Something’s in the air around Washington, D.C. (District of Corruption). As with all politics in Washington these days you can smell it long before you see it. The prevailing smog these days indicates the wire tapping hearings are about to heat up and the oft maligned Patriot Act is due for further review. The time is right for some Abracadabra!

The President today, during a mild but brief attack of openness, let his fellow Americans know that those pesky terrorists had an important, and tall, structure in their sights a few years ago. That important and tall structure was somewhere west of the Mississippi River. My first guess was an oil well near Crawford, Texas. Wrong again you left wing, radical, lunatic, democrat! Turns out it was a skyscraper in Los Angeles.

Turn back the clock and jack that security alert up to the next highest color. Homeland Security was going to do it back then but, gosh, there was just so much going on. Besides which, if Homeland Security were to have done that, those left wing, radical, lunatic, democrats might have wondered how we found out about it. Wouldn’t want to get that crowd started. But it’s time for hearings and it’s time for further review. It’s time to dust off the fear card. Presto-changeo! Pull a rabbit out of the hat.

Not so many months ago the unpatriotic, anti-American, left wing, radical, lunatic, democrats tossed their red flag on the field of the Patriot act, demanding further review. During the review New York City was placed on an elevated terror alert and thousands of police hit the streets looking for, well they weren’t sure, but they were out their looking. New Yorkers trembled under the code red (as in flag) and the rest of the nation spent a few days looking over their shoulders under the code orange (as in agent). The fear card was played. Presto-changeo! Pull a rabbit out of the hat.

Even more smoke and mirrors before the non-event in NYC. This letter written by Zawahiri and posted to Zarqawi was intercepted, yes friends, intercepted right before their eyes. The contents of the letter read like a campaign speech in the United States. Everything that the President had been saying over the years since 9/11 was reinforced in the letter. Every single point was covered from Vietnam to our lackadaisical attitude to our tendency to forget. Thank God we intercepted that letter. Heaven only knows what would have happened if Zarqawi had gotten his hands on that.

Alas, the guilt was too much for the White House to bear. Interfering with the mails is a crime. In an attempt to come clean; the President, in an act of astounding contrition, went on national television, admitted tampering with the mail and then read the letter! Now I know you guys are going to call me one of those unpatriotic, anti-American, left wing, radical, lunatic, democrats, but I am left to wonder what the point was in intercepting the letter to Zarqawi, only to come back and read it to him?

So what’s the point? To my way of thinking the point is that the President has the credibility of a sideshow magician. Oliver North was commenting on this latest threat to Los Angeles on some talk show this evening and he said that he thought the timing was perfect. Ollie North, nuff said.

Did you hear us, Mr. President? You were there in Atlanta in a front row seat. Your back was to us but did you hear us? When Mr. Clinton was introduced did you hear us?

Did you hear a bunch of black folks whoppin’ it up? I bet you did. But it wasn’t a bunch of black folks whoppin’ it up. It was every black man and white man and poor man and every other man in this country that is fed up with the arrogance, fed up with the “oil war”, fed up with the payoffs and corruption. Fed up, Mr. President. So fed up that I can’t write enough words to ever explain it and even if I could you wouldn’t listen.

You don’t have time for us. If you had the time for us you would see our discontent and our sadness. You may not have time for us but for a brief moment today you heard us. You did hear us didn’t you, Mr. President? You were there in Atlanta in a front row seat. Your back was to us...

Okay, Mr. President, you have let the cat out of the bag and forced me out of the closet. Hello, my name is Tom and I’m an oilaholic.

For years I have struggled with my addiction and I have stood by while it has drained my wallet and, sometimes, forced me to do without the basic necessities all to feed this addiction of mine. How many times have I put gasoline in my car and put aside a loaf of bread? How many times have I given up attending this or that function because I was unable to feed my addiction? How many times have I turned the thermostat down to the low 60's just to keep my addiction fed, albeit in smaller doses.

And how deceptive it was of me to wrangle a job 27 miles away from my house just to have a built in excuse to waste even more money on my addiction. I imagine I could have gone to some website and earned thousands of dollars a month working out of my home but how could I have fed my need living the life of a non consumer?

I am weak but with your guidance I will take up arms against my sea of troubles. Never again will I put gasoline in my car. Never again will I turn my thermostat above 55 degrees. Never again will I buy any oil based products. I’ll just withdraw and sit at home. With the money I make from working at home I could buy a new home. My goal next month could be $5,000.

Or maybe, just maybe, I’ll freeze to death in the dark.

Go figure. I have lived long enough to remember life before the Super Bowl. Over those years it has become a laughable spectacle. But this one raises an interesting question to an old fart like me. Given the incredible amount that Motown has done for the music industry in this country and, dare I say, worldwide; what are the Rolling Stones doing in the halftime?

It was supposed to be Arts and Crafts for a week,
but when she came home
with the “Jesus Saves” button, we knew what art
was up, what ancient craft.

She liked her little friends. She liked the songs
they sang when they weren’t
twisting and folding paper into dolls.
What could be so bad?

Jesus had been a good man, and putting faith
in good men was what
we had to do to stay this side of cynicism,
that other sadness.

O.K. we said, one week. But when she came home
singing “Jesus loves me,
the Bible tells me so”, it was time to talk.
Could we say Jesus

doesn’t love you? Could I tell her the Bible
is a great book certain people use
to make you feel bad? We sent her back
without a word.

It had been so long since we believed, so long
since we needed Jesus
as our nemesis and friend, that we thought he was
sufficiently dead,

that our children would think of him like Lincoln
or Thomas Jefferson.
Soon it became clear to us: you can’t teach disbelief
to a child,

only wonderful stories, and we hadn’t a story
nearly as good.
On parents night there were the Arts and Crafts
all spread out

like appetizers. Then we took our seats
in the church
and the children sang a song about the Ark,
and Hallelujah

and one in which they had to jump up and down
for Jesus.
I can’t remember ever feeling so uncertain
about what’s comic, what’s serious.

Evolution is magical but devoid of heroes.
You can’t say to your child
“Evolution loves you”. The story stinks
of extinction and nothing

exciting happens for centuries. I didn’t have
a wonderful story for my child
and she was beaming. All the way home in the car
she sang the songs,

occasionally standing up for Jesus.
There was nothing to do
but drive, ride it out, sing along
in silence.

by
Stephen Dunn