Black Helicopters & Jets Are On Me

 

I’ve recently taken to camping, but now even that looks spoiled for me. If you’ve known me very long, you know I’m a very careful person. I don’t want anyone on my trail, know what I mean? My dad was the same way. When we had to fill out some papers on our family life in 6th grade, he warned me, "Do not fill it out!" if it asked, “Do your parents sleep in the same bed?”

At the time I was unable to see the concern. It wasn’t till I grew up that I realized the school’s basic function was not education, but fitting us as zombies in a totalitarian culture. If they knew who slept where, let’s say, they’d zero in on all our ways, knowing if we were a threat to The Man or The Woman or whoever ruled us now and in the future. Well, I lied and said I didn’t know where anyone in my family slept, including myself. The truth is, I literally slept under the bed, that’s how afraid I was, mostly of the Russians. Now of course they’re our overlords, but I dimly recall — although it’s hazy after the shock treatment and drugs — a time when we as a nation opposed them.

OK, a guy like me does enough “dimly recalling,” then jotting down the scraps of memories, and after a while I can piece together a narrative. And believe me, these bastards have gone beyond who sleeps where. Everything’s computerized now. They can scan your pockets when you walk by the turnstiles and see what you’re carrying, and find out everything about you. It makes a guy paranoid, except naturally for so many citizens who are already zombies. I keep the allowed change in my pockets just like they want, but I’ve hammered out a thin lead jockstrap that keeps my other business undetectable. As far as they can tell, I’m a neutered creature like the rest of the drone class.

How is it I’m able to go camping instead of working in the hives like others? Heh, heh, it pays to be disabled! You know the game toe I’ve got? That slips in and out of place when I need it to? That allowed me to get a special government disability check for the last 20 years? They determined I wasn’t fit to serve the realm. So I have some independence, although of course I still have to be careful. (Please don’t print a copy of this blog, thanks in advance. I have your phone or device set to self-destruct 20 seconds after you read it.) A little computer coating I learned. I know three different kinds of coating: 1) Lead coating on genital shields; 2) Goop coating on clams; and 3) Computer coating. You remember Acey-Deucy? My coat.

Anyway, OK, I’ve been camping. But my crazy paranoia is kicking in again. Mainly because I’ve been absolutely beset with a plethora — another word for coincidences up the yin-yang — of black jets and black helicopters buzzing me. As far as everyone else thinks, they’re just harmless passes, going from one place to another. So why are they always right above me? The scariest helicopter was a couple weeks ago.

I told myself it’s nothing. But its official markings were obliterated by a giant rubber-ducky bandage. Seems innocent enough. Then a voice comes through the speaker, “Enjoy Hell!” That had me worried. However, now — with lots of reflection — it’s hard to know if that’s a positive or negative. “Enjoyment” is typically a positive, “Hell” a negative; therefore, all things being equal, we might just as easily call it a wash.

Then a week ago today, a series of jets started coming over, apparently from the M class of planes, going by their shape. I would categorize them in the stealth group of planes, since they were entirely quiet except for an occasional chirp or beep. I outsmarted them by staying in my camper most of the time. The only downside to which — well, it was twofold — I ran out of groceries the second day — now I’ve got nothing but clams — and since I clean my portable toilet every other day, the bathroom is a complete mess. (I once knew a guy whose bathtub was up to the faucet with backed-up sewage. I console myself with the fact that my faucet is still mostly free and clear.)

One of the jets shot a fearsome bomb of some sort — the shape of it was like a comet, but the substance was more a goo or gel. I called out, mad as hell, “Hey! Hey! Hey!” What else could I say, but of course it was too late to do any good. I collected a wheelbarrow of the stuff, and a science major friend of mine examined it and said it closely resembled Glocoseoxytonicphosphate, which he chose to simply call Goop. Since then I’ve been using it as a sauce over baked clams.

Tell me when this ends! Don’t rat me out to The Man or The Woman! I don’t remember where my parents slept!

Government Snooping -- Infilitrate, Big or Small

I carefully studied my instructions under a streetlight.
The lighting made it look very weird, kind of a greenish yellow.
I was struck. The color's so weird.

