26 December 2024
Introduction
I HAVE TO ADMIT THAT 2024 HAS BEEN PRETTY HARD ON ME. EARLY IN THE YEAR, I PUT A LOT OF EFFORT INTO WRITING STRONG MESSAGES ABOUT POLITICS AND SOCIAL ISSUES. I HAVEN'T DONE ANY OF THAT SINCE THE ELECTION. BUT I THINK I MUST HAVE REALLY DRAINED MY RESERVES. I'VE BEEN FEELING PRETTY WASHED OUT.
WHEN THAT HAS HAPPENED IN THE PAST, I'VE FOUND THAT SOMETIMES IT HELPS TO JUST TAKE AN ENTIRELY DIFFERENT COURSE, FOR AWHILE. WITH REALITY TOO TOUGH, I THOUGHT MAYBE WRITING SOME FANTASY WOULD HELP RESTORE BALANCE. NOT NECESSARILY ELVES, GNOMES DRAGONS, OR BEAUTIFUL PRINCESSES PUT UNDER SPELLS BY EVIL WITCHES - JUST SOMETHING SO FAR-FETCHED THAT IT COULDN'T HAPPEN IN REAL LIFE - JUST NUTTY STUFF ABOUT LIFE IN THE PRESENT.
I THINK MAYBE I'VE CAPTURED A LITTLE OF THAT HAPPY-GO-LUCKY, NONSENSICAL FEEL IN MY NEW ESSAY. I THINK JUST WRITING IT HAS HELPED MY ATTITUDE QUITE A BIT. IT SEEMS LIKE JUST PLAIN FUN TO CONSIDER SOMETHING THAT COULD NEVER REALLY HAPPEN IN AMERICA.
I HOPE IT HELPS YOU, TOO.
HAPPY UPCOMING NEW YEAR!
SANDY
***
"Well, Mr. President, it looks like this may be the last interview..."
The President, who had been looking for something in one of his desk drawers, looked up and gave me a fierce scowl. "What do you mean by that?"
"Well, I was just thinking that, with the end so near..."
"Don't you believe that! It may look like we're a long way from getting rid of the Constitution, but we're close. We're really, really close to abolishing public voting, and more and more of our constituents are believing that a lifelong Presidency would be a good thing - with the mandate for the incumbent to name the successor, of course. The country seems willing to jail all the 'eco-freaks' - with the stipulation, that these criminals pay for all their own expenses while incarcerated. Now, I admit we're getting some resistance on the Vice-president's proposal to pass an executive order sanctioning the death penalty for card-carrying Democrats - well, he's proposed a law, not just an E. O., but we've got a few of the old-line, sissy Republicans carrying disruptive signs..."
"What signs? I hadn't heard that."
"I haven't really been paying attention. It's some old poem, or something. It starts out 'First they came for the socialists, and I did not speak out—because I was not a socialist.' Well, hell, why would anybody support a Socialist? It goes on, 'Then they came for the trade unionists, and I did not speak out...' Does anybody know what a trade unionist is? As I say, I don't get it, but the signs are causing some disruption."
"Sure, I understand your concerns, Mr. President but let's move on. You are noted for being absolutely correct on everything you say and believe - even if the 'truth' and the 'belief' only last a week, a day, or a few seconds. In all honesty, can you point out one time that you were really wrong about something significant?"
"Well, when you say 'significant,' I don't know... "
"Well, let's leave that term out. Anything maybe a bit insignificant?"
He scrunched up his eyes, thought for a while (or, at least, was quiet for a minute), put his head down on the desk, then sat upright. "Well, I guess those loony 'climate scientists' were right about one thing: there really was a 'tipping point.'"
I chuckled. "Yes, I guess we would have to say that. We seem to have really 'tipped'."
The President had a second thought (or whatever he called those little impulses he suffered from). "Yes, but you have to admit there wasn't any really clear evidence. My opinion was certainly as solid; well, solider, considering the source."
"Your opinions certainly always have been, Mr. President, no matter how things seemed to turn out. But, let's keep going. What do you think is one of your most significant successes?"
The President scrunched his eyes, again, causing deep depressions on his forehead. "Well, do you mean all-time, or recently?"
"Let's just say in the current administration."
"Oh, that's easy - a real soft-ball question, right? Well, what can I say? I was absolutely brilliant to divide the Department of the Interior into two offices, Interior and Exterior. Interior handles things like mining exploration, mineral extraction, overdevelopment of groundwater resources, damming of streams, clear-cutting of forest land, selling off the useless public lands to billionaire developers... well, that kind of stuff. We gave the Secretary a big new office right next to mine." He smiled. "Yep, that was a great move."
