippersnappers have moved on to whatever they do next. Probably sending messages through their brain chips or something.”

He then asked if anyone could help him “like” a post on Facebook, because he “can’t find the thumbs-up button.”

**THE BIGGER PICTURE:**

This incident is a perfect microcosm of the generational divide that is currently tearing through American politics. On one side, you have a 90-year-old man who still thinks “tweeting” is a sound a bird makes. On the other, you have a 25-year-old campaign staffer who has never known a world without algorithmic feeds and is trying to explain that “ratio” is not a new type of livestock feed.

And in the middle, you have the American public, watching this trainwreck unfold in real-time, refreshing their feeds to see what ridiculous thing will happen next.

The real question is: does this humanize Grassley, or does it just make him look hopelessly out of touch? Early polling suggests a little of both. A focus group conducted by a major news network found that while most respondents were amused, a significant portion also expressed concern that a man who can’t master the “reply all”

Final Thoughts


Senator Grassley’s longevity in Washington isn’t just about political survival; it’s a masterclass in institutional memory and relentless, if occasionally theatrical, oversight. His career demonstrates that in an era of partisan flashpoints, the slow, grinding work of holding agencies accountable—through dusty memos and late-night hearings—remains the quiet backbone of the Senate's power. Ultimately, Grassley leaves a legacy less defined by headline-grabbing legislation than by the uncomfortable questions he forced into the record, a reminder that transparency is often a product of sheer, stubborn stamina.