But there it was, in the bad light. A mysterious ticker tape printer in a culvert, right where the voice on the phone told me it'd be. Low, husky, likely a man, maybe a big woman. I'd been recruited into an elite cadre of government spies. Which is very cool for me in particular, having been as a child not just a member of the Spy Club, but its baton twirler.

I wasn't a bit afraid. Even though usually when I get weird calls, anonymous, unannounced calls, I'm paranoid as hell. It looks like I'm getting hardened to it. I've gotten worse calls. It used to always be some unknown guy saying, "I know where you go ... and I know what you do there ..." I always hated that. Because, honestly, I never went there, and, besides, I don't remember doing anything that was so bad.

This new voice, even though it was a big woman trying to sound like a man, wasn't threatening at all. I heard something of benevolence in it. Saying between the lines that I was trusted with a task, which, if I'm not mistaken, is something the government is putting forth to every citizen they trust. And, yes, the government can trust me. I hereby raise my right hand and solemnly swear that I will protect this nation from all enemies, foreign and domestic. Looks like domestic, since it's local here.

You see my instructions. There's no particular task. Just "INFILTRATE," with the unspecific, but assuring, "EVERY LITTLE THING HELPS." And I like the pleasant nod to modern linguistic conventions, showing that we're not taking ourselves too seriously here, no doubt meant to put me and my fellow trusted citizens completely at our ease, "GO 4 IT."

This is the kind of task I like. I can set my own goals. And I obviously have plausible deniability if I'm nabbed by a saboteur, "I know nothing. I'm digging in your garbage for recycling."

All right, I got this message a week ago tonight, and I got right on the job. Since "EVERY LITTLE THING HELPS," that's what I started with. It gave me a great excuse to go to the river. But not just anyplace. I wanted to go to the backwoods. There's a place back there where a gang of guys called the Backwoods Men live. I've always been suspicious of those guys. We have a law here that in fishing you can only use one hook for one line, no more.

I was successful at infiltrating their place by the river. When, Holy Cow, what did I find? Not only did they have poles lined up on the bank, I pulled in a couple and they had a dozen hooks apiece! So I pulled in the rest and left them lay on the bank. It would be a big surprise to them in the morning!

Also, I did some reconnaissance around their property -- the dog was sleeping -- and noticed what turned out to be some '60s vintage Do-it-Yourself Heathkit nuclear missiles, lined up in homemade silos, and aimed toward town. I moved them off kilter, so when they're fired they'll rocket straight up and -- I hope -- destroy the Backwoods Men themselves.

The next day I was up with the roosters, 9:00, and went to troll Goodwill for what I might find. The problem with Goodwill is it's completely unregulated. You can buy stuff anonymously. It's not necessarily scanned, it's cash transactions. Theoretically, it's the world's best place to make a terror connection, because you can leave notes in a particular jacket, say, then someone comes along and gets it. Well, the bottom line is, I did my best, so sue me.

Methodically, I took each jacket, one at a time, to the dressing room, and went through the pockets. Noon came and went, then 2 p.m., before I was finished. But nothing. Then as I'm leaving, some madman goes running out of the store, and runs straight into a city bus, blowing up himself and 40 passengers, an inferno. The note had been in a pair of pants ... damn it! But 'every little bit helps,' I'm telling myself.

This actually taught me a lesson, that to catch terrorists, you need to think like a terrorist. We think they sleep in the day when we're all awake. That's what they want you to think. But, thinking like a terrorist, why would they do that? No, naturally they'd sleep during the night just like anyone else. But they're tricky, see? That's actually what they want us to think. Taking it one step further, they do sleep during the day when we're awake. Then use the "cover of night," when we least expect it, to do their flight training.

So I went to the airport, the local airport, late at night. I flashed my ticker tape at the door and got right in. I yelled, "Stop that plane!" They radioed out and brought back a disgruntled man in a business suit. The president of our biggest industry, headed for a convention. So we let him go. Next, I told them to stop a second plane. The boss of the airport headed for a convention. So we also let him go.

That left a third plane. But by now I was gun shy and didn't stop him. I made a mistake! He simply took to the air and immediately shot down the other two planes, killing both distinguished men and their pilots and fleeing. Next time, I resolved, slamming my fist on the desk, that guy gets stopped first!

