"Happy Hour at Beelzebub's Bar"

‘Happy Hour’ at Beelzebub’s Bar, and two young devils with a powerful thirst stepped through the swinging doors. It was broiling hot outside, but the barroom was like an inferno.

“Whew, it feels good to get in out of that warm air!” said the taller one. “Let’s grab a booth.”

A waitress in a scanty scarlet outfit, wearing a cute little ‘devil’s horns’ headpiece and swinging a realistic tail from her tush, sashayed over to take their order. “What’ll it be, tall, dark, and handsome?” she grinned. “Working hard today, or hardly working?”

“Going full bore,” said Nick with a wink and a leer. “Keeping a lid on the global warming debate isn’t easy. My costume’s wringing wet.”

They watched her retreating form as she hustled to get their drinks. “Come on,” said Scratch, the shorter of the pair, “you don’t really think you can lull a planet full of people to sleep while you turn their world into a miniature Hades, admit it.”

Nick snorted. “Hey, it’s easier than you think. I don’t have to deal with six and a half billion people--just a handful of corporate execs.”

“Surely you jest,” laughed Scratch.

“Did you see the Pew survey? Two-thirds of the public in both Japan and India are worried sick about climate change. But you know what? The people who are doing the heavy damage, the Americans? No sweat! Only one out of every five say it worries them a lot. I’d say that’s pretty good proof my method works.”

“Pagan poop!” swore Scratch. “How the heaven did you pull that off?”

“Scratch, Scratch,” said Nicky, shaking his head sadly. “It’s so basic. You’ve gotta get back to your roots.”

“Roots?”

“What’s the root of all evil?”

“Oh, the love of money. I always thought ‘all evil’ was an over-simplification. ‘The love of lucre is the love of Lucifer.’ But I see where you’re coming from.”

“I get off on working with giant corporations. If shareholders aren’t happy with the bottom line, they boot out the current management and bring in a ‘leaner, meaner’ team. Love the sound of that, don’t you? Who’s leaner and meaner than me? Think about it for a minute. These corporations exist for a single purpose--to generate a sizable profit. That makes them a perfect devil’s instrument, since by definition, they worship Mammon! Brothers, hello!”

“You’ve got a track record with some of the best.”

“Hey, I don’t want to sound like I’m bragging, but I’ve been in bed with the big boys--ExxonMobil, Chevron, Halliburton, Ford Motor Company, GM, Massey Energy, American Electric Power, Boeing, Alcoa, Phillip Morris, Cargill.... Carbon emissions, poisons, carcinogens, smog, bribery, polluted rivers and earth and air... poke around in that list and you’ll find it all.”

“I wonder about their consciences,” mused Scratch.

Nick stared at him. “Didn’t you know? Each one of them’s considered a ‘person’ under the law, but they have no conscience built in. It’s Frankenstein’s monster in a real-world version!”

“I don’t get it. Don’t they care what they’re doing to Creation?”

“A corporation doesn’t care one way or another about Creation. They can be totally committed to Destruction, as far as that’s concerned, and hire a PR firm to paste a pretty face on the pig. Then they pick compliant state legislators and judges, Congresspeople and presidential candidates, and bankroll their campaigns. They dictate the limits of action and the terms of debate.”

“Wow,” said Scratch. “That sounds like a process planned in hell.”

“How did you guess?” beamed Nick. “Here’s the beauty of it. Corporations are like us; they’re immortal. People come and go, but corporations are going to be here till the earth bakes in its own greenhouse gases.”

“A day to dream of,” said Scratch. “But the executives and people on their boards--doesn’t all this worry them?”

“Why would it? They’re rich; they demand and get insulation. They live on private estates, belong to exclusive clubs, and travel in private planes; their kids go to exclusive prep schools and private colleges; they only hobnob with people like themselves on the boards of charities and museums. They’re respected. They’ve got it all!”

“Except their souls,” noted Scratch with a grin.

“That’s a small clause in our bargain. Even the rich can’t have everything,” said Nick.

“Doesn’t it bother you when executives blast critics for ‘demonizing big business’? You do all the work, and then somebody else gets all the credit?”

“Nah. I’m not in this to make a name for myself. I do it just for the hell of it.”

© Tony Russell, 2008

"Some Minor Editorial Changes"

“We’re really excited about your new science textbook series. It’s clear, well-written, and beautifully illustrated. What we like best about it, though, is the way it helps students understand how scientists work. You get a real feel for their passion, their curiosity, their commitment to following evidence wherever it leads.”

“I appreciate the kind words. Thanks very much! So you’re going to publish the books?”

“We’d be crazy not to. All you have to do is make some minor editorial changes, and we’re good to go.”

“Sounds great. What changes did you have in mind?”

“Well, here in your section where you talk about glaciers, you say that the Great Lakes were formed when glaciers carved deep basins in the northern part of the country and then retreated. You write that all of that took place during the Wisconsin glacial period, which was at its height twenty thousand years ago.”

“Yes. That’s pretty much agreed upon by geologists everywhere. Is there a problem?”

“Uh, the issue is, counting generations back through the Old Testament, folks have calculated that the earth is six thousand years old. So you’re saying the Great Lakes were created before the world existed.”

“Oh.”

“And here in the section on botany, you have a fascinating piece on the dawn redwood. That was all new to me--I’d never heard of it. You write that it had been found as a fossil dating back to the Miocene epoch, and everybody assumed it had been extinct for over five million years, until a small stand was found in China in 1944, still alive. It’s a wonderful story. But that number ‘five million’ presents a difficulty, of course.”

“I think I follow you. The tree species is four million, nine hundred and ninety four thousand years older than some people want it to be.”

“Right. Then there’s your profile of Jack Horner, the paleontologist who discovered a colonial nesting site for a new dinosaur species on Egg Mountain in Montana. You say he concluded that they built colonies of nests and watched after their young when they hatched out. According to your chapter, they lived in large herds; Horner calls them ‘the cows of the Mesosozoic.’ It’s all really well done. Kids are crazy about dinosaurs, and they’ll eat that stuff up. I’ll bet lot of them reading your book will be motivated to get into science.”

