Episode 10: Slouching Toward Oblivion

"I am against government by crony."
- Harold Ickes, resigning as Secretary of the Interior in 1946

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When barrages of jokes about politicians in power approach cyber-saturation, the end is surely near, or at least we can hope. Some contributions from loyal readers (thanks, Hugh and Chris):

*Donald Rumfeld is giving President Bush his daily briefing. He concludes by announcing that "Yesterday, three Brazilian soldiers were killed."
"Oh NO!" the President exclaims. "That's terrible!"
His staff sits stunned at this display of emotion, nervously watching as the President sits, head in hands.
Finally, the President looks up and asks, "How many is a brazillion?"

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Where does George Bush stand on Roe V. Wade?
He didn't care HOW they got out of New Orleans.

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BUSH HAIKU*
(*Poem composed entirely of actual quotations from George W. Bush.)

I think we all agree, the past is over.
This is still a dangerous world.
It's a world of madmen and uncertainty and potential mental losses.

Rarely is the question asked,
Is our children learning?
Will the highways of the Internet
Become more few?

How many hands have I shaked?
They misunderestimate me.
I am a pitbull on the pantleg of opportunity.

I know that the human being
And the fish can coexist.
Families is where our nation finds hope, where our wings take dream.

Put food on your family!
Knock down the tollbooth!
Vulcanize society!
Make the pie higher!

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LESS THAN GRAND JURY
Speaking of cronies, we have the case of Irving "Scooter" Libby, consul to Vice President Vader, who has run afoul of a federal grand jury in Chicago. Delighted as those of us on the left might be that someone has started smoking out the weasel holes, the method used is an instrument of the Dark Ages.
There are many kinds of juries, from a day in municipal traffic court on to state and federal grand juries requiring up to a month of service. Annoying, yes, inconvenient, certainly.
But then there's the special "Investigative Grand Jury." It is there that the legal cliche that grand juries "can be made to indict a ham sandwich" comes to full fruition.
It goes like this. A "Jury Summons" arrives in the mail, an event as intimidating as notice of an IRS audit. You are informed that if you don't do exactly as it says, you will be subject to unspecified sanctions. You go to the courthouse, as directed, where you sit for two to four hours in a large room with about three hundred other people. No one tells you what is happening.
Eventually, you are questioned by several lawyers and a judge. You are accepted for service. They make you take an oath. And they inform you that every Tuesday and Thursday of the next eighteen months you will have to report to that courthouse for jury duty. You live three hours away? Your mother is in intensive care? You have to go to Omaha to keep your job? Tough.
The jury room will be too hot or too cold. You'll listen to the prosecutor and his assistants make jokes and insist that you're going to enjoy the next eighteen months. If you don't show up, marshals will come to your house, handcuff you, and bring you in. Your keepers will remind you of this every day. There are additional unspecified but ominous sanctions available.
There are forms to fill out and a lot of waiting to do. The prosecutor announces that people will be called into the room. Whatever their status, as witnesses or accused, they are denied the presence of counsel. They are stared at by 25 or more pairs of eyes as they testify, while the prosecutor asks the same questions three or four different ways. The people on the stand are understandably terrified, especially if they are innocent of wrongdoing.
Jury members are instructed to determine whether individuals providing testimony are telling the truth. How this might be accomplished is left unanswered. Jury members can't question the witnesses. Afterwards, they can ask the prosecutor to pose questions to witnesses, who are kept waiting outside. Although the prosecutor is allegedly only "legal advisor" to the grand jury, this is a sham, and he or she will usually refuse.
Provided with only the information the government wishes to present, provided only by the witnesses they choose to summon, and with no opportunity to hear opposing argument, the jury usually winds up delivering the judgement the government seeks. It is a classic Star Chamber proceeding, reminiscent of the Inquisition. Based upon old English law, as is most of our legal system, grand juries have been around since before the American Revolution.
The British abolished their grand juries seventy years ago.
Citizens selected for jury service are drawn from voter registration rolls.

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NO COMMENT
A recent report by the Pew Research Center in Washington said that 42 percent of Americans believe that creationism should be taught instead of evolution.

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FLOUNDER IN BEER BATTER
A near-foolproof recipe to recapture the essence of summer by seaside.
Serves 4

One and one-half pound flounder (or similar) fillets
Lemon juice (bottle OK)
Salt and pepper to taste.
Two large eggs, yolks and whites separated
One-half cup beer
One-half cup flour
One-half teaspooon baking powder
Oil for frying

1. Cut the fillets into three-by-four-inch pieces. Sprinkle with lemon juice and salt and pepper. Set aside.
2. Combine the egg yolks, beer, flour, and baking powder. Mix thoroughly.
3. Whip the egg whites until stiff.
4. Gently fold the egg whites into the batter until incorporated.
5. Heat the oil until almost smoking (about 375 degrees). Put the fish pieces into the batter and shake off the excess. Fry a few pieces at a time, without crowding. Turn gently with a slotted spoon when they rise to the surface. Drain on paper towels. Serve.