The NSA Cleans Out My Garage

The news reports are telling us these guys -- the National Security Agency (NSA) -- can do anything. They're able to keep track of every call you've ever made, every piece of mail you've ever sent or received, and every note your friends used to pass in school. There's nothing they're not good at! Giving lie to the old complaint that the government can't do anything right.

Seriously, with this record of efficiency, we need them to keep going and take over the rest of the government. Get in there and start with Congress. Congress can't get anything done, anything that does anyone any good. Put the NSA on the job. Start right at the top and maybe they can accomplish something. Then they can work their way down. Far down, as in helping each one of us with our day to day lives. I know I could use some help cleaning out my garage.

And if they didn't want to do it just to be nice guys, maybe I could trick them into doing it. Sort of like Tom Sawyer and the fence, except I'll have to drop hints that maybe there's something incriminating in my garage. They're actually is ... more about that later ... but by the time they get here, of course I'll have that stuff safely tucked in the hidden room I've been building. Which is right there in the garage, but it's small -- they probably won't notice it.

For the most part, all I have in my garage is the typical everyday crap of life. Stuff that would overrun the house if I kept it in here. Nothing too important, but still too good to just throw away. Old books, records, rugs, lamps, a typewriter, and just boxes and boxes of miscellaneous stuff. There's quite a few Christmas decorations, some of which are only in sacks, and some of those are tipped over. It seems like I step on and break an ornament every time I'm out there. If I can get the NSA to clean it out, that'd be great. Who knows? They might find some unregistered nicknacks, bought with cash at garage sales, very tough to trace.

Then there's the other stuff, which will have to go in the hidden room. I know everyone will think I'm kidding, but that's only because you didn't have a Great Aunt Natasha working as a secretary at the Pentagon in the late '50s and early '60s. The fact is, I have extensive Soviet correspondence from the '60s, going into the '70s. I was one of those kids, thanks to Aunt Natasha, who was a "goodwill pen pal" with Khrushchev, which later bloomed into a nice relationship with Breshnev. For them it was an in with America's youth, hoping to undermine us, but for me, I was only doing it for extra credit in Social Studies.

Still, it probably should've been cleared through official channels. As it was, I was only too happy to fulfill their strange requests. Like going to Air Force installations and using my "secret spy binoculars," which they provided and periodically showed up "to have developed." I never knew what that meant, developing binoculars? Other than that, we had quite a bit of correspondence about the comings and goings of local Civil Defense volunteers. I still remember this one old guy from town and the day his Jeep blew up. Must've been something wrong with it.

Natasha's husband, our Great Uncle Boris, was also a help. Anything he needed, us sneaky kids were happy to help him with. Especially if it meant being paid off in rare Russian candy. Which I, ever the entrepreneur, used to trade with other kids for Krugerrands and Cuban cigars. It was very good candy, they say, but the cigars were better. There was more than one bright side ... The kids at my school did great on international affairs quizzes.

Later, and this is stuff I shouldn't mention; it's all more recent, there were Uncle Osama and Uncle Saddam, not really uncles but that's what they called themselves. Wow, the things they used to send! Gift certificates for flying lessons. I always figured they were kidding. And the things they would say! No one could be that crazy, wanting that much destruction for the United States. After all, I was like their favorite nephew. OK, they did tell us they wouldn't completely destroy America till they got us to safety. So we didn't say anything to the cops. Those records will go in the secret room, for sure.

I just got back from the garage. And speaking of Christmas decorations, there's a bag of ribbons on the floor that must puff up with air by miracle, because every time I try to walk through the garage, I step on it, and I can hear the air hissing out again. Weird. The things I put up with.

I looked around and there isn't much else that would be incriminating. I have a hymnal from Burma out there. But that's nothing to worry about, is it? Only the channels I went through to get it, it probably involved some persecution. And maybe a death or two. I need to hide it.

Mister Ed, This Is Your Last Chance

I'm giving Mister Ed this last jab, then that's it, I'm moving on. I've done my part for national security, which was only my duty, and now it's up to the higher powers, the higher echelons, to bring that one trick pony home. Oh, that takes me back, really, to my days on the horse show circuit, years ago. I truly thrill to hear the exhortation of the crowds to the horseman at the end of his showing to, "Bring it home! Bring it home!" What a mad dash it is to make good time!

