Beating Around the Bush

by Buchwald, Art

  James Bond and WMD

  I AM WRITING the next James Bond movie. The opening scene is with M calling James while he is resting with Nicole Kidman in a monastery in Tibet.

  M tells him to get back right away. The next scene shows Bond in M’s office.

  “This is important. The Prime Minister wants you to go to Iraq and find weapons of mass destruction. He told the British people Iraq had them, and that is why we joined the U.S. in a preemptive war against Saddam Hussein.”

  “Why can’t the CIA do that?”

  “They assured President Bush that Iraq had the weapons, but now they just can’t find any. The president is a big fan of yours and Don Rumsfeld has told him if anyone can find the WMD, Bond can.”

  The next scene shows Bond on an Air France plane. The beautiful stewardess (Juliette Binoche) says to him, “Why do the British hate us?”

  Bond says, “We don’t hate you. The Americans hate you. I’ll explain it to you when we get to the Baghdad Hilton, room 25.”

  When he gets to his hotel, a CIA agent (Harrison Ford) who works as a room clerk, meets him in the lobby. “Welcome to the land of democracy. What brings you here?”

  “I’m looking for weapons of mass destruction.”

  “Aren’t we all?”

  “Our people say that the CIA people assured Bush and Blair they were here.”

  “That’s what they wanted to hear.”

  “Well, Blair could lose the election if we don’t find any.”

  The CIA agent says, “Bush doesn’t have that problem. He says Saddam has them hidden somewhere, or he destroyed them, or sold them to Syria. And he’ll get re-elected even if we don’t find any.”

  Bond says, “I think I’ll take a shower. If a beautiful French stewardess asks for me let her up, and send two dry martinis, a bottle of Dom Perignon, and a pound of foie gras.”

  “Are we supposed to charge it to MI6?” the CIA agent asks.

  Bond replies, “Charge it to the CIA. You people have more money than we do.”

  The next scene shows Bond getting out of the shower wearing nothing but a bath towel.

  There is a knock on the door. It is Juliette Binoche. She is wearing a leather jacket and leather pants from Christian Dior. The champagne arrives a few minutes later. Bond tips the waiter and as soon as he leaves he gives the stewardess a long kiss. They fall on the bed.

  The next shot pans to a rumpled bed where Juliette is smoking a Gauloise cigarette. She says, “That was fantastic. Why does the coalition hate the French people?”

  “The coalition doesn’t hate only the French people—it hates anyone in the UN who did not support us when we went to war.”

  Juliette goes to her purse and takes out a pistol. “First you make love—then you die. I am really a member of the Baath Party and you are an infidel.”

  Bond has his hands up, “I knew you weren’t an airline stewardess when I saw a picture of Saddam in the washroom. Tell me one thing. Does Iraq have weapons of mass destruction?”

  “I don’t know. I am only in charge of assassinations.”

  Juliette pours herself a glass of champagne, and while she is putting foie gras on her toast, Bond grabs her pistol. They wrestle on the floor. The CIA room clerk comes in with three agents and takes her away.

  The phone rings. Bond answers it. He tells M, “I think I found the WMD. They are on the 18th hole at the Baghdad Country Club, where the U.S. army failed to look.”

  M says, “That’s good. Now Tony Blair won’t have to resign.”

  The Bookies

  IN SPITE OF THE MEDICARE BILL, private health insurance is now a bigger gamble than ever before. The health insurance companies are betting you will not get sick. And you are betting you will.

  The health insurers are like bookies. They all want their cut.

  Here is a typical scene.

  MAN: I would like to place a bet that I might get sick.

  HEALTH INSURANCE UNDERWRITER: We will be happy to take the bet. If we lose we pay off within thirty days.

  A year goes by.

  MAN: I was sick and you lost our bet. I’m still waiting to get paid.

  INSURANCE CLAIM ADJUSTER: Not so fast wise guy. How do we know you were sick?

  MAN: I had a herniated disc and it had to be operated on. I have all the bills from the hospital to show you.

