by Dave Barry
Today, our foreign policy is so secret that not even the President really knows what it is, which is why he is concerned about leaks. He doesn’t want to be embarrassed at a press conference when some smart-mouth reporter asks him a question about why we’re secretly sending arms to one of those humid little countries in Central America that the forces of international communism are always trying to spread into, and he doesn’t know the answer. So the President came up with this plan whereby if the public ever gets hold of any classified government documents, which basically means all government documents except the Zip Code directory and those cretin newsletters your congressman sends you at your expense, the government employees who could have leaked the information will have to take lie-detector tests, and if it turns out they are guilty they will be fired or shot or something.
Needless to say, the American Civil Liberties Union, an organization of left-wing communists, claimed Reagan’s plan is unconstitutional, but this is typical. The ACLU is always yakking about the Constitution, and most of us are getting mighty tired of it. I mean, if the Constitution is so great, how come it was amended so many times? Huh?
Personally, I think the President’s idea is excellent. My only concern is who’s going to administer the lie-detector tests. We don’t want government employees doing it, because they’d mess it up somehow. It would wind up like one of those Army Corps of Engineers projects where they’re trying to irrigate four beet farms in Texas but they end up causing most of Iowa to be washed into the Gulf of Mexico.
So I think we should turn the lie-detecting operation over to the Private Sector, by which I mean F. Lee Bailey, the famous criminal trial lawyer who is widely considered to be extremely brilliant despite the fact that he always gives me the impression he’s coated with a thin layer of slime. Bailey has this television show called “Lie Detector,” wherein famous people such as Ronald Reagan’s barber take lie-detector tests, then, in the highly dramatic climax, Bailey oozes up and reveals the results. I think this would be an appropriate forum for investigating suspected leakers:
BAILEY: Mr. Carbuncle, you’re Assistant Secretary of State for Really Pathetic Little Countries, is that correct?
CARBUNCLE: Yes.
BAILEY: Okay, here’s an innocent question to put you at ease. How are you?
CARBUNCLE: Fine, thank you.
BAILEY: Are you the person who told the New York Times about the secret CIA plan to drop 250,000 poison attack frogs on left-wing guerrillas in the Republic of Belize?
CARBUNCLE: No.
BAILEY: Mr. Carbuncle, our polygraph machine, which has been monitoring your pulse rate and blood pressure, indicates that you are telling the truth. Either that or you have just suffered a massive heart attack. Here’s an autographed picture of the President grooming his horse, and thanks a million for being our guest on “Lie Detector.” Folks, be sure to stay tuned, because next we’re going to see if we can figure out who leaked the plan to sell nuclear bazookas to rival street gangs in the South Bronx.
States For Sale, Cheap
For more than a year now, President Reagan and the Congress have been working very hard on reducing government spending, so it should come as no surprise to anybody that they have managed to increase it. This is because the atmosphere in Washington, D.C., tends to lower people’s intelligence. You’ve probably noticed this. You elect all these sharp people, full of brilliant ideas, and you send them to Washington, and after a few months of breathing the atmosphere they start behaving like brain-damaged turnips. As soon as they leave Washington, their IQs start to rise again.
This is why congressmen go on so many trips. Each congressman has a herd of aides who watch him constantly, and as soon as he starts to drool, or forget how to put on his pants, the aides send him off to Switzerland or someplace on a so-called fact-finding mission, which is really just a desperate attempt to get him away from Washington long enough to boost his IQ back to the level of, say, a cocker spaniel’s. The President has the same problem, which is why he almost always gets packed off to Camp David during times of international tension. His aides are afraid that if they leave him in Washington, he’ll start babbling into the hot line and set off World War III.
The problem is that the only place where the President and the Congress can work on economic problems is Washington, because the economy is stored there, in a large Treasury Building vault. This means that the longer they work on the budget, the worse it gets. So the solution to our budget problems will have to come from someone who spends very little time in Washington, someone whose brain has not been affected by the atmosphere. Me, for example.
I have been thinking about the budget for several minutes now, and I believe I have come up with an excellent way to reduce it and maybe raise some money to boot. Here’s my plan: We can sell excess states.
The way I see it, we have far too many states, many of them serving no useful purpose whatsoever. I first noticed this some years ago when my wife and I drove from Pennsylvania to Colorado. It took us practically forever to get there, mainly because there were all these flat, boring states in the way. Take Kansas. Kansas just sits there, taking up an enormous amount of space that you are required to drive across if you want to get to Colorado. Fortunately, the Stuckey’s Corporation has been thoughtful enough to locate a restaurant roughly every eighty miles along Interstate 70, so we were able to stop and buy cute little gift boxes containing a dozen miniature pecan pies, which is just enough pecan pies to keep two people occupied until the next Stuckey’s so they don’t go insane with boredom and drive off the interstate at speeds approaching a hundred miles per hour, threatening both human and animal life. Not that there was all that much visible life in Kansas.
