Reducing Gummint Waste and Other Dumb Ideas

One of the cornerstones of my administration, I am pleased to announce, will be a totally clean slate when it comes to social, political and economic issues, to say nothing of creating a 24-hour cable TV channel devoted to the latest events in the life of actress Lindsay Lohan (I plan to use the current C-Span 2) an administration priority; the ratings should soar like an Olsen twin on Red Bull.

I have noticed lately that there’s an awful lot partisan (from a Latin term meaning, roughly, “butthead who’s part of the problem”) bickering going on in the country; it’s gotten to the point that it’s like two kids battling over the back seat of the car during a long trip.

So it occurred to me that what we really need is someone to shoulder the blame for all out problems. This is America, for God’s sake; someone (else) must be responsible for this mess, and that someone (else) must pay.

So here’s the plan: We start an audience-participation program (to be simulcast on PBS and the current ESPN 2) during which a host or hostess (I envision a Big Name—David Arquette, maybe, or Tori Spelling) will read off a list of national ills and the audience will vote on whom to blame. The show will work like “Jeopardy”: Three contestants will appear, David or Tori or whoever will read off a national ill (“Republican pants,” for instance) and the audience will vote on which contestant is to blame.

We will start things rolling with Dr. Phil, Rush Limbaugh and Howard Stern. The “winner” will move on to face Pam Coulter, unless it’s Rush, in which case he’ll face James Carville. After that, Oprah.

You get the idea. If a contestant “wins” three times in a row, he or she will be taken out behind the US Capitol, where he (or she) will be chained to the wall and licked to death by the 535 little yippy dogs that form Congress. The execution warrant will be read by actress Lindsay Lohan or, if she is busy with other duties, super-fantastic and amazingly talented multi-media prodigy Paris Hilton will sit in for her. At the end of the season, the remaining contestants will gather for a “Survivor”-type reunion show, where they will compete for valuable prizes, including—and these are two exciting examples—hunting trips with Dick “Deadeye” Cheney and being chauffeured by Patrick (or possibly Ted) Kennedy.

Now, you may think this plan is just plain silly, or that it shows a pretty poor understanding of the Constitution. If so, you haven’t been paying attention for the past 5 years, 7 months and, as I write this, 7 days: The Constitution has basically become that last crumpled tissue in the bottom of the Kleenex® box, the one that you’re never quite sure if your creepy cousin Norman, the kid who puts half-eaten chocolates back in the box, has already used. In other words, I see no reason I can’t do as I damn well please.

So even though I plan to replace the FEC, in its entirety, with David None of the Above Gatchell, the IRS and GSA with Santiago Montoya and the FBI with two anonymous cops and Cameron Evans (in full pizza-delivery regalia), I also plan, in keeping with recent tradition, to run this country as brainlessly as possible.

The restaurant where I like to hang out has an outdoor seating area. I have noticed that this area is NEVER OPEN when the weather is truly nice. The general manager, whom we’ll call “Michael,” because “shit-for-brains” is rude, apparently gets scared of opening the patio if there’s even the eensiest, teensiest chance of sunlight damaging the plastic tablecloths. This is the kind of management know-how I want to bring to the White House.

With that in mind, I think you should know that I plan to hire as FEMA consultants the borough council of Pottstown PA, which authorized the purchase of a fire truck and then evidently forgot about it. So when the fire chief reported the truck had been ordered, the esteemed council was chewing him a fiduciary new one until they looked at the minutes of that meeting (“3:00—Council Martini Hour; 4:30— Countsil membur Berry and Concil Prezadent Wolf said wanna buy a firetruck? Shur, why the hellll not past by unimoas umanu everbodie sed yes. 4:35—happy hour YAY beer!”) and realized what they’d done.

These guys were in the running to be the TSA, incidentally, but I finally decided that it would be just as, if not more, efficient to simply to give all airline passengers a form (which they MUST SIGN, or, you know, else) which will look like this:

Whew. We’ve covered a lot of ground today, so I won’t bother with the details of my plan to bail out the ailing Oil Industry until next time. Suffice it to say that of course it will involve actress Lindsay Lohan. Or Paris Hilton.

Whatever.

Gotta go; my firetruck’s here.