The Wednesday Night Ambush

Gang, I don't know if you've been following the troubles over at the Justice Department. You should probably start tuning in. I'm sensing some Grade A dung in mid-flight for yon wind-blowing mechanism.

The Washington Post, in the wake of Comey, has this rather actively-verbed editorial today. Here are some choice snippets:

• On Bush's evasion of the question posted yesterday about Comey's testimony: No one is asking Mr. Bush to talk about classified information, and no one is discounting the terrorist threat.
• Laying it out on the table in neat, even rows: [T]he president authorized the program the Justice lawyers had refused to certify as legally permissible, and it continued for a few weeks more, according to... Comey. Under the Constitution, the president has the final authority in the executive branch to say what the law is. But as a matter of presidential practice, this is breathtaking.
• "Oh yeah‽ What are you gonna do about it?": The administration... was willing to go forward, against legal advice, with a program that the Justice Department had concluded did not "honor the civil liberties of our people." Nor is it clear that Congress was adequately informed. The president would like to make this unpleasant controversy disappear behind the national security curtain. That cannot be allowed to happen.

Wow. Man, if ever there has been a call-to-arms for the WaPo investigative teams, this is it. The hounds have been released.

Civics Lesson

(From the "Seems-Simple-Enough- But-Gets-Awfully-Smelly- If-You-Think-About-It" Department)

Scene 1: The Encounter. May 10. Department of Justice (DoJ) knocks on the door of the office of National Security Agency (NSA)

NSA: [from behind door] Yes?

DoJ: It's Justice.

NSA: Come in. [DoJ opens door.] Have a seat. [DoJ steps in hesitantly, then steps forward, stumbling over a table near the door. More bumbling, stumbling.] Oh, right. I forgot. You're blind. [Remains seated.]

DoJ: I'll just stand.

NSA: Suit yourself.

DoJ: Hi. I'm here to investigate the warrantless wiretap program to see if it was conducted legally and within the limits imposed by the Fourth Amendment of our Constitution.

NSA: No.

DoJ: No? But I'm Justice!

NSA: Do you know the ultra-double-super-dooper secret code word?

DoJ: No.

NSA: Do you know any code words?

DoJ: No.

NSA: Ah. Then I can neither confirm nor deny the existence of this office, myself, or this conversation.

DoJ: Huh. [Beat.] Okay. [Beat. Looks expectantly to NSA to continue the thought or something.] Right. Well, I want to ask you about the program —

NSA: Good day.

DoJ: I'm sorry.

NSA: I said, "Good day."

DoJ: So, that's it? You're not going to let me ask you any questions about —

NSA: Good day.

DoJ: Ok, wait. You said something about a code word, right?

NSA: I can't confirm or deny I said any such thing.

DoJ: I know you did! It just happened! [NSA stares.] If I got one of these code word thingies, would you be able to talk to me then?

NSA: [A beat. Then...] Perhaps.

DoJ: Hot dog! Now we're getting somewhere. Now, where might I be able to get one of those code words?

NSA: I might have some here in my desk. Or I might not. I'm not confirming or denying the existence of this desk, by the way.

DoJ: I know.

NSA: Just so we're clear.

DoJ: So, how can I get a code word?

NSA: Have you tried asking?

DoJ: [Jackpot. Broad smile.] Hi. I would like to request a code word.

NSA: [Considers briefly.] No.

DoJ: What?!? Why not?

NSA: Good day.

DoJ: Wait! Why can't I have a code word?

NSA: I'm sorry. That's classified.

DoJ: Pretty please?

NSA: Good day.

DoJ: Er... okay. Good day.

NSA: Good day.

DoJ: [swivelling head about] Do you think you could tell me where the door is? I got a bit turned around when I came in here.

NSA: I'm sorry. That's classified.

[DoJ turns to leave, stumbles on approximately the same route in reverse to exit. Lights fade on the shin-busting hilarity. ]

Scene 2: The Press Conference. May 11. DoJ and Mainstream Media (MSM) are sitting at a table at an outdoor cafe. DoJ is lovingly feeding bits of cake to MSM, which MSM eats seductively. They coo.

DoJ: ...and then the jerk wouldn't even help me to the door! The nerve!

MSM: I'm sorry, baby. And he wouldn't tell you why you were being denied?

DoJ: As I stated, he wouldn't even tell me where the door was!

MSM: Huh. I feel like I should be asking more questions, but I'm just held in awe of your courage in this plight.

DoJ: Yeah. It's hard work.

MSM:
Want a couple of softballs today?

DoJ: Mmmm, that sounds lovely.

Scene 3: The Argument. May 16. Split stage. Pentagon (DoD) and Office of Personnel Managment (OPM) sit opposite each other at their respective desks, on their respective phones. A gulf of darkness separates them.

OPM: Dammit! You said yourself that you'd throw some extra my way if I took care of your clearance problems.

DoD: And?

OPM: And!? You signed a contract, for the love of George! You owe me!

DoD: You ungrateful whelp! I oughta come over there and box your ears.

OPM: Look, it's very simple. You need to get these new employees their clearances. You asked me to handle the checks for them. You agreed, in return, to pay a fee for this service. It's pay-to-play around here, buster. You don't pony up, I'll just come over there and take the money myself.

DoD: You and what army? [Finds himself funny.]

OPM: Fine. That's the way you want it? I'm cutting you off. No more clearances.

DoD: [Scoffs.] You can't do that. You'd be helping the terrorists. The folks we've hired for these positions need the clearances to see the untranslated documents and whatnot.

OPM: Seems to me we're at an impasse.