Now don’t get me wrong. I have nothing against Kansas persons. I’m sure that, wherever they are, they’re a fun bunch. I’m just saying we can save a lot of money, and make it much easier for people to get from Pennsylvania to Colorado, if we sell Kansas and move the Kansas persons to, say, Iowa, which looks a lot like Kansas (only narrower) and seems to have plenty of extra space.
Another thing. I see no reason why we need both a North and a South Dakota. One Dakota ought to be sufficient. My personal opinion is that we should sell South Dakota, because the capital is called “Pierre,” but I’m willing to leave the final decision up to the Congress. I’m just saying one of them should go. We should also try to sell California and New York, of course, but I doubt anybody would be stupid enough to buy them.
Another thing. If we sold some states, we’d have fewer state legislatures. I have never really understood why we have state legislatures in the first place. If they’re not raising their salaries, they’re arguing over some lunatic law nobody ever asked for. For example, in my state, Pennsylvania, the legislature is obsessed with Official State Things. Our legislators have named an Official State Animal; an Official State Bird; an Official State Dog (it’s the Great Dane, and God alone knows why); an Official State Fish; an Official State Flower; and an Official State Tree. They have even named an Official State Insect. I’m not kidding. It’s the firefly. What does all this mean? Does it mean that if you squash a firefly in Pennsylvania, official state agents will track you down, using Great Danes, and arrest you?
I don’t know the answers to these questions. All I know is that the state insect, as well as the state legislature, would become someone else’s problem if we sold Pennsylvania. So I’m all for it. I’d be perfectly happy to move to Iowa, along with the Kansas persons. My only concern is that my plan might be a bit tough on the folks at Stuckey’s, who make a terrific pecan pie.
There Auto Be A Law
I think we Americans ought to go right out and buy some American cars. Nobody has bought an American car since 1977, and this has had profoundly negative effects on the nation, the main one being a lot of whiny television commercials:
“Hi, I’m Telly Savalas, here to tell you that under Ford’s desperate new program, you don’t have to pay for maintenan
ce and repairs. In fact, you don’t even have to pay for the car, or drive it, or anything. All you have to do is sign a piece of paper stating that if you were going to buy a car, it might conceivably be a Ford.”
Unless we want to see more of this kind of thing, we’re going to have to buy some American cars pronto. Most of us could use new cars anyway. My wife and I have been driving the same cars for more than five years, and they’re starting to get a little rank, especially the one the dog threw up in on the way to the veterinarian’s office. The other one, which we use to cart our nineteen-month-old son around in, smells a little better, but it has ninety billion cracker crumbs permanently bonded to the backseat by hardened saliva.
Also, we have a lot of junk in the glove compartment, mostly in the form of a series of recall letters from the manufacturer:
July 3, 1977
“Dear Mr. Barry:
Under the terms of United States Department of Transportation Regulation 23947-54B, we are required to notify you that there exists the possibility of a potential radiation condition with respect to the wireless receiver installed in certain of our automobiles at the time of manufacture, and owners of said vehicles are therefore requested to contact their authorized sales representative with respect to an adjustment of the aforementioned potential possible condition described heretofore.”
February 4, 1978
“Dear Mr. Barry:
A review of our records indicates that you have not responded to our earlier recall notice with respect to the potential radiation danger from the radio in your car. Your prompt attention to this matter would be appreciated.”
October 8, 1978
“Dear Mr. Barry:
Please bring your car to the dealer right away and don’t turn on the radio because you will get very sick and all your hair will fall off.”
June 17, 1979
“Dear Mr. Barry:
If you are still alive, do not bring your car or yourself anywhere near the dealer. Instead, leave the car in a lightly populated area and flee on foot. We’ll try to detonate it with helicopter-mounted bazookas.”
So far, we haven’t responded to the recall campaign because we’ve been fairly busy, and besides we like the convenience of being able to locate our car in darkened parking lots by the glow. But I think we’re going to get a new car, because we want to get Telly off the air and receive a large sum of money in the form of a rebate. In fact, we may buy several cars and retire.
If you want to buy a car, you should know that under federal law you are now required to get one with front-wheel drive. The advantage of front-wheel drive is that it’s good in the snow, so when there’s a really bad storm you’ll be able to get to work while your neighbors are stuck home drinking bourbon by the fire. The disadvantage of front-wheel drive is that it was invented by European communists, so nobody in the United States has the vaguest notion of how it works. In fact, most mechanics have a great deal of difficulty even finding it, because it’s all mixed in with the engine, which in turn is very difficult to find because it is covered with a thick layer of emissions-control objects that are designed to prevent the engine from starting, thereby drastically reducing the amount of emissions it can emit. These controls were mandated by the federal government and Ralph Nader, who drives a 1957 Pontiac with racing tires and an enormous engine.
Speaking of engines, you should also decide whether you want a regular engine or a diesel engine (named for its inventor, Rudolf Engine). Lately, a lot of people have been choosing diesel engines. I won’t go into the reasons here, because, frankly, I don’t know what they are. I’m just assuming there must be some really terrific reasons for paying extra money for an engine that gives off a foul odor and is extremely slow.