“I’d love to see that.”

“The problem is, you say the so-called Mesozoic era ended sixty-five million years ago.”

“Yes, that’s correct.”

“Then there’s this section on birds. You mention that the ‘first bird’ that we have evidence of is Archaeopteryx. By the way, that’s a stunning photo of that fossil; you can see the clearest details of the feathers! But you say that this bird lived 150 to 155 million years ago.”

“Right. That dating has been thoroughly researched and validated.”

“Surely you see the difficulty, though. The gap between six thousand years and a hundred and fifty million years is a bit wider than we’re comfortable with.”

“I’m getting the picture.”

“And then, of course, there’s astronomy. Where to begin? You write that by studying meteorites, which are presumed to be remnants from the creation of the solar system, astronomers put the age of the system at four billion, six hundred million years.”

“Yes, that’s the consensus among astronomers and astrophysicists.”

“I don’t suppose you could scale back that timeline somewhat?”

“All the way to six thousand!?”

“I’m not suggesting you compromise your standards. But is that asking too much to sell a lot of books?”

© Tony Russell, 2008

"A Vast Ex-Staff Conspiracy"

Washington, May 30-

A stunned Bush White House reacted strongly today after the release of scathing excerpts from former press secretary Scott McClellan’s new book, What Happened: Inside the Bush White House and Washington’s Culture of Deception, in which McClellan describes how the Bush administration propagandized the U.S. public to sell the war in Iraq and bungled the response to Hurricane Katrina.

In her daily press briefing this morning, current press secretary Dana Perino was highly critical of her former colleague. “‘’Scott was well paid to repeat the propaganda devised by the White House,” she said. “It’s not just bad form to reveal that the President, the Vice President, and Karl Rove have been manipulative and deceitful; it is disloyal.”

Perino continued, “This is not the Scott McClellan we knew and used. This Scott McClellan has a conscience he is unable to silence. We are puzzled, and we are sad. Who would have thought that a man who was with us every step of the way as we contrived a bogus rationale for launching a war against Iraq would someday expose our efforts? Certainly not me.”

Perino concluded, “Can you imagine how I feel, having to stand before you now and declare that none of what Scott says is true? I mean, who’s going to believe me, now that I’m press secretary, after a previous press secretary details all the lies and nonsense he had to mouth for the White House? This puts me in a really bad position, and shows incredible insensitivity on Scott’s part.”

Following these remarks, Perino took questions from the reporters assembled. The following is a transcript of that portion of the briefing.

Q. “Dana, has the president read Scott’s book, and if so, what was his response?”

A. “Scott’s book has been described to the president, and I do not expect the president to issue a response. He has more pressing matters than to spend time reading or commenting on books. Or newspapers or magazines, for that matter. Ask him how the [Texas] Rangers are doing this season.”

Q “Dana, isn’t there a remarkable consistency between what Scott has to say in his book and what former administration officials like Richard Clarke wrote in Against All Enemies, Paul O’Neill said in Ron Suskind’s The Price of Loyalty, Karen Kwiatkowski wrote in The New Pentagon Papers, Paul Pillar wrote in Foreign Affairs, Jack Goldsmith wrote in The Terror Presidency, Christie Todd Whitman wrote in It’s My Party Too, David Kuo wrote in Tempting Faith, Ricardo Sanchez wrote in Wiser in Battle, and so forth?”

A. “That’s an excellent point. We think it is no accident that all of these people seem to be singing the same tune. We suspect there is a vast ex-staff conspiracy to portray the administration in an unflattering light, and we’ve asked the FBI to determine if this poses a threat to national security.”

Q. ”Dana, which of the administration’s usual responses to tell-all memoirs will you be following this time? ‘The author is “deeply troubled” or “in need of help”’; ‘The author is a disgruntled ex-employee who nursed a grudge’; ‘The author is a closet leftist whose true colors have emerged’; or ‘The author is a crass opportunist who spiced up his memoirs to get big bucks from a publisher’?”

A. “All of the above. The president, of course, issued an ‘above-the-fray’ statement yesterday in which he played the ‘bothered and bewildered’ card, saying he was ‘puzzled’ and ‘didn’t recognize this as the Scott McClellan that he hired and confided in and worked with for so many years.’ I’ve already said that ‘Scott, we now know, is disgruntled about his experience at the White House.’ And we’re dispatching surrogates out to the talk shows. Karl Rove will play the political card, comparing McClellan to ‘a left-wing blogger,’ and Trent Duffy, Scott’s former deputy, will play the money card, suggesting that Scott ‘appears to be dancing on his political grave for cash.’ So we’ve covered all the bases.”

Q. “Dana, do you think the administration can maintain any shred of credibility, with these continuing revelations by people who were once part of its core?”

A. “No matter what happens, the president’s approval rating has never sunk below 34%. We believe there is a dedicated body of true believers out there who wouldn’t lose faith in the president if God Almighty pointed a finger at him.”

Q. “Given your experience so far with former staffers, will you handle things differently the next time someone leaves?”

A. “We’re considering a proposal by vice-president Cheney, who said, ‘The next time somebody tenders a letter of resignation, I’ll just invite him out for a duck hunt’.”

© Tony Russell, 2008

"A Mistake in Your Paperwork"

“Next case, please.”

“Here I am, Your Honor.”

“According to the information before Me, you’re here to appeal My original decision. Is that correct?”

“Yes, Your Honor. There must have been a mistake in Your paperwork. I’ll admit I wasn’t perfect, but I worked hard at carrying out Your wishes. Damned hard, as it turns out.”

“We haven’t made a mistake yet, but We’re certainly willing to hear your testimony. You may proceed.”