That's also a good message to you, Mister Ed, "Bring it home! Bring it home!" Don't you feel it, just a little, the desire to make good on your duties of citizenship, to "bring it home" and face justice here in the fields of home, with those beautiful amber waves of grain? That's such a pretty sight, driving by a farmstead, with the horses standing around, munching their way from here to the fence, and swishing their tails to ward off bugs. I love it. And I believe you love it, too, Mister Ed. Maybe a fly creeping around by your eye, and the area around the horse's eye twitching, with nicely evolved little muscles there...

My words to Mister Ed today aren't actually "jabs," so much as hoping to talk American to American, mano a mano, rider to horse, man to pony, man to beast, humanitarian to equestrian, one on one, small nose to big nose, gaining his confidence, then slipping in the bit and adjusting the rigging. Yes, he roamed far afield, to the foreign fields of Hong Kong, Moscow, and Ecuador, a lot of far flung places, where, quite frankly, I can't see why any American would have anything to gain from going to those places. I certainly wouldn't want to range that far from the old barn back home.

I love it here, Mister Ed, and I believe you could regain your love for it, too. Of course I'm sleeping good at night, with a clear conscience, no worries, nothing beyond the day to day stuff: Will there be a mouse in the trap in the morning? Did I remember to give the dog fresh water last night? Are those pork chops that were on sale three months ago getting freezer burn? I'm definitely not worrying, at least too much, whether the Navy SEALS are going to storm the compound I'm holed up in, whether I'll be waterboarded by sundown, or whether I'll ever be able to live within 2,000 feet of a national security installation, then having to have a sign in my yard, "Registered National Security Data Thief."

I know, I know, it's all "alleged" at this point. Which I respect. That's one of the greatest things about America. You get the full measure of justice, whatever you're alleged to have done. All you have to do is avoid living in Texas or some other backwards place, and everything will be fine. So you may as well give yourself up, and get it over with. Tell you what, Mister Ed. Contact me at this blog, and I'll personally lead you to the police department, so you can get this weight off your back. You don't want to be saddled with guilt all your life.

The fact of the matter is -- and I guess I'm doing a little more leaking here than I should -- is that they already know where you are, and they're just biding their time before rushing in, trying to give you one last chance to do the honorable thing. I know if you do the right thing, I'll be proud of you. And rightly proud of my own efforts to talk you down. I'm something of a horse whisperer, as the old phrase goes. I soothe, soothe, and soothe, then gently work the bit in and the halter on, then BAM -- You're in the paddock, in the barn, in the pen -- clouds so swift, the rain comin' in, you ain't a'goin' nowhere, Mister Ed!

One last thing, lest anyone think Mister Ed is solely to blame for this national security fiasco. No, there's other horses in this race. He didn't just saunter in there and fill his saddlebag with 2 million documents without someone else being complicit, even if complicity is only measured in incompetence and lack of oversight. I remember many instances of dealing with government employees. They were sticklers for the rules. They wouldn't fudge on this form, this form, or this form, regardless of what common sense said. "You need this form of ID, this paper, and these records. Nothing less will do." But when Mister Ed was busy emptying out the mow, where was the thoroughness? Clearly, they were in their own stalls, dozing. Don't wake us when you're done...[snoring].

One more chance, Mister Ed, that's what you go, it's time to come home. Think how pleasant that journey will actually be. I know when we used to go horseback riding, ha ha, the horses were so used to the paths we took, they hated it. You had them going down the path, away from the barn, at a snail's pace. It took forever to get anywhere. But just you dare -- hope you're never this unlucky -- to get their nose pointed to the barn, then ... Whoa, Nellie ... they were deaf, differently advantaged as to hearing, there was no restraint. They zeroed in on the barn like a laser, and you were off at the same speed. I remember a limb coming at me at 60 mph, which could've taken my head off!

Please think of that, Mister Ed. Give yourself up, and come home.

Surrender, Mister Ed!

I was absolutely besieged with well-wishers and others singing my praises yesterday for my post, "We Got Bin Laden, We'll Get Mister Ed." I'm actually a little tired today because I didn't get much sleep last night. Readers from many time zones around the world kept me up. It was exhausting, but also very gratifying. It meant a lot to me.