If you get a diesel, you’ll have to learn to keep your momentum up, the way truck drivers do. If a truck driver starts accelerating when he leaves New York, he does not hit fifty-five miles per hour until he gets to Cleveland, so he will run over anything in his path—fallen trees, passenger cars, small villages—to avoid losing his momentum.
The only other thing to consider when you buy a car is gas mileage. To make it easy for you to compare, the government requires car manufacturers to provide two mileage estimates and inform you that:
You should pay no attention to one of the estimates, and You shouldn’t pay much attention to the other estimate, either.
The manufacturer is also required to tell you that neither estimate applies to California. When you get right down to it, almost nothing applies to California.
You’ll Look Radiant
Let’s look at the positive side of nuclear war. One big plus is that the Postal Service says it has a plan to deliver the mail after the war, which is considerably more than it is doing now. I, for one, look forward to the day after the missiles hit, when the postal person comes striding up and hands me a Publishers Clearing House Sweepstakes letter announcing that I may have already won my Dream Vacation Home, which I will probably need because my regular home will be glowing like a movie marquee.
The Postal Service isn’t the only outfit that’s all set for a nuclear war. The whole federal government has elaborate plans to keep doing whatever it does. As soon as word arrives that enemy missiles are on the way, all the vital government officials will be whisked by helicopter to a secret mountain hideout guarded by heavily armed men. The guards are there, of course, to shoot nonvital citizens who attempt to get into the hideout, because they would get in the way of the officials who are trying to protect them.
To determine which officials are vital enough to go to the hideout, the government periodically sends out a questionnaire:
TO: All Top Government Officials FROM: The Government SUBJECT: Who Gets to Go to the Secret Nuclear Hideout
Please circle the statement below that best describes how vital you are. Be as sincere as possible.
1. I am extremely vital and should be whisked away, in the first helicopter if possible.
2. I am not all that vital and should be left to die a horrible death with the ordinary citizens.
Using the results of this questionnaire, the government has determined that all of its top officials are vital. This means, of course, that conditions in the hideout will be fairly cramped. But that is one of the prices you pay for being a public servant.
Once the officials are in the hideout, they will immediately swing into emergency action. The President will announce his emergency plan for getting the nation back on its feet, and within minutes the leader of the opposition party will hold an emergency press conference to announce that the President’s plan is unfair to either middle-class taxpayers or the poor, depending on which party is the opposition at the time. Meanwhile, Pentagon officials will warn that the surviving Russians are probably stockpiling large rocks with the intention of coming over here on crude rafts and throwing them at us. The Pentagon will recommend that we, too, start stockpiling large rocks; this will lead to an emergency tax increase.
So the government is well prepared to continue governing after a nuclear attack. The only potential fly in the ointment is that the public will probably be too sick or dead to pay taxes or receive mail. So to make sure that the government still has somebody to govern, it is the patriotic duty of all of us nonvital citizens to come up with our own personal nuclear-survival plans.
I have some experience in this area, because in 1953, when I was a first-grader at the Wampus Elementary School in Armonk, N.Y., we used to practice surviving a nuclear attack. Our technique was to go into the hall and crouch against the walls for about ten minutes. This worked extremely well, and I recommend that all of you develop emergency plans to get to Wampus Elementary as soon as you get word that the missiles are coming.
The best way to get information during a nuclear war is to listen to the Emergency Broadcast Radio Network, which is the organization that broadcasts those tests all the time:
ANNOUNCER: This is a test. For the next thirty seconds, you will hear an irr
itating, high-pitched squeal. We here at the Emergency Broadcast Network are bored to death, waiting for a real nuclear war, so for the past few years we’ve been varying the pitch of the squeal just a little bit every time. Our theory is that if we find just the right pitch, it will drive certain species of birds insane with sexual desire. We know we’re getting close, because during our last test a Cleveland man carrying one of those enormous portable radios turned up real loud was pecked to death by more than three hundred lusting pigeons.
Frankly, I have always wondered what the Emergency Broadcast Network would broadcast if we actually had a war. I imagine they’d try to keep it upbeat, so people wouldn’t get too depressed:
ANNOUNCER: Hi there! You’re listening to the Emergency Broadcast Network, so don’t touch that dial! It’s probably melted anyway, ha ha! Weatherwise, we’re expecting afternoon highs of around 6,800 degrees, followed by a cooling trend as a cloud consisting of California and Oregon blots out the sun. In the headlines, the President and key members of Congress met in an emergency breakfast this morning, and a flock of huge mutant radioactive mosquitoes has emerged from the Everglades and is flying toward New Orleans at speeds approaching four hundred miles an hour. We’ll have the details in a moment, but first here’s consumer affairs reporter Debbi Terri Suzi Dinkle with the first part of her eighteen-part report entitled “Radiation and You.” DINKLE: Radiation. You can’t see it. You can’t smell it. You can’t hear it. Yet it’s all over the place, and it can kill you or make your hair fall out. In my next report, we’ll explore the reasons why.