"What about the Secretary of the Exterior?"
"Who? Oh, her. Yeah, we picked some old lady who had a blog and a podcast on Social Media, talked about the little goldfinches in her bird bath all the time. We gave her an office in the basement - not the basement of Interior, of course - just some other basement somewhere on the other side of Dupont Circle. Not a big room - used to be a broom closet, I think - but big enough to handle what we send her. No phone down there - or, over there, wherever it is - so we don't hear from her much."
"What does she handle?"
"What do you mean?"
"Well, what programs does she coordinate?"
The President looked puzzled.
"Does she handle endangered species, for example?"
His eyes seemed to light up for an instant. "Oh, yeah. That's one, but we don't call them endangered, anymore. It's the Problem Species Program, now. They're the species that interfere with the workings of the Interior Department."
The President stopped, almost in mid-sentence. "You know, speaking of birds and stuff, it really frosted me when that old guy - Biden. Yeah, Biden - got to name our National Bird. I mean, shouldn't that have been done by somebody who really represents America - loves America, wants to make it great, again. Besides that, he clearly wasn't thinking straight. Why would a Democrat select a big, strong, manly bird - sure, a scavenger, but in a good way - cleaning up America. And Baldy steals food from weaker birds. Isn't that more a Republican trait than a namby-pamby Dem one?
"Personally, I think he should have picked old Ben Franklin's choice, the turkey. What's a turkey? Just a big chicken, isn't it? Well, in the long run, it wouldn't have made any difference. We would have thrown out the turkey choice as weak and bad for America. No, we got the big, strong, powerful, predatory eagle as the true symbol of a great America!"
The President paused, giving the impression he might be thinking about something. "You know, I'm kind of sorry we didn't let the Dems try to put the monarch butterfly on the Problem Species List."
"Oh, really?" I said. "That surprises me a bit. Republicans have always tried to keep species from being declared endang... I mean, tried to keep the Federal Government out of that business."
The Chief gave me an odd look. "I don't know where you get your information from - one of those liberal fake news joints? No, we always liked to get the Democrat Congress attempting to put animals or plants on the Problem Species List. You know, every species they considered had to have a full-scale law passed. There was always somebody objecting (usually, us), so the debate could go on for months - sometimes, years. While they were worrying about that, they didn't have the time to do any real legislative damage. We couldn't lose. Usually, the species never got listed, and when they did, we mostly ignored their supposed needs. That's a win-win!"
"Yes, I see how that could be, Mr. President."
"Well, I think we may tackle the monarch butterfly, yet. I got another great idea for it."
"Really? What is it?"
The President looked around the office, as if he might spy somebody listening in. He leaned across his desk toward me. "Well, you probably don't know this, but the butterfly is migratory."
"Migratory?"
"Migratory. You know, they fly from one place to another."
"Yes, I'm aware of that."
The President looked a little doubtful about that. "What you didn't know is that they fly right out of our country, and into Mexico."
I wanted to say I knew that, but decided against it, and just waited for the rest of the "great idea."
"Considering our opposition to immigration, and our forced deportations, one of my advisors pointed out that if these birds - he thought butterflies were birds! - if these insects left America willingly, we didn't have to allow them to come back in. Well, he was on the right track, in the sense that we don't have to protect other county's insects. We got these old treaties with Mexico and Canada that say we have to cooperate protecting migratory birds, but they say nothing about insects. But my so-called advisor is obviously not as sharp as me." He winked at me, knowing he was just stating the obvious. "I pointed out that most of our millionaire and billionaire supporters fly south in the winter, also, and it wouldn't be a good idea to restrict one species, and not the other."
He gave a chuckle, and momentarily I thought we were through with butterflies. I was wrong.
"I rejected the bad advice, but my brilliant mind was working on a better idea. What you don't know is that the butterflies that come to America in the spring are not the same butterflies that left America in the fall. You think that's impossible, but that's because you don't know about butterflies. They don't live very long. The ones that fly south lay their eggs, and then they die. The ones that fly north in the spring are the babies - not born on American soil, and so are aliens. Aliens! Do you see the possibilities?"
I wasn't sure I did, but I kept quiet.
"See, if they're aliens, we don't have to let them into our country. We can stop them at the Border. Then, they become a powerful bargaining chip. We only let them in, if Mexico gives us something we want - like no tariffs on products they want us to buy from them. Now, the Mexican government is tough - not as tough as my government, obviously - but they don't really care if human migrants starve and die along the Border. The migrants came there willingly, so they just have to take their chances. But think about the outcry around the world if millions of butterflies die while waiting to get permission to come north. Millions of beautiful orange bugs expiring helplessly from starvation, or battering their fragile wings against the Wall, in desperation - masses of dead butterflies so thick, that the lines of orange, going on for miles, can be seen from Space. Mexico would give us anything we asked, pretty quick!"