And, I had to chuckle, there were even a few readers from Hong Kong, Moscow, and Ecuador who basically wrote, saying, "Please, get him out of our country or city!" It seems like they're afraid he'll get a job in their country next, then compromise their security by too much stealing. It just goes to show, whatever your nationality and whatever your background, you're paranoid about the same things as me.

But yesterday's gone. Now it's today. So I thought, you know, maybe I'd go to the well one more time, since I love your praise. The memories of it, after all, are still clear in my mind. My right arm -- my dominant arm -- is sore from the fist pumping. But it's a pain that I enjoy, because of how I got it, by pleasing you. Does that make sense? I really think I'm on to something: All I have to do is find some famous scoundrel in the news and publicly take him to task. And my blog really takes off! It's sort of devious, I know ... [devilish grin].

OK --- THIS IS AN OPEN BLOG POST TO MISTER ED, MY MANE MAN. LISTEN UP, MISTER ED! LISTEN TO ME AND COME OUT, WITH YOUR HOOVES IN PLAIN SIGHT. SHAKE 'EM, LET'S SEE THOSE FETLOCKS!

Mister Ed, I know you used to read my blog. You told me so that time you downloaded every entry of every blog on the internet and put them in everyone's individual file. As you recall, I was irate. The government I could handle. But you threatened to show it to my minister, thereby threatening me with excommunication. That was despicable. But I paid you off, and after a few months, it all went away. I can only assume you still visit here occasionally, although now that you're on the run, no doubt you have only stolen moments for savoring it.

So I will be brief. Mister Ed, all horsing around aside, the time has come for you to give yourself up. Do not make them have to capture you. If you give yourself up, that will be seen as a goodwill gesture, and things will be easier for you. They might even give you greener pastures. Only, please, whatever you do, for God's sake, give yourself up before you ruin our relations with the Ecuadorans. From there the dominoes could only topple, and we'd lose Mauritania, Togo, Texas, and the tiny island nation of Podunkia.

Honestly, Mister Ed, wither or not you'd admit it, you should've known better than to have (allegedly) stolen all our national secrets, including, you bastard, my data from the NSA, detailing all my alleged misdeeds, the foremost of which would have to be my spotty calls to my mom. I know the rap: You must be a terrible son, calling as infrequently as you do. And there she sits, with several diseases, staring almost hopelessly at the phone. And I know there's some stranger stuff in my file. Like when I called Al Qaeda. I swear, my call was nothing more than to ask them how they managed to have their name start with a "Q" and it's not followed by a "U." I didn't know that was allowed. It should be Al Quaeda, like that.

But enough about me. The government actually wants to geld you for showing the vulnerabilities of the NSA, that it's apparently overseen by three monkeys, See No, Hear No, and Speak No Evil. Whether they even have locks on the doors has not been established. They might've been "locking" the place with duct tape left over from the Bush administration. For you to have carried out over 2 million documents without a hint of suspicion sounds like quite a feat. I'm thinking back to that time I ripped one measly MP3 file off a neighbor's CD at 3 o'clock in the morning in the middle of the Sahara Desert, and the FBI was right there to pick me up, staying true to their warning label.

Do I relish the fact that you're in big trouble? you're wondering. You're damned right I do! It couldn't happen to a worse guy, after how you threatened me. And all my loyal readers -- you screwed them over too! Let's just say, you're something less than a thoroughbred... OK, Mister Ed, you get the message. Give yourself up today.

We Got Bin Laden, We'll Get Mister Ed

We got Bin Laden, We'll get Mister Ed. Even now, the world is swarming with agents trained in the mysterious arts of intelligence, top secret data gathering, and putting the finger on someone. Even if you're a needle in a haystack -- in this case don't eat the hay -- they'll find you.

Long live government snooping! Seriously, long live it. It's government snooping -- vast and broad -- that gives us the upper hand, the cutting edge, in the world. You think we'd know what was going on in North Korea if we weren't keeping track of things? And anyone who tinkers with government snooping, however slightly, or, as in this case, however enormously, needs to pay the price.