“Thank you, Your Honor. First off, I diligently carried out Your anti-homosexual program. I have to say, I made their lives miserable, exactly as You desired. Can You believe they wanted to work, marry, have health insurance, work with kids, teach, all that kind of thing, just like normal human beings made in Your image? My efforts to defeat their ‘gay agenda’ apparently weren’t included in your accounts.”

(Paging through the folder in front of Him) “We find extensive documentation for those activities on pages six through forty-eight of your file.”

“Is that right? I thought my zeal in this matter would carry a lot of weight in Your decision.”

“It was a factor. Is there more?”

“Yes, Your Honor. I want you to know that I strongly supported the holy war against Islam.”

“I have it right here in front of me. Over a million Iraqis dead, all told, the majority of them children, and more than two million displaced refugees, barely managing to survive.”

“Gee, You had that too? I can’t take credit for all of them, but I was proud to play my part. I would have thought those numbers alone might sway Your judgment.”

“Again, they were a factor. Are there other ‘good deeds’ you wish to draw to Our attention?”

“I chased wealth so that other people viewing my prosperity could see how You bless Your followers. I had a large house, a big SUV, closets full of clothes, a snowmobile, a jet boat, and a motor home. I want you to know I enjoyed every one of them. Thanks for all the neat stuff!”

(Scanning file) “I can’t find any record that We made those shipments to you.”

(Surprised) “The Devil you say! I wonder where they came from?”

“Is there anything else you’d like to add, before We rule on your appeal?”

(Pulls out his notes) “I have a few more things to add, Your Honor. I subjugated my wife, as per your written instructions. And that was a toughie. She didn’t give in without a fight.”

“She has already spoken with Me about that a number of times.”

“I made sure my kids understood that this nonsense about Your taking 4.54 billion years to create Earth as we know it robs the world of its wonder. What’s impressive about that? Doing the job in less than a week a few thousand years ago--that’s what really rocks. So to speak. No reference to the decay of long-lived radioactive isotopes in so-called ‘ancient rocks’ intended, Your Honor.”

(Unable to suppress a groan, mutters, “God-in-a-box, everywhere We turn.”) “Tell me, are you familiar with the phrase ‘The road to Hell is paved with good intentions’?”

(Defendant gulps) “That sounds ominous, Your Honor. Does that mean...?”

“No. We have decided to remand you to Our Work/Study program. You have fifty years to pull up those paving stones.”

“God Bless You, Your Honor. I mean, Bless Yourself. I mean.... I’m eternally grateful. Or will be. You know what I mean?”

“Of course. Next case, please.”

© Tony Russell, 2008

"Is That the 'Incompetent' Part?"

Cookout time again--the odor of charcoal lighter hanging over the backyard; the picnic table loaded with body parts of birds and mammals, soaking in their own grease; macaroni and potato salad, awash in mayonnaise; baked beans gooped up with pork fat and brown sugar. Heavy eating for heavy people!

I was pulling another cold one out of the washtub when my neighbor Lee came over, wearing a big grin on his face.

“What do you say, Ace?” he asked. “About ready to admit that this administration has lived up to its promise?”

Politics is the last thing I want on top of a bloated stomach. But Lee already had his hand locked on my arm. After years of trial and error, I’ve found ‘Never argue with a drunken neighbor’ to be a good rule of thumb. We were going to have this conversation or have a wrestling match there on the lawn.

“Almost eight years into it, we have a pretty good idea what to expect from them,” I ventured cautiously.

“Damned straight!” he said. “They campaigned for office as the anti-government government. They told us they wanted to starve government or drown it in a bathtub. They said that big government was the problem--that government was inefficient, incompetent, untrustworthy, and corrupt. Did they get it right, or what?”

“So you’re really happy with the way things have turned out?” I asked.

“Who wouldn’t be?” he chortled. “You’ve got a few years under your belt. How many other administrations have delivered like that on their basic premise?”

“Not many,” I admitted.

“Not many?” he scoffed. “Try ‘none.’ They really came through for us. This group is totally committed to discrediting government. They’ve been everything they warned us about. Who could ever trust the feds again, after what these guys have accomplished?”

“I think I see your point,” I said.

“It’s hard to miss, Ace. Can you believe they got us into war based on weapons of mass destruction that didn’t exist!”

“Is that the ‘incompetent’ part or the ‘untrustworthy’ part?” I wanted to know.

“You can’t tell!” he said enthusiastically. “That’s the great thing about it. Did they lie, or were they just incompetent? They can’t reveal which it was, because they’ve classified everything as a state secret. But either way, they’ve proven their point.”

“You know, now that you mention it, I just read this week about fifteen billion dollars of funding for the war in Iraq that simply vanished, with no record of where it went. Is that another ‘incompetent’?”

“That can’t be ‘incompetent,’ with that much money there for the taking. That’s got to be ‘corrupt,’” he said with conviction. “They’re trying to cover all the bases.”

“So whenever they screw up, it’s a win/win for them?” I asked.

“Right,” he said. “It’s all an attempt to shred your faith in government. Kidnapping guys off the street, flying them to secret prisons, torturing them, holding people for years without releasing their names or telling their families where they are, never charging them with any crimes--are you ever gonna think about government in a warm, fuzzy way again?”

“Not anytime soon,” I had to confess.

“A government that reads your e-mails, listens in on your phone calls, even demands to see what library books you’ve checked out?”

“It makes my skin crawl,” I admitted.

“That’s just what they were hoping for!” Lee said, leaning my way, while his beery breath held us together in a boozy bonhomie. “How about standing government on its head? Civil rights divisions that uphold racial and sex discrimination? Regulatory agencies that team up with industries they’re supposed to regulate? Environmental agencies that protect polluters? Agencies that turn emergencies into catastrophes?”

“I see what you’re saying. It’s as if government with this administration exists to prevent anything happening that really needs to be done.”

Lee wasn’t even listening--nothing new for him. He was on a roll: “Food prices going through the roof? Record home foreclosures? $4 a gallon gas? Colleges that cost more than $40,000 a year? Unaffordable health care? Tax breaks for the rich while the income gap is widening like an interstate? Tax cuts while the country is bleeding red ink? A prescription drug program that’s a bonanza for drug companies and a nightmare for the sick? Denying global warming exists, when the whole planet is at risk? Two and a half trillion dollars for wars stretching into infinity?”