It's funny, I felt stunned. I had covered the Administration in the past, and knew pretty much what to expect, but for some reason this was just a little too much. I couldn't think of any questions to ask, so, commenting on the lateness of the hour, I started to gather up my belongings.
"Could your secretary call for a boat to take me back to my hotel?"
He looked at me oddly, then he seemed to get what I was saying. "Is it king tide time, again? Why don't you wait an hour or so - I got more ideas to share with you - and then in a little while you can just walk back to your lodgings."
I started to explain something, but he went on. "Here's a free piece of advice for you. All of the hotels here in D.C. are pretty shabby. Next time you're in town, try one of those nice resort hotels out east of here. They don't cost more, and they're sure a lot nicer. Most even have their own golf courses."
At first, I assumed he was joking, but he wasn't. "Mr. President," I finally said, "There isn't any 'out east of here.'"
Obviously, he didn't understand me. "Mr. President, we're not talking about high tides. The ocean - the Atlantic Ocean - now extends to the city limits. There's nothing east of here but deep blue ocean, with a few little islands poking out of the water here and there."
He took a few seconds to absorb that statement. "Really? My window faces west, so I guess I hadn't really noticed. It must be kind of like Florida. Nothing really above water south of the Panhandle. I was kind of worried about my little second home down there in the south, but I had the Corps of Engineers lift up my house, pile a hundred feet of dirt under it, and set it back down again. Now, I got a perfect little island retreat. We built a marina at the foot of the Tallahassee Hills, and it's only a couple hours trip by jet boat to get to my place. I have some great parties down there for my friends, and donors."
He seemed to be picturing the spot in his mind. "You know what was the most brilliant thing I did, about that situation. I declared my home island a separate country, not under U. S. rule. That means the FBI can't waltz in, to look for top-secret papers that I shouldn't have stored in the bathrooms. I don't get that, anyway. Doesn't everybody have some kind of reading matter in the john?
"Hey, here's something you may get a kick out of. Have you ever been on the long bridge that connects all the Florida Keys to the mainland? Well, of course there are no keys, anymore - no mainland, for that matter - but there's this big concrete highway running out into the ocean. It's a kick. I've landed on it in my helicopter, and I tell you it is something to see - this great big, long, highway, with not a car on it. That is cool!
"Hey, that reminds me of something else. Do you remember - no, you're too young. Anyway, when I was growing up, there were these guys on the radio. I guess you'd call them disc jockeys, although they didn't play much music - just joked around for a couple hours. Anyway, they were always coming up with schemes of some sort, and one of them was to build a bridge from San Francisco to Hawaii. It got off to a pretty good start - well, in their imagination. It never really happened. Anyway, interest cooled, and they ran out of money, after only a year or so of building. People wanted to use the bridge, even though it wasn't finished, so they opened it to use. Well, the first thing that happened was that they forgot to put any kind of barrier at the end of construction, so when the cars got there... Well, you can guess the obvious. So, that was kind of fun, but wasn't getting the bridge built. Then, they came up with an idea that was so good it might have come from me. They decided to let people keep using the bridge, but they added toll gates. Wow, the money started to pour in, after that." He gave a little chuckle. "Pretty good, huh?"
Well, soon after that, I convinced him that I really would need a boat to get me back to my hotel, and he had his secretary make the call. I thanked him for his time - and for our candid discussion - and made it back to the hotel, mostly dry-shod.
I sat on the edge of my bed, and pondered my problem. I didn't have anything to give my editor. Any story I wrote, as a result of my "interview," would bore the hell out of Progressives, Liberals, and Democrats in general. It was new stuff, but just really more of the old stuff we had come to expect. The Conservatives, Far Righters, MAGAs, and miscellaneous Republicans either wouldn't believe it, or would think his plans were great. I was stumped.
I couldn't help thinking about an issue a little more important than my story. I think (I'm not sure) he believed me when I said that the Atlantic Ocean was now right outside his door. I hadn't tried to tell him that California was mostly gone now - just a long ridge for the Coast Ranges, and a taller barrier where the Pacific was lapping at the western base of the Sierra Nevada. I assume somebody would tell him, eventually, but I think his "advisors" were always pretty leery about giving him what might be considered "bad news."
I got up, and checked the refrigerator in my room. I quickly gulped down the contents of the several little bottles of alcoholic beverage I found there. Then, I went down to the hotel bar for a nightcap.
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