It’s just occurred to me…somewhere, deep in the bowels of the White House, or the FBI Building, or Homeland Security, or maybe all three, is a guy whose job it is to read my stories, Not just my stories of course (although it’s very ego-gratifying to think that way, believe me), but all the anti-Bush satire that’s being printed or posted each day. Given the amount of anti-Bush sentiment these days, maybe a whole lot of guys out there who are reading my work, along with the work of guys like Kamal El Din, Ed E. Druckman, and the thousands of others who get up early in the morning or stay up late at night to put their anger at the Administration down on cyber-paper in a way that will make the people who read it laugh. .
Now, I’ve known all along that given the type of people who run our country and by extension our planet, if you decide to spend our time mocking them and their ideals, you’re bound to sooner or later come under scrutiny. Not the Crown Victorias with tinted windows parked outside your house kind of scrutiny maybe, but the kind of interest that gets generated when the keyword search program is set to spit out any phrase that includes George W. Bush, criminal, traitor, idiot, low IQ, homosexual, Christian, illegal war, gut Social Security, liar, cheat, Republican, wing nut, dolt, dummy, doofus, deranged or penile implant.
I suppose the way it works is this…one of those keywords occurs in a piece along with George Bush’s name. A computer nervously starts beeping or flashing some sort of traitor alert and a specially trained member of law enforcement sits up, wipes the crumbs from his or her shirtfronts and begins to read with an eye to finding the traitor within our midst. Once the agents weed out the emails from Dick Cheney to Paul Wolfowitz that contain those keywords about George Bush (and can you imagine how long that takes?), they must then read the entire thing to determine what kind of threat level the writer represents.
Now, here’s where it gets interesting, at least for me. I mean, some of these stories are really funny. Maybe not mine, as anyone who’ve read them can unfortunately attest to, but other guys stuff. And it’s not just a situation where it’s funny to Democrats and not Republicans; I think Bill Clinton was our best President since FDR, but I still read some pretty funny anti-Bill and Hillary stuff. I think Chelsea wrote most of it. The question is: what happens to the guy in the FBI basement who reads an anti-Bush satire and just can’t help laughing?
I imagine, given once again the amount of good satire out there that needs to be read, that these monitoring rooms look like vast rows of cubicles with computer monitors and maybe hundreds of guys all quietly reading, each with a copy of the Homeland Security Act in front of them to refer to, as a Supervisor sits behind his desk. Suddenly, from the far corner of the room, the Supervisor hears a, “Bwa-Hah Hah!” erupt from a cubicle. Then dead silence. He races around the aisles, trying to pin down the offender, but as he’s in that corner of the room another loud guffaw issues from the other side. Then another. Soon the room is awash with laughter and the Supervisor, with his tie askew and hair all mussed is racing back and forth screaming, “Stop it! Stop It! Stop it!” at the top of his lungs and crying like a little girl.
Now, add to this the fact the George W. Bush has spent a lot of time blaming the FBI and not himself for the security lapses that led to 9/11 and you begin to wonder if Satire Monitoring Duty isn’t one of the most sought after assignments in the organization. After all, the FBI recruits some really smart people, people who have to recognize the fact the Commander in Chief of the nation is really, when all is said and done, indeed a dope. And he’s their boss. No one likes working for a guy who’s stupider than they are. Think about your own bosses; you don’t like working for them, do you? Why should the folks in the FBI be any different?
Now, I don’t want anyone to think that by writing this piece I’m cravenly currying favor with the FBI Satire Squad, which I am of course; I just don’t want you to think it. It’s all just something I was thinking about as I idly sat, drinking my morning coffee and staring at the Crown Vic with the tinted windows parked across the street.