“Whoa! Slow down! That’s a heck of a list. What are you saying, Lee? That they’ll go to any length to prove their point?”

“You’ve got to commit yourself to your ideals,” he said with a belch. “‘That government is best which governs least.’”

“This seems more like ‘That government is best which governs worst.’ Are they prepared to pay the price?” I inquired.

“Well, they don’t really pay the price,” he said. “Other people do. That’s the great thing about it.”

“Gee, I don’t know,” I said. “I have Patty and Kevin to think about. And maybe grandkids down the road. I hate to stick them with a mess like this.”

“Don’t sweat the long term stuff,” he said. “Learn to think in the short term. What I wouldn’t give for four more years of this team.” He jerked his arm up and down in a hammering motion. “That just might be enough to drive the last nail in government’s coffin.”

Then I heard myself say something I never imagined myself saying: “Lee, why don’t you have another beer?”

© Tony Russell, 2008

"With a Harvard MBA"

Of Principalities and Powers ~ “With a Harvard MBA”


For years the GOP has told the public sector that it needs to operate like a business. Now, for the first time ever, we have a president with an MBA from Harvard Business School. After more than six years of watching the administration in action, it is easy to envision the following scenario in the White House.

“Good morning, James. Ready to take my breakfast order?”

“Certainly, sir. What would you like?”

“Let’s start off with some orange juice.”

“I’m afraid we don’t have any orange juice, sir, and aren’t likely to have some for at least six months.”

“Six months! Why’s that!”

“We ordered it at the same time we ordered body armor for the troops, sir. I’ll try to get them to rush your orange juice.”

“Can’t you call them and tell them it’s an emergency?”

“That’s a possibility. We ordered through an old college chum of yours. In an emergency, we can probably get through to him in three or four days.”

“Just let me have apple juice this morning, then.”

“All right, sir, but it’s a little pricey.”

“Pricey? How much does it cost?”

“Eighteen thousand dollars a glass.”

“Eighteen thousand dollars! How can apple juice cost eighteen thousand dollars a glass?”

“I took the liberty of asking that myself, sir. Our supplier has the same kind of contract we’ve used with Halliburton. It’s a cost-plus contract, where he’s guaranteed a profit percentage, and the more he runs up the cost, the more money he makes. He dumps apple juice down the drain as fast as it comes in, just to inflate the price.”

“What! I’m going to see that so-and-so in court!”

“I’m afraid that’s not possible, sir. Under the terms of the standard contract, he’s untouchable. He has complete immunity from liability for misconduct, as well as immunity from prosecution for crimes he or any member of his staff might commit in carrying out their contract.”

“Give me a glass anyway. I’m thirsty.”

“If you say so, sir, but that will run us over our food budget for September, and it’s only the 9th of the month.”

“No problem. Just list it as an off-budget expense. If we can run a trillion dollar war off-budget, a glass of apple juice ought to be a snap. [President gulps down apple juice.] After breakfast, I’m going to refer this matter to the Consumer Protection Division of the Justice Department.”

“Very well, sir, but I’m afraid it won’t do any good.”

“Why’s that?”

“In keeping with your policy of appointing people who oppose the laws they’re supposed to be enforcing, the Consumer Protection Division simply doesn’t pursue cases by consumers against corporations, just as the Civil Rights Division drags its heels on enforcing civil rights, and the Environmental Protection agency works to undermine legislation protecting the environment.”

“Let me talk to them anyway. This is outrageous! Get me a phone.”

“Here it is, sir. [Hands president the phone.] Good luck with that.”

[President dials.] “Hello, thank you for calling the Justice Department. You have reached our automated answering service. Please listen carefully to the following menu. You may enter a number at any time. If you are calling to submit your resignation, press 1. If you are scheduling a visit to serve a subpoena, press 2. If you are calling for any other reason, press 3. [President punches 3.] All of our representatives are busy handling other calls right now. Calls are answered in the order in which they are received. Your call is important to us. Please hold, and a representative will be with you as soon as possible. [Theme from ‘Gunsmoke’ plays over and over as president sits, holding phone to his ear.]”

© Tony Russell, 2007

“Chinese in Less Than Thirty Days”

Of Principalities and Powers ~ “Chinese in Less Than Thirty Days”


Washington, September 6 -
At a joint press conference held in the White House today, Education Secretary Margaret Spellings, flanked by NFL Commissioner Roger Goodell and NCAA President Myles Brand, announced a major new initiative to promote language skills.

Secretary Spellings said, “Historically, America’s students have lagged far behind the rest of the world in learning foreign languages. Indeed, our inability to read or comprehend what the rest of the world is saying may be an important factor in why we have so much trouble valuing other people’s viewpoints and cultures.

“Therefore, it gives me great pride to announce that, starting with the 2008 season, all radio and TV coverage of both NFL and NCAA football will be available only in Spanish, French, Russian, or Chinese.”

Secretary Spellings explained that, given the vast viewership of these contests, the passionate involvement of their listeners and viewers, and the staggering repetitiveness of the descriptions and accounts of the games, they present an almost ideal forum for teaching language skills.

“Consider this,” she said. “If you watch fifteen hours of football a week for twenty weeks—and our research shows that is a low figure for the typical fan—how many times will you hear a broadcaster say, ‘He is some kind of player’? According to our statisticians, at least 1,200 repetitions—enough for even the slowest learner to pick up the phrase. Soon, in millions of bars and living rooms all over the United States, one viewer with his eyes glued to the set will be telling another, ‘Él es un tipo de jugador,’ without even thinking about it. At any level.”