DoD: Why do you hate America?

OPM: Uh-uh. That ain't working on me, buster. 'O, but why would you want to defraud your own government?'

DoD: You pansy-ass punk!

[Great crash of thunder. OPM and DoD look skyward to see The Government Accountability Office (Ineptus Ex Machina, IEM) descending upon a chariot from Heaven. Much hubbub until Ineptus Ex Machina alights from the cart to the stage.]

IEM: [Grandly.] I have seen your squabble. I have come for judgement. I shall arbitrate. [Regards both parties.] I will now hear the grievances. You first.

OPM: This jackass won't pay—

IEM: ENOUGH! And you?

DoD: We need the clearances—

IEM: IT IS FINISHED! [Thundercrash.] I shall deliver judgement. [Blackout.]

Scene 4: The Runkus. April 9. The Nefarioso and The Decider are on comfy chairs The Decider is looking around. The Nefarioso stares straight ahead. Neither is well-lit. A Random Person brings in two mugs and a pitcher and sets them on a table next to the Nefarioso, then leaves.

DECIDER: Slooben booble runkus ipar frandle doodle. [Points at the sky.] Grell?

NEFARIOSO: Yes. [Pours pitch black, bubbling liquid into mugs, hands one to The Decider.] Drink up.

DECIDER: Lopo ignit frenk rimpant dee frontus evil-doers! Chump chump chump dronk reeble. [Drinks.] Are you sure this is good for me?

NEFARIOSO: Yes.

DECIDER: Poot rentle jiggle ret, wert er glup nuke evil-doers!

NEFARIOSO: Yes. And when she asks about investigating the spying,... you're going to say...

DECIDER: [blinks] Nuke!

NEFARIOSO: [Smacks The Decider in the face.] Dammit! Repeat after me...

Scene 5: The Decision. June 31. IEM, OPM and DoD exactly as before.

[Time passes while IEM looks at DoD, then at OPM, then stares off into space. Rinse and repeat. Finally...]

DoD: Ahem.

IEM: What?

DoD: Well? What's the decision?

IEM: I'm writing the report.

Scene 6: The Lesson. May 18. The Decider in the comfy chair. MSM at his feet, head resting on his knee. The Nefarioso is around somewhere, in the dark.

DECIDER: You suck.

MSM: You suck. [Beat.] Will you please answer me? I think I deserve to know.

DECIDER: Umtum opal krizzle tug jooboo lomp tromp. Tromp!

MSM: You've ceased making sense to me. What about the way NSA treated DoJ? Are you just going to let him get away with that?

[Somewhere, The Nefarioso clears his throat. MSM ignores it.]

DECIDER: [well-rehearsed] It's a turf battle, plain and simple. These are two grown men with a difference of opinion, and here in the Republican Party, we tolerate all the opinions we can find. We've got a tent here as big as the sky in Texas. I'm not going to swoop down from on high and command these fellas to reach a decision one way or the other. The GAO's working on the answer, and whatever they decide, we'll implement.

MSM: [sheepish] But... I thought you were the decider.

[Somewhere, The Nefarioso growls. MSM ignores it.]

DECIDER: [smirk] I am. But I'm not a tyrant. You got to have respootle froprootle.

MSM: What?

DECIDER: You've got to have respect for the process.

MSM: But what about OPM's contention that DoD's hissy fit is holding up the clearances, thus endangering national security and allowing actual terrorists to go free?

DECIDER: Um.

MSM: [scales dropping from eyes] If you, beloved Decider, continue to allow this to go on, thus preventing people from getting clearances, people like DoJ, who need those clearances to conduct investigations—

DECIDER: Now, let me stop you right there. There are no investigations. DoJ gave up trying to find illegality because there wasn't any to begin with. It was just another effort - which you're aiding and abetting, by the way - to derail the effort to smoke America's enemies out of their holes. And I intend to smoke 'em out. I hate America's enemies. I love America, and anyone who tries to derail the de-holing efforts doesn't. I won't let the de-holing be derailed. I intend to keep the effort on the rails. Because I'm The Conductor. Next question?

MSM: Can I ask a follow up?

NEFARIOSO: Go fuck yourself!

MSM: [scribbling furiously on note pad] Thank you, sir. [MSM rushes offstage.]

DECIDER: Don't mention it. [To audience.] I hope you've learned your lesson.

The Ultimate Packrat

I'm referring, of course, to the NSA. It so happens that they (being the awesome folks they are) are keeping track of everyone who calls me, and whoever I call. They're probably doing that for you to, and your neighbor, and their parents, and their friends, and their priest, and his choir director, and her daughter's boyfriend, and his roommate... etc..., and maybe... juuuuust maybe somewhere in there they're tracking the calls of someone who may have once expressed sympathy for al-Qaeda.

What is even more troubling (on par with how many teenagers think the First Amendment goes too far) is that two out of three of you (in the general sense) don't give two shits about whether or not the government is collecting data about who you're in contact with.

Now mind you, I don't have anything to hide. I talk on the phone occassionally with a couple of my friends, quick calls to my girlfriend, and regular calls to my mother. If the NSA wants to spend time and money figuring that out for themselves, they're dumber for it, but there's nothing nefarious about it.

A diarist over on Kos has summed up why that two-thirds number should be much, much small. Let me say that again: If you think it's okay that the government is randomly collecting data on who you talk to, thus creating the largest database in the world, in an effort to find any potential terrorist activity, you need to go read this thing over on Kos.

So funny I coughed up a lung.

It's shit like this that restores my oft-waning faith in humanity.

White House denies spying without Warrant