Good old Mister Ed thought he could stray from the barn, eat up all the crops, then gallop into the sunset, to the land of the rising sun, or close to it. Where, if I'm not mistaken, they sacrifice horses. But he didn't take into account that the world is a small place. There's no hiding place. There might've been one in 1900, when we would've have only a few blacksmiths looking for him. It doesn't work like that now. His being an expert in government power should've told him that. They'll soon have him back in the paddock.

Even the mighty bin Laden himself found he couldn't hide forever. Although we thought maybe he was dead. But they kept saying, "He's 7 feet tall and has a bad kidney." All we had to do is look for deliveries of extra large shipments of cranberry juice and the absence of bananas and soda pop. And that's where he'd be. Which turned out to be true. Not a banana in sight. Except it wasn't a cave, but a house somewhere over there. The bottom line: It was government snooping that got him.

Public enemy Number 1 went down. And now Mister Ed has nowhere to hide, neigh, withers 'o ever he may trot.

I truly believe Mister Ed's alleged crime, if he is eventually found guilty, would be a heinous one. (At this point, of course he is alleged to have done it. I would have even given Dr. Zachary Smith (Lost in Space) the benefit of a fair trial, were I one of the Robinsons, before finding him guilty and executing him, or leaving him alone to die on some godforsaken planet. My family needs safety more than a villainous plot device.)

If guilty, if Mister Ed had his way, we would be coming around the track, then entirely lose the lead we had in the war against terror. It wouldn't even be a photo finish, we would've broken a leg in the first turn. The war against terror, which, by some weird quirk in the nature of things was declared over about a week before these revelations, but which in all actuality rages on. Which might mean -- notice, I said might -- mean the destruction of every one of us. No one in the winner's circle. Although these catastrophes actually tend to never happen where I personally am. I've always been lucky like that.

Like I said, at this very moment the world is swarming with agents on the lookout. And we know our agents. They're familiar with all the usual suspects, not to mention every hooker from South America to Shanghai -- they'll find someone who knows something. Then, all bets are off, I wouldn't bet on that horse...

So what's the problem with Mister Ed's apparent actions? He stole our secrets and hoofed it on out of there. The simple fact of the matter is, some things are meant to be kept secret. Not to be flip about it, that's why we call it secrecy. We don't want anyone else to know. Whether you like the Patriot Act or not, the American people consented to it when we elected all the various assholes who were prepared to ramrod it through in our hour of panic. If you don't want such things, either quit putting scum like that in office, or stop panicking when something terrible happens. Look at things in context: 300,000 people die of cigarette smoke every year, we don't have to get so worked up over 3,000 that we instantly forfeit our rights.

I say we get the guy. Or conclude that the whole system is rotten to the core and do what you can to bring it down. Just don't look to me for support. Because I'll skewer you then just as much as I'm flogging Mister Ed today. And the only way I'd ever recant is if you happened to take over and instituted a Rein of Terror. Then and only then, for personal reasons, wanting to cling to life, even with my scruples so terribly compromised, I'd support you. Even though Rains of Terror, again, never seem to happen where I personally am -- I'm always left high and dry.

Now, does the government have any culpability in this matter? Yes. Mister Ed was several lengths ahead of them. Anyone so incompetent as to have him working there and downloading 2 million documents under their nose shouldn't be complaining. They're probably not smart enough to complain. Where's their horse sense? Search his feedbag at the end of his shift! Let government snooping begin right in the government's own office! Are you not paying attention, you dolts? Hell, he might've carried away the whole place before you woke up! I've worked at places where people noticed a sip out of their Coke, which turned out to be evaporation ... but the key thing is they noticed something was awry.

The Government Is Coming!

Now we all know the full extent of the government's snooping program. They felt it wasn't something we should know, and since we democratically elected them, and they serve the people, with the people being their bosses, it seems only right that we should've had to learn it by underhanded means. Whether the information will do us any good is still to be determined.

Many, of course, are unhappy that they've been doing it at all. As we know, though, many are simply unhappy people and are never satisfied with anything in life. Others normally have a happier outlook and so their unhappiness is a little more legitimate. I fall somewhere in the middle: I'm sometimes unhappy and sometimes happy, so I can see both sides. And on this issue, I'm a little on each side. It doesn't seem like it needs to be secret entirely. What kind of terrorists are we protecting ourselves from? Are they so innocent that they don't know we're even slightly devious?