She added, “Research shows that 95% of football coverage—excluding the names of players, coaches, and products advertised on the shows—can be mastered with a vocabulary of 400 words or less and fewer than 20 phrases. (‘That tackle saved a touchdown.’ [‘Ce tacle a sauvé un atterrissage.’] ‘The try for extra point is good.’ [‘El intento de el punto suplementario está bien.’] ‘He’s brought down after a one-yard gain.’ [‘Il est déprimé après une augmentation d'une yard.’] ‘So-and-so drops back to pass. Here comes the blitz.’ [‘Он роняет, чтобы пройти. Здесь прибывает блиц.’ Etc.) We expect the normal fan to be football fluent in French, Spanish, Chinese, whatever, in less than thirty days.”

President Brand pointed out that the language benefits conferred by watching football, while seemingly confined to a minor area of life, would actually meet up to 90% of the daily conversational needs of the typical football fan. The real challenge, he said, would be to find a way to extend those benefits to women and to active adults of both genders.

In the question-and-answer session which followed, Commissioner Goodell acknowledged that commercial breaks, which take up approximately 60% of air time during game coverage, will continue to be in English. “But we still think that an hour and a half’s worth of language instruction in a three and a half hour broadcast is a viable educational tool.”

When another reporter asked if using televised games to overcome educational deficiencies was a revolutionary new concept, the Secretary pointed to groundbreaking work by Sesame Street, Mr. Rogers’ Neighborhood, and Captain Kangaroo.

© Tony Russell, 2007

"That Old Black Magic"

I was in one of my usual haunts after work when I overheard two guys talking.

“Get outa here, Ferdy,” laughed one. “No way you can get him to do that!”

“Oh thou of little faith,” scoffed Ferdy. “Listen, Beelzebubba. Remember when you said there was no way I could get him to push a tax cut shifting the load from the briefcases of the rich to the backs of the poor and middle class? Not only did he do it once, but I got him to go back and do it a second time! How do ya like them apples?”

“Shades of Adam and Eve,” said Beelzebubba. “You didn’t wear your snakeskin outfit, did you?”

“Hey, nothing fancy,” said Ferdy. “Just me and him, diablo á mano.” That got my attention, and I peeked around the corner of the booth. Nothing special about the two of them; they looked like dozens of other corporate lobbyists in the joint.

“Yeah, but that was when he was in tall cotton,” said Beelzebubba. “Anything went back then. After 9-11 he practically had a ‘Get into Hades Free’ card. Lie, torture, invade a country on excuses a grade school teacher would have laughed at. ‘Weapons of mass destruction.’ ‘Yellow cake uranium.’ ‘Our dog ate my homework.’ What’s the big deal? Anydevil could have done what you did back then.”

“Listen,” said Ferdy, “don’t make dark of my accomplishments. I was on fire back then, and I’ve still got the spark.” He snapped his fingers and began to croon, “That old black magic’s got him in my spell,/ That old black magic that I weave so well….” I had to admit, the guy had a hell of a voice.

“I still say you can’t get him to stiff Congress for another fifty billion dollars for the war in Iraq.”

Ferdy snorted. “Are you kidding? That’s fifty billion dollars on top of a supplemental bill for $147 billion for Iraq and Afghanistan that’s pending right now, plus $460 billion in the fiscal 2008 military budget.”

“Unholy smokes!” whistled Beelzebubba. He did some quick calculating. “That’s $657 billion. That’s a hell of a lot of money!”

Ferdy tried to look modest, but I could tell it just wasn’t in him.

“There’s no way he can pry that kind of money out of Congress,” persisted Beelzebubba. “Not with three-fourths of the country in favor of withdrawal. Not after voters sent a message in the last election that Iraq was an albatross hanging from the nation’s neck. Not when Democrats keep threatening to cut off funding for the war!”

Ferdy roared until his sides split. I hastily averted my eyes. “Democrats?” he wheezed. “Don’t make me laugh like that. I’ve got green pus oozing all over the booth. Listen, there’s a whole platoon of new imps who are making their bones with these donkeys. We’ve installed rubber spines in most of them, and the creatures bend whatever way we push them.”

“Rubber spines?”

“The newest operation. Rubber spines, forked tongues, and a flexible conscience—it’s the total package.”

“Hey, I’m impressed,” said Beelzebubba. “That was quick work!”

Ferdy rubbed his thumb back and forth over his first two fingers in a form of sign language that I happen to be able to interpret.

“Lord of Darkness,” swore Beelzebubba, ”the whole planet is simmering like a pot somebody left on the stove and forgot, and his country’s falling apart—bridges collapsing, flood walls caving in, rivers running wild, the weather going berserk. And you think you’re gonna get him to take money that could fix all that and pour it down that rat hole in Iraq?!”

“It’s even better than that. I’ve got this coordinated with our agents overseas,” said Ferdy. “At least half the money gets stolen, used for bribes, sucked up by contractors’ overcharges, or chalked up as obscene profits. Then a small part of the profits goes back into lobbying and campaign contributions in the States!”

“Sounds like a political version of a perpetual motion machine,” marveled Beelzebubba.

“Nah,” said Ferdy. “It doesn’t run by itself. You’ve got to keep pouring new cash into it.”

“The devil’s in the details,” agreed Beelzebubba. “Do you really think you can pull this off?”

“Just watch my smoke!” boasted Ferdy. He lit a match, and the smell of sulphur filled the air.

© Tony Russell, 2007

"A See-Through Blouse and a Leather Miniskirt"

“A See-Through Blouse and a Leather Miniskirt”


“It’s getting late, Stanley. What are you working on?”

“I’m ready to launch my campaign for the presidency, Irene. I thought I’d put together a list of the positions I’ve held all my life—the things that I’ve been most committed to.”

“That’s a wonderful idea. You can lay out your positions and tell voters this is what you are, who you’ve been, and who you’re going to continue to be. People will respect that, even those who disagree with some of your stands.”

“Don’t be silly, Irene! I’m making up a list for my handlers so we can compare my positions with what the party’s regulars expect. Then I can announce that I’ve had a change of heart on anything I need to switch.”