  ADJUSTER: Everyone has bills from the hospital. You have to prove your operation was necessary.

  MAN: You can speak to my doctor.

  ADJUSTER: Doctors don’t always tell the truth. If they didn’t operate they wouldn’t make any money.

  MAN: So how do I get you to pay off?

  ADJUSTER: We have a girl named Francesca in the claims department. She decides whether you have had a necessary operation or not.

  MAN: Is she a doctor?

  ADJUSTER: No, but she graduated from high school with B average.

  MAN: See here, mister. We made a bet and you lost and you are trying to get out of paying me.

  ADJUSTER: Did you read the fine print on your policy? It says, “In case of illness, the insurance company of the first part does not have to give the party of the second part (the client) money for five years after the policy goes into effect. All premiums collected during that period go to lawyers in case the party of the second part decides to sue the party of the first part.”

  MAN: I couldn’t read the small print because it was too small.

  ADJUSTER: I can sell you a policy for people with weak eyes.

  MAN: I don’t think you want to pay me.

  ADJUSTER: That is not true. The other day we paid off on a policy for a lady who fell down the stairs in a department store and we settled with her for one thousand dollars as long as she doesn’t tell anyone about it.

  MAN: I’m getting the runaround from people I trusted and put my heart and soul in. How can you do this to somebody?

  ADJUSTER: We have to make a profit too. We can’t let deadbeats steal money out of the mouths of the stockholders.

  MAN: Do you have a policy for people who are afraid that insurance companies will defraud them?

  ADJUSTER: No, because it would be too expensive for us to pay off.

  The Iraqi Stock Market

  IRAQ WILL NEVER get on its feet unless it has a stock market.

  Geoffrey Bottomly, an expert in finance, went over to Baghdad to give the Iraqis some advice.

  “In order to have a democratic society you have to have a stock market so people can invest in the future.”

  “Yes,” said Adama Adama, “I understand that. The U.S. fought a war so we could become part of the capitalistic system. But how do we do this?”

  “You have to have private companies that make goods for the global market. To do this people have to own shares. The more shares you have the richer you become.”

  “I read something about it in the Wall Street Journal,” Adama said. “But aren’t some of the people in America who run these companies guilty of dirty tricks?”

  “No. There are a few guys on top who dip into their company’s pension funds or skim money through Panama and Lichtenstein, but we don’t believe Iraq will do that because you are honest and law-abiding people. At least you will be after you get a police force.”

  Adama said, “If anybody steals from our people we cut off his hands.”

  “Let me give you an example of Western capitalism. You are the president of Infidel Saddam Gas and Oil Company. Everyone wants your gas and oil, but Americans will give you the best price for it. Oil is not why we invaded your country—in spite of what the French say,” Bottomly tells Adama.

  “What happens if my company loses money?” Adama asks.

  “Your shareholders will be furious. And in order to placate them you, as CEO, will fire half your workers and give yourself a raise.”

  “You mean in America you don’t cut off the hand of the CEO?”

  “You don’t have to. The more people you lay off the more your stock will go up
.”

  “I’m a Shiite. Should I sell shares to the Sunnis and Kurds?”

  “No, to prevent tribal war you can have a Shiite stock market, a Sunni market and a Kurdish market.”

  Bottomly continued, “Now this is the interesting part—if your company goes belly-up the CEO resigns.”

  “And that is when I cut off my own hand?”

  “No, instead when you resign you get a $20 million severance pay, thousands of stock options, bonuses, a house in Greenwich Connecticut and a helicopter twice the size of the Black Hawks that are flying all over Iraq.”

  “Who gives me all this?”

  “Your board of directors who helped you bankrupt the company. It’s better to be a director than an investor.”

  “Can we cut off the hands of the board directors?”

  “No, the directors will still have jobs as consultants to advise how to get the company out of the mess they made in the first place.”

  “That means no one goes to jail.”

