Voice of the White House

June 11, 2014

Washington, D.C.:
Someone recently was discussing dramatic scenarios with me and I thought I would pass at least one of these on to you. We know, of course, about the CIA sending its domestic surveillance unit from Langley to Denver and two other branches to Charlottesville, VA and the FBI moving 11,000 souls to Bethesda, MD. And the DIA also moved to Charlottesville as well as two other more private agencies. Why did they do this? Well, just suppose that an embassy in Washington, on a weekend or national holiday when the embassy was officially closed, decided to have a jolly picnic for the entire staff. Wonderful thought for the hard workers. And there they were, a hundred miles away or so, and upwind from the Beltway. And while they were enroute in their chartered busses, a very common Maryland crab boat went up the Potomac and tied up at a fish dock near the Seat of Power. And the crew members would get off the boat before it was unloaded and vanish, quickly into the landscape and distant points. Then, without warning, there would be a blinding flash of purple-white light and a huge column of water thrown up into the air, just like the Bikini test pictures show. And the city and its surroundings would be drenched with a highly radioactive drizzle. And soon enough, people would start losing their hair and teeth, just like those who drank a 'Special Cocktail,' and the fortunate embassy picnickers would bless whatever their God was for their fortunate absence. Upwind. Could this speculative postulation happen? Perhaps it could and that might explain the discreet exodus from the Washington area of our blessed intelligence agencies. At the least, one could conclude, the survivors in Washington would reduce their lighting bills. All one would have to do would be to put Grandma up on a table in the living room and bask in her glow. At least until she started to smell badly.

Letter from a reader:

Always something to entertain you, aside from the gross lies in the print and TV media. A few days ago, I was downtown at a small mall, enjoying a cup of coffee outside a very upscale book store. I noticed a woman, much overweight, waddling around across from me, dressed in a black pants suit and carrying a small purse. A few minutes later, I noticed a strange man walk up and speak with her. He was tall, thin and balding and sported a pot belly. His white chicken legs ended in new and enormous tennis shoes and he was wearing a lightweight jacket and Bermuda shorts. They both seemed to be fascinated by the other book store across from me and occasionally, Chicken Legs spoke to his wrist watch. They were joined by an odd-looking Asian type who kept twitching. I think his name was Sum Ting Wong. Then, an average-looking younger man came out of the book store, a book in his hand, looked towards the store I was sitting in front of and walked briskly across the mall and went into the store behind me. Immediately, Chicken Legs spoke to his watch and he and Chubs moved across towards me. Being a True Christian and wanting only to express my Jesus-perfect thoughts, I, too, went into the book store. The obvious target of the Geek Squad was in the back, out of sight behind a tall book case. He was obviously looking for something on the shelf when I approached him and advised him that several abnormal freaks were apparently interested in him. I described them and instead of advising me to either mind my own business or shut up, he smiled, nodded and said 'Thank you.' I then pulled a manuscript out of my pocket, a manuscript that was pathetically uninteresting and suggested that he step out from behind the bookcase and hand me my own papers. He proved to be most obliging and I pointed out that right behind him, out of sight from the Freak Show, was a door to the back of the shop and the alley behind. He did hand me the papers and then vanished through the door. I walked out into the shop, just as Chicken Legs was bustling in. He obviously had seen me talking to his target and as I brushed past him, reading the manuscript seriously, I remarked out loud, 'My God, this means war!' And I went outside the bookstore, crossed the mall, went into the other one and then out the back. I can only imagine the scenario I left behind. Where did their target vanish to? Who was I? What was so important in the papers the target apparently gave me? Where did I go? From their attire and behavior, I decided they were members of the FBI's elite Special Surveillance Group or the 'Super Gs.' In point of fact, they looked like refugees from a Scientology convention and had all the subtlety of a fart in a space suit. Arenít we blessed with having such protectors? I think it would be a good idea to keep small children and pets away from all of them.