“Oh, Stanley! You wouldn’t abandon your opposition to the death penalty, would you?”

“I’m afraid so, honey. A willingness to kill people is practically a prerequisite for being president.”

“What about a woman’s right to choose? Surely you wouldn’t give that up?”

“Sorry, sweetheart, but I’m coming out for the sanctity of life.”

“Then you still oppose preemptive wars?”

“My base stays fighting mad, honey.”

”What’s all this talk about your base? I thought your base was God, our marriage, and your self—your values, your integrity.”

“People don’t care what I used to believe, Irene. They just want to know if I’m with them now. A candidate says his position has ‘evolved,’ or he’s had some kind of a conversion experience, and the true believers are okay with that.”

“That’s crazy talk, Stanley! People will see right through it. I can’t believe you think voters are that shallow or stupid!”

“Everybody tells me this is the way it’s done, Irene. You can be a Dennis Kucinich and never rise above single digits in the polls, or a John McCain, sinking under the weight of his support for the war. Or you can throw your convictions overboard as if they were lead weights, and start climbing to the top. Look at how well Willard Romney is doing.”

“People don’t expect heroism from a president, Stanley. Or nobility, or grandeur. Those things are nice if a president rises to an occasion, but they’re not expected. What people do expect, and deserve, is a generous spirit, decency, intelligence, trustworthiness, and compassion—not just a slogan, but the real thing. You know that. In fact, I’m quoting your own words back to you.”

“I hear what you’re saying, pumpkin. What you don’t understand is that the price tag of ambition is abandoning conviction.”

“Stanley, what would you say if I put on a see-through blouse and a leather miniskirt, and started peddling my body on 42nd Street?”

“There’s no need to do that, sweetheart; my fundraising is going really well. And you look just fine in that cocktail dress with those strands of pearls.”

“Just answer my question, Stanley.”

“I’d file for divorce. I didn’t marry a prostitute. What’s your point?”

© Tony Russell, 2007

"WIN THE WAR"

My neighbor Harold was squatting on his heels, talking at me, while I was under my truck, changing the oil. “Did you see that big sign Ralph put up in front of his house?” he asked.

“No, what’s it say?” I grunted, trying to loosen the drain bolt in the oil pan.

“’WIN THE WAR!’ in letters two feet high.”

“Do you suppose he’s getting frustrated?” I speculated. “Maybe he thinks the president needs a little prodding to get serious about winning this thing.”

“I believe he’s just flat-out delusional,” said Harold. “You can no more win a war on terrorism than you can a war against stupidity, or halitosis, or marital infidelity.”

“Maybe he’s just talking about the war in Iraq,” I suggested, digging my heels in and giving the socket wrench a mighty tug.

“In that case, I’m afraid he’s headin’ for a hurtin’,” said Harold.

“Who put this *#@$% thing on so tight?” I swore. “Hand me that hammer, will you? Why do you say he’s headin’ for a hurtin’?” I added.

“Come on, Ace,” he laughed. “You may not be much of a mechanic, but you’re not completely stupid. The chances of our winning the war in Iraq are about the same as my chances of finding a diamond in my coal shed.”

“How do you figure?” I said curiously, meanwhile giving the end of my wrench a tap with the hammer.

“Just add it up,” said Harold. “On this side you’ve got a worn-out group of invaders and a ton of mercenaries we call ‘private contractors.’ Their morale is bad and their attitude is worse. This side doesn’t speak the language, doesn’t understand the culture, despises the religion, disrespects the people, and doesn’t know who to trust. The Iraqi forces we’re supposed to be training to replace us are either AWOL half the time or secretly part of the resistance.

“This side left Iraqi weapons depots and storage facilities unsecured in the early days of the invasion, and the resistance has been well-supplied ever since. Plus, a big percentage of this side’s weaponry has been stolen and ended up in the resistance’s hands. This side disbanded the Iraqi security forces and created a huge pool of unemployed trained fighters for the resistance to draw on.

“The soldiers on this side have been fed one justification after another for the invasion, and all of the excuses have turned out to be bogus. Even the most patriotic are wondering why their lives are being squandered.

“The local people despise us for our arrogance and our ignorance, our itchy trigger fingers and our ineptitude. Conditions for them are constantly getting worse, not better—contaminated water, sick and dying babies, electricity only two hours a day, food shortages, gasoline shortages, huge unemployment, sectarian hatred enflamed, mosques and sacred sites destroyed, and over a million refugees just trying to survive. Iraq is plunging headfirst into chaos, and we’re the guys who threw them off the diving board.

“The few countries who were either bribed or browbeaten into becoming part of the ‘coalition of the willing,’ or who thought they would side with a winner and share the spoils, are melting away like polar ice caps.

"This side has spent five and a half years and half a trillion dollars already, and all we have to show for it is ruined lives, corpses, a recruiting bonanza for terrorists, an army on the verge of a breakdown, and a train wreck of a nation."

“Sounds like a winner to me,” I said, giving the end of the socket wrench a harder tap.

Harold was really wound up. “On the other side,” he said, “you’ve got a variety of resistance groups, well-armed, most of them Iraqis defending their homeland, able to move freely in and out of the general population. We don’t know who they are, what their command structure is, or where they’ll strike next. They know everything about our movements and plans, while we don’t have a clue about theirs. We’re shadowboxing in the dark, fighting phantoms and ghosts.

“They’re a classic guerilla movement, constantly improving its tactics. They’ll fight for as long as it takes to drive the foreign occupiers out. As soon as we secure an area and move on, they move right back in and take it over again.

“They’re passionate about their cause. They’re at home in the language, the culture, the religion, and the terrain. They’re not leaving. That sand is sacred soil for them. They’re fighting for Allah and country, mom and pita.

“Let’s face it, Ace. If you were a gambling man, which side would you lay your money on?”

Just then I drew back and gave the end of the wrench a huge ‘WHAP!’ with the hammer. The bolt flew out and a stream of dirty oil splattered my face.

