The Moral Guardians of America

When it comes to dignity, traditional values, and common sense, you just can’t beat the right

by Bryan Zepp Jamieson

03/04/02

http://www.zeppscommentaries.com/Humor/guardians.htm

I thought I was watching a Monty Python sketch.

Here was the Attorney General of the United States, the nation’s top law enforcement officer, yodeling and grunting his way through some dismal thing about eagles flying in the sky (most eagles have a tough time flying anywhere else) in front of an aghast press. I watched in silence, wondering and not for the first time, why the man wasn’t in a straight jacket and locked away for his own protection.

My buddy wandered in, caught a glimpse of my screen, and furrowed his brow. "Zepp, what the hell are you watching?"

"John Ashcroft."

My friend leaned forward and peered. "Wow. It is. That’s amazing."

"I’ll say."

"It’s amazing what they can do with computers. Did you ever see that movie with the talking pig who is going to be butchered?"

"Babe?" My friend nodded. A talking and singing pig. I could see where there might be room for confusion there.

"I’ve watched, and they make the animals’ mouths move to actually form the sounds being made. Someone told me it’s for the hearing impaired."

"Um. This wasn’t done in computer graphic animation. The man is really up there, singing."

"Mother Fuh. Is this some sort of religious thing?"

"Nah, that comes later. See the big can of Crisco there?"

My friend peered at the computer screen. Modem connection, so the quality was pretty low. Fortunately. "He’s singing about eagles."

"Yeah."

"Eagles flying in the sky."

"Where else?"

"Why?"

"Because he’s hoping that everyone in the Department of Justice will like it, and start singing along with him."

"That will make all the evil doers in the world stop and think."

"Uh hum. Boy, what I wouldn’t give to be there with a calico cat right now."

My friend looked at me. "Look, I’ve already had my dose of lunacy for the day. Don’t you start in."

"You haven’t heard about Squirrelly John and calico kitties?"

"Do I want to hear this?"

"No, which is why I’m going to tell you. Ashcroft apparently has a thing about calico cats. When he was visiting embassies in Europe a couple of months ago, he supposedly sent people ahead to make sure that there weren’t any calico kitties on the embassy grounds."

"Are ambassadors notorious for keeping calico cats?"

"Not that I’ve heard. Cheshire cats, maybe, but not calicos."

"Then why...?"

"I thought you’d never ask. It seems that the Crisco Kid there thinks that cats in general are evil, but that three-colored cats are particularly evil, and apprentices to the devil."

"Does he really?" My friend watched Ashcroft churn his way through another indeterminable verse about the birdies in the sky. "Why isn’t that man locked up?"

"Oddly enough, I’ve found myself wondering the same thing. So are you going to watch the boxing match tonight?"

"I thought you didn’t like boxing."

I shrugged. "I don’t."

"Then why the hell do you care if I’m watching boxing tonight or not?"

"I figure to watch."

"You plan to watch something you hate. You’re messing with my head, aren’t you?"

I shrugged.

"You see? Zepp, this is why you don’t get many dates. Why do you always have to pull this crap?"

"I don’t get many dates because my wife would have my testicles hanging off her rear view mirror if I tried such a thing."

"You’re so whipped." My friend sighed. "OK, I’ll bite. Tell me about this goddamned boxing match you’re going to watch."

"OK, it’s on Fox. Girl boxing, three rounds. The first contestant is Tonya Harding."

"I always knew she’d go places. I take it no tire irons or hubcaps are allowed."

"Not while the ref is watching, anyway."

"Boy, who needs PBS when you can have quality entertainment like that? I can’t tell you how impressed I am with your taste and discernment right now. So who’s she fighting?"

"Paula Jones"

"You’re kidding."

"Was I kidding when I told you Henry Kissinger got the Nobel Peace prize?"

"No."

"Was I kidding when I told you Bush had picked Dan Quayle as his running mate?

"No."

"Was I kidding when I told you that the Supreme Court had ruled that a recount of disputed ballots could irreparably harm George W’s chances?"

"No."

"Then why should I be kidding now?"

"Man, has she ever fallen."

"I guess that depends on how you define ‘fallen.’ Slid sideways is more like it. The only real difference is that now she doesn’t have a bunch of right wing millionaires propping her up and painting her as a wronged saint in order to slime the president."

"Wow. White Trash versus White Trash. How do you tell which is which?"

"I guess Paula will be the one in the red, white, and blue trunks screaming, ‘Not the nose! Not the NOSE!’"

"Trunks?" An expression of horror crossed my friend’s face. "They aren’t doing this topless, are they?"

"That might be a bit much, even for Fox. But it could only add to the dignity and class of the whole thing."

"You aren’t making this up."

"I swear on the tomb of Republican integrity."

"Incredible."

We spent a few minutes watching the gyrations and grunts of the nation’s top cop. On a whim, I started it running backward. It didn’t help.

My friend looked at me. "You bastard. You swaybacked, gap-toothed, pimply-faced, mealy-mouthed, self-righteous bastard!"

"What? What?"

"You’re going to make me ask, aren’t you?"

"I’m not making you do anything. Will you calm down? You look like you’re going to have a stroke!"

My friend glared at me, breathing heavily, clenching and unclenching his fists. He pulled his head back a bit, took a deep breath, slowly inhaled, and then looked at me with the mute, hurt eyes of an animal caught in a vicious trap. Sometimes, life is sweet.

"When’s it on?"