Most of us are happy when there aren't terrorist attacks. That's the justification for all this. On that subject, though, there's a couple different ways to look at it. Which we were saying in the Bush years when all this bullshit was going down. 1) Are we willing to give up all our liberties and privacy over the miniscule chance that any one of us would be the victim of a terrorist attack? You have a better chance of dying from secondhand smoke from three counties away. We ought to be following the Cheney Doctrine, if there's only a 1% chance secondhand smoke from three counties away is going to kill us, we ought to be building a big wall and installing fans. 2) Can't they just kill the terrorists and leave the rest of us alone? Or maybe make a more wonderful world where people don't become terrorists? Like in the Tao Te Ching.

Personally, I see it as overkill, needing the complete records of all of us, just like it's overkill to strip search grannies at the airport. They've been perfectly normal, harmless people all their lives. They have no criminal record, they haven't done time. Their friendships are mostly with other members of the Doily Club. The idea that they should suddenly be strip-searched, and given this potential thrill in their lives that late in life, might be bad for their heart. Then the government would have blood on their hands, not that it's bothered them thus far.

Take me, though. A strip-search now and then would probably do me good. I've honestly never carried contraband or presented a second of harm to anyone in my life, but you never can be too sure. I feel shifty sometimes, that normal malaise the daily battles of life gives, I carry a certain amount of existential guilt, thanks mostly to my religious upbringing, and that extra punishment, the strip search might be redemptive, depending on how far it goes. Go far enough -- one drop of blood -- and I could redeem the whole world! IHS. Then 2,000 years from now, an unknown citizen -- we'll call him Walt -- will be testifying in church, at that point held under bombed-out interstate bridges: "The Grandma Slump guy was thinking about me. Had I been the only sinner in the world, He would've died for me." The imagination of people runs wild. And the imagination of Saviors.

Then once the whole world is redeemed, we won't have to worry about terrorists. That's the idea, anyway. But how to get everyone to accept the redemptive work (1), then to live 24/7 in the light given them (2), means we're going to need a whole new missionary emphasis. We'll be sending missionaries to the ends of the earth, meaning terrorists will be coming out of the woodwork, confessing their sins and accepting the new grace. Whatever phone records the NSA missed, the redeemed will present in hand, detailed printouts, of how, yes, indeed, they did conspire with my Grandma to blow up the World Trade Center, meaning the surveillance on her was justified all along. Turns out my whole family was involved, from Cousin Roto scheduling flight school classes in the barn to my blind Cousin Connie (a man) hiding Mohammed Atta in the outhouse. Guilty as charged!

Part of the complaint we the public have about government snooping is how secure our personal information is. They assure us it's perfectly safe. No one's looking into it. No one, that is, except this one guy, a lone wolf, who managed to download everything they have without anyone noticing. Not only that, but he was able to flee to Hong Kong. Sounds secure! With all the logistics the guy needed to do it, I'm suspecting UPS. (I wouldn't have the first idea how to flee to Hong Kong, let alone what I'd do once I got there!) The fact that our government had someone in their midst like that alone means heads should roll. How the top man still happens to have his job -- assuming he is a man -- is beyond me. We should examine some of his phone-computer records. Was he playing Farmville on the job? While the fox was in the chicken house, was he in the barn rolling in the hay?

It's a Hogan's Heroes moment. "No one has ever escaped Stalag 13! I know nothing, I see nothing!" Yes, I have all the information in the world at my fingertips, but still this one guy was able to steal the whole store. Wouldn't you think they've have some sort of software good enough to detect massive downloading? I think I'm more pissed about that than anything else. If they're so incompetent at oversight, how is it they're fully engaged at the switch protecting us from terrorists? While this guy was on the phone arranging the logistics of his world travels with UPS, why wasn't anyone noticing? Someone needs to order something from Amazon. I know the only time I never see a UPS truck is when I'm expecting something.

The lesson for the rest of us is to flee now! We're governed by incompetents! They can't even keep track of the people working for them. What do you mean Ed's in Hong Kong? I thought I just saw him in the hall! We could be safe from terrorists if the government wasn't asleep at the switch. Maybe we need to get George Bush back. He was stupid and looked it, so we had no temptation to trust his sorry ass.