“Whoo-ee!” yelled Harold. “I believe you were supposed to be trying to turn that bolt counterclockwise instead of clockwise, Ace. But you’ve struck a gusher there. Oil!”

“That’s what it’s all about,” I mumbled, trying to wipe the stuff out of my eyes. “Hand me a rag, will you? I can’t see a thing.”

© Tony Russell, 2007

"Getting Commoners to Do the Dying"

Romney Brothers Volunteer for Fight in Iraq

At a hastily called news conference, Republican presidential hopeful Willard M. (“Mitt”) Romney’s five sons issued a joint announcement that they are volunteering en masse for combat missions overseas.

The brothers’ decision followed close on the heels of a highly-publicized exchange at one of Romney’s “Ask Mitt Anything” events in Bettendorf, Iowa.

Rachel Griffiths asked Romney at a campaign breakfast how many of his five adult sons were serving in the military. Romney responded that none of his sons had chosen to join the military, but they were serving in other ways. “One of the ways my sons are showing support for our nation is helping me get elected because they think I’d be a great president,” he explained.

More than one commentator has remarked that Romney seems to have confused self-promotion with serving the nation.

With obvious embarrassment, Tagg Romney, the candidate’s eldest son, said, “I’m sorry that it took a question at a campaign event to help us realize that we need to put our bodies where our mouths are. Dad has been supportive of the war and of President Bush’s ‘surge’ policy, and it was embarrassing to see him put on the spot like that. Other people’s sons and daughters are being blown up or mutilated by roadside bombs or poisoned by depleted uranium or hit with post-traumatic stress disorder, and here we are living the good life and chasing all the power and prestige of the presidency for our family, without making any sacrifice at all for our country. How self-centered does that sound?”

His brother Matt Romney spoke from a different perspective, but also emphasized the idea of service. “Dad and Mom are worth a quarter of a billion dollars. Maybe more. I haven’t checked with them lately on a precise amount, but I can tell you this: people all over the country are losing their homes every day because they can’t make mortgage payments, while our folks luxuriate in beautiful homes in Massachusetts, New Hampshire, and Utah. I’m a commercial real estate developer in San Diego, and I know what property is worth. This nation has been good to us, and we feel as if we ought to give it our combat service in return.” He added, “It’s funny how you don’t think of things like that when you’re so busy making millions. It’s time to shed our Gucci’s and hike a mile in somebody else’s combat boots.”

Josh Romney shared his brothers’ new convictions. “Traveling around the country to stage events on Dad’s behalf, wearing expensive suits, living in a Winnebago and hobnobbing with real string pullers and power brokers—this high living has suddenly lost all its attraction. My eyes have been opened. I’d much rather be living in a tent in the desert, halfway around the world from everybody I love, blistering under 120 degree heat, eating canned rations, and sweating under the constant threat of death. I can hardly wait to put on my uniform.”

Ben Romney sounded the same note. “If Dad wants to put other young men and women overseas, risking their lives to assure American corporations a grip on Iraqi oil, we think we ought to be risking our necks too. I’m sure Dad wouldn’t want it any other way. Medical school can be put on hold.”

Craig, the youngest of the five brothers, added, “We realized that we’re not alone in this. In fact, it’s not really about us at all. We’re just emblematic of a larger reality. The whole upper echelon of government—Congress, cabinet members, other people in the administration—virtually none of them have sons or daughters actually fighting the war our government started. We’re like a privileged class that gets commoners to do the dying for them.

“We intend not just to set an example, but actually to go out and act as volunteer recruiters among our peer group,” said Craig. “We expect to enlist an entire combat brigade to take some of the stress off those troops in Iraq who are doing their third or fourth tour of duty. I don’t know why we didn’t see the need to share the suffering before now. It’s almost as if we were brainwashed.”

© Tony Russell, 2007

"Crows in the Waning Years of a Second Term"

Crows in the Waning Years of a Second Term

Outsized birds, taking over the neighbors’ lawn—
slickly black from beak to heart,
as slick as if they’ve been dipped in oil
and thoroughly soaked.
With their dark sheen they mock
undertakers and churchgoers,
politicians mixing with the folk.
They have a good ear,
mimicking tunes
of gentler birds without effort,
but their natural song
is a jeer.
I watch them strut
and picture jackboots.
A warning: these creatures live to loot.
Prepare to protect your dog food bowl,
your garbage can, your bird feeder.
Lock your refrigerator door.
Their appetites are bottomless;
good times, bad times,
they always do well.
Public birds with public vices,
what do they really caw about,
except what they can devour?

© Tony Russell, 2007

"Make Us YOUR Candy Store"

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE

Radio ad: Candy Company Commences Clearance Campaign

Directions: Read breathlessly, just below shouting pitch.

As they head into their August recess, the Congressional Candy Company is staging a once-in-a-lifetime sales event! Retiring members and those trailing badly in the polls have joined together to bring you this unprecedented clearance sale! Prices will never be lower! Pay just pennies on the dollar! Take advantage of these gigantic savings now!

Prices have been slashed to the bone on items such as:

· Sugar and tobacco subsidies!
· Highway construction funds!
· Timbering, drilling, and mining permits in national parks and forests!
· Tax breaks for your firm or industry!
· Grazing rights on range land!
· Water diversion for irrigation, development, and industrial expansion!
· Oil drilling in pristine areas and wildlife refuges!
· Defense contracts!
· Drainage and development of coastal wetlands!
· Deregulation!
· Maintaining high fuel consumption standards!
· Licenses for the emission or discharge of pollutants!
· Broadcast licenses and market monopolies!
· Unneeded military bases!
· Federal judgeships
· No-bid, no-risk construction contracts!
· Mercenary assignments in Iraq!

Yes, you heard me right! All of these things and more are for sale at unheard of low prices! This is just a sampling of the items available in our mammoth national warehouse! They won’t last long at these prices! Call our congressional offices today to see what is available in your area!