  Bottomly said, “The most important thing you must do when investing in the Iraq Stock Market is not pay taxes. We have shelters in the U.S. similar to the shelters in Baghdad. As soon as the Iraqi Tax Service comes sniffing around you hide in one of your shelters.”

  “When do I cut off someone’s hand?”

  “We prefer to cut interest rates instead.”

  Bless the World

  KELSEY KEMPER VALENTINE, the twelve-year-old daughter of a friend of mine, asked me, “Why does President Bush say at the end of his speech, ‘God bless America’ instead of ‘God bless the world’?”

  It was a very interesting question and deserved an answer.

  I told her, “It’s because he doesn’t want God to bless everyone in the world. There are a lot of people and places he doesn’t want God to bless.”

  “Why not?”

  “When the president gets mad at someone he wants God to know about it. For example, he certainly doesn’t want God to bless Osama bin Laden or Saddam Hussein, if they are still alive.”

  Kelsey was listening to every word.

  I continued. “And he doesn’t want God to bless Castro, the Taliban or Hamas in Palestine.”

  Kelsey asked, “How does Bush decide who God should not bless?”

  I replied, “He meets with his top advisors and they brief him on who God should bless. For example, he doesn’t want anyone in the UN that voted against America to be blessed. You never heard Bush say, ‘God bless France’ or Germany or Russia or Iran. Once the decision is made—that’s it.”

  Kelsey looked perplexed.

  “Now it’s obvious the president doesn’t want God to bless terrorists. He consults with the CIA and Attorney General Ashcroft. The only time he wants God to bless them is when they have had a military trial and are going to be executed.”

  Kelsey nodded as I continued, “This is important. When Bush says ‘God bless America,’ he is not talking about all Americans. He is only asking God to bless Republicans, conservative supporters and Vice President Cheney. He also doesn’t want God to bless liberal members of the media, and naturally, the Americans who did not support him in Iraq as well as traitors who still think there are no weapons of mass destruction in Iraq.”

  Kelsey asked, “How does God know who the president really wants him to bless?”

  “God knows Bush very well. He knows what is really in his heart. That is what makes him a great president.”

  “How does God have time to do everything Mr. Bush wants him to do?”

  “He makes time. America is one of his favorite causes. He always answers President Bush’s calls and never puts him on hold. Bush has a red phone on his desk, and it’s a special line that no one else uses.”

  “Doesn’t he have a cell phone when he is traveling?” Kelsey asked.

  “Yes, and when he is on Air Force One he is patched into heaven. The U.S. has the most modern communications of any country in the world.”

  I said, “Kelsey, you are very smart to ask the question. Most adults wouldn’t ask. As a matter of fact, many people think the president is God, which of course, is not true.”

  “Are you going to be in trouble for saying all this?”

  “No, but Jerry Falwell will be mad as hell.”

  I Won’t Be Home for Christmas

  IT IS CHRISTMAS in the year 2020. The American troops are still in Iraq. Bing Crosby is singing “White Christmas” over the loudspeaker.

  Most of the soldiers have been here since Christmas 2003. They are homesick and also mad at the presidents who succeeded Dubya.

  Each one promised the men that they would be home by Christmas, but not one of them said which Christmas.

  Tom Brokaw the Third (no relation to Tom Brokaw the First) is now anchorman for the merged CBS, NBC and ABC Networks. He is in Baghdad to see how morale is holding up.

  On his evening news program he says, “The soldiers have just been told they will have to be here for another year—until the chaos quiets down and the various religious factions stop their fighting.

  “Standing next to me is Master Sergeant Jason Marks, who has been here since the war started in 2003. He is attached to Third Infantry Division.

  “Sergeant, it has been a long time, hasn’t it?”

  “Yeh, but somebody has to get the job done.”

  “Are you sorry you have to be here at Christmas time?”

  “Well, if I had my druthers I’d rather be home with my grandchildren. But I’m a soldier I am not going to question what the people in the Pentagon want me to do.

  “The Iraqis are fine people and once the U.S. Army trains them to have a police force we’ll be outta here and ready to go home.”

