"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 his 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