Is your accountant a nuisance about traceable purchases of influence?
Not to worry! No cash needed! We accept:

· Seats on your Board of Directors!
· Lobbying assignments for your industry!
· Positions at think tanks!
· Endowed chairs at colleges and universities!
· Jobs for our spouses and children ($60,000 minimum)!
· Use of yachts and private jets!
· Golf outings!
· Presidencies of foundations and universities
· Bulk orders of our memoirs!

And that’s only the beginning! Let your imagination run wild!. Surprise us with what you have to offer! Make us YOUR candy store—CONGRESS! “How sweet it is!”

© Tony Russell, 2007

"Political Poetry in Motion"

An Open Letter to Diane Berry and Rick Really:

I was disgusted after watching your TV show last week previewing the U.S. Diving Championships. You so-called experts batted around the names of numerous title contenders, and completely failed to mention John Conyers, the chair of the House Judiciary Committee! That is like covering baseball without mentioning Barry Bonds! Or dog fighting without Michael Vick!

Already this year, Conyers has pulled off one of the most difficult dives in congressional history. It was immediately recognized as one of the ten most spectacular dives ever taken, and has been replayed over and over again on ESPN.

By now everyone has seen the video clip. YouTube reports more than two million hits. Conyers poses on the diving tower when Republicans control the House, screaming for impeachment of the president and vice president. He bounces on the board, and springs into the air. He launches a petition drive where citizens can add their names to the impeachment cause, and establishes a website devoted to the administration’s crimes and the case for impeachment. He sends out e-mails to those who signed the petition, urging them to greater effort on behalf of impeachment.

Then, in a stunning upset, Democrats win control of the House of Representatives, and Conyers becomes chair of the House Judiciary Committee, where impeachment proceedings are supposed to begin.

With breathtaking aplomb, he goes into a sensational back flip, announcing his decision that the committee he chairs will not take up impeachment. The audacity of this move alone would insure him a place in the Divers’ Hall of Fame!

But that was only the beginning! It is the next stage of the dive that has made this an instant classic: A group of pro-impeachment citizens who have signed Conyers’ petition, who have joined with him in his impeachment effort, and who have supported his campaign for office show up to protest his action. In a maneuver that still draws oohs and ahs, he has them arrested and hauled off to jail!

As a combination of showmanship and technical mastery, Conyers’ dive may never be equaled. Only a few divers are capable of Conyers’ contortions; none can match the betrayal at the end. That twist, with its marvelous screwing effect, is political poetry in motion.

And this is the man whom you fail to even mention in your broadcast. How can you begin to account for such a glaring omission? John Conyers has been to impeachment what Paul Wolfowitz was to Iraq—theoretician, cheerleader, advocate, and architect. He deserved the spotlight, and you left him in the darkness. You owe him and all the other divers he represents an enormous apology. I will continue to champion Mr. Conyers’ cause until he gets the recognition he so richly deserves.

Sincerely,

© Tony Russell, 2007

"Dear Senator X"

Dear Senator X:

I recently sent you an e-mail via your congressional website about U.S. involvement in Iraq. I asked whether you supported a complete withdrawal of U.S. troops, or whether you supported a partial withdrawal with substantial forces left behind through the foreseeable future.

The directions on your website told me to select the topic of my e-mail from a drop-down menu, and I clicked “Iraq.” The letter I got from you did not give an answer to my question. It simply thanked me for sharing my thoughts on this topic and then went into talking points on Iraq that contained noble sentiments but remarkably few specifics.

I mention this because my neighbor also e-mailed you about Iraq. He wanted to know if multiple tours of duty were stretching our troops too thin. When he showed me the letter he received from you, we noticed that it didn’t address his question either. He compared his letter with mine, and they turned out to be identical, except for the name, address, and date.

My question is this: Does somebody actually read these e-mails, or is your website set up so that different form letters go out, depending on which topic the citizen clicks?

Sincerely,

Raymond Snodgrass


* * * * * *


Dear Senator X:

After my earlier experience with my e-mail on Iraq, I e-mailed you at your official website with my thoughts on immigration policy. Instead of clicking the “Immigration” tab on the drop-down menu, however, I clicked “Impeachment,” just to see what would happen.

Yesterday I received your letter thanking me for sharing my thoughts on impeachment, and assuring me that this was a subject of the gravest importance to you.

Actually, I do care about impeachment, but immigration policy was the real subject of my last e-mail. Did an actual human being ever look at it? I am clicking the “Global Warming” tab with this message as an experiment. I am curious to see what will result.

Sincerely,

Raymond Snodgrass


* * * * * *


Dear Senator X:

I believe your computerized answering system has a glitch in it, as my last e-mail to you dealt with your response to my ideas on immigration. However, I clicked the “Global Warming” tab at your website out of scientific curiosity. Imagine my surprise, therefore, to find your letter in my mailbox today thanking me for sharing my thoughts on “Genetic Research and Stem Cells.” With this response, I am clicking the tab on “Gay Marriage,” and can hardly wait to see what comes back. Your letters have become one of the highlights of my day.

I must say that I admire the warm, personal touch at the end of each of your letters, where you thank me once again for taking the time to write, express the hope that I will continue to be an involved citizen, and assure me that you rely heavily on input from people like myself.

Sincerely,

Raymond Snodgrass


* * * * * *


Dear Senator X:

My neighbor suggested that the best way to get an actual person to read an e-mail sent to Washington would be to include words and phrases that would kick the message out of the system and trigger human involvement. He thought that putting words like assassinate and president close together would probably do the trick. As you can see, I have just done that. My question about your position on the continued deployment of troops in Iraq—which is where this all began—is attached.

Sincerely,

Raymond Snodgrass


* * * * * *


Dear Senator X:

Imagine my surprise when Secret Service agents showed up at my home only two hours after I sent my last e-mail to your website. I am presently being held in a federal detention facility, and desperately need your intervention here. I am clicking the “Request for Assistance” tab and hoping for your immediate attention.

Sincerely,

Raymond Snodgrass

© Tony Russell, 2007