  Tom asks, “How long will it be?”

  “Don’t know. Every time we build a police station the Baath Party blows it up.”

  Brokaw says, “I’m now going to talk to a PFC tank driver named ‘Peanuts’ Barcelona. Peanuts how do you feel about spending another year guarding the Iraqi oil wells?”

  “I’m mad as hell and I’m not going to take it anymore. My girl left me in 2012 and married the guy who fixed her water heater. It hurt because I knew her when she was thirty-five years of age.”

  “Is guarding the oil wells a very important job?” Tom asks.

  “It’s a dirty job because the sand keeps blowing up and I have to clean the engines every day.”

  “You are not like the sergeant I interviewed who said he would stay here as long as it was necessary.”

  “I only enlisted for four years and they keep extending it every Christmas. Why should I be happy?”

  “Thanks Peanuts. I have a civilian here, Bill Gadzuk, who is still looking for weapons of mass destruction. Mr. Gadzuk, you started looking for the weapons in 2003. Any luck so far?”

  Gadzuk says, “We’re getting close. We found an abandoned mobile home rusting in a garbage dump. It could have easily been used to make poison gas. We became suspicious when we saw it had a ‘For Sale’ sign on the windshield.”

  “Any thoughts about being here for Christmas?”

  “No, I am a tenor in the Ist Marine Chorus and Drum Corps, and we give a concert every year for all the troops.”

  Brokaw finishes his broadcast, “And so it is another Christmas in Baghdad, and although it is still not all peace, it’s a good start. As the president said in his State of the Union Speech, ‘We’ll stay here until the job is done.’”

  Who Remembers Watergate?

  THE FACT THAT NIXON did or did not know about the Watergate break-in didn’t bother me. What bothered me was that the people in my living room didn’t know what Watergate was.

  I tried to pique their interest. “Watergate was one of the most important events in the this country’s history,” I said.

  O’Reilly asked, “Was it a dam?”

  “No, it was an office building,” I said patiently. “Someone broke into the Watergate to steal the files of the Democratic Party.”

  Their
eyes glazed over. O’Reilly said, “Why the big deal? People break into buildings all the time.”

  “But this was a political break-in. The Republicans hired the robbers to steal the files of the Democrats. When they found out who was behind it, it became the biggest scandal in the country and brought down a president of the United States.”

  Bubba said, “President Kennedy?”

  “No dummy. President Nixon. Don’t you know who Nixon was?”

  “Not really. I flunked American History.”

  I explained, “President Nixon went on television during the scandal and said, ‘I am not a crook.’ Later on they proved he lied.”

  Bettina, in her early thirties, and a mother of two said, “What difference does it make? I was hardly born then.”

  “It makes a difference because we had to know what Nixon knew and when he knew it.”

  Alexa said, “How did we know what he knew and when he knew it?”

  “Jeb Magruder, one of the president’s top aides said that he heard Nixon give the green light for the break-in. Didn’t you see him on PBS the other night?”

  Alexa said, “No, we were watching American Idol.”

  I continued, even though I knew I was losing ground. “Not everyone believes Magruder because it took him thirty years to say anything.”

  Nelson said, “I was born in 1972, so I never read anything about it.”

  “Now here’s the kicker,” I told the group. “Several experts on Watergate don’t believe Magruder’s story even though he became a Presbyterian minister when he got out of jail.”

  I could tell by their body language that they were getting bored. I said, “Has any one of you heard of Deep Throat?”

  O’Reilly said, “I thought it was a porno movie.”

  “No. Deep Throat was a whistleblower for Woodward and Bernstein, the two reporters who were on the story. Deep Throat met with them in a parking garage at night and gave them the roadmap to Nixon’s involvement.”

  Nelson asked, “Who was Deep Throat?”

  “Nobody knows. The reporters have kept it a secret. The only secret ever kept in Washington.”

  People started to leave the room one by one. It dawned on me that no one under fifty remembered Watergate.