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Ari Fleischer Can Kiss My Ass

from the renegade files of Scotto

Editorial from Trip - the Journal of Psychedelic Culture #8 (winter 2002)

I need to be very clear about this, because unsubstantiated rumors are already swirling around on the World Wide Inter-Web, and my henchmen can only stop so many of these rumors with their usual clever mix of intimidation tactics and large payouts of strange white powder. So here is the truth, once and for all: yes, I was offered the position of Director of the Office of Homeland Security.

You may remember in the hours immediately following the awful attacks of September 11, 2001, that the President was incommunicado for a while, as he flew from one military base to another. Well, it's time for the truth to come out: President Bush actually flew to my secret bunker underneath the mountains just outside of Cedar Falls, Iowa, where my personal sushi chef and my small army of Filipino slave girls attended to our every need. In those hours, it was I who first suggested to President Bush that he might well need to rethink the problem from a completely new vantage point. My first suggestion - pave the entire Earth and move the human race to the space ark that the aliens have hidden behind the dark side of the moon - did not go over well with the damn "Earth first!" members of Bush's Cabinet, who still seem to believe the deal JFK struck with the aliens won't hold up in an interdimensional court of law. The fact remains: JFK's signature on that document means we're going for a long, permanent ride on that space ark eventually no matter what; he sold out the Earth's oxygen supply in exchange for his own little one-way trip to the Dimension of Hexagonal Lust, his robot double got whacked to cover his absence, and the aliens are due to collect in 2012. The real question is: why do'’t we just pave the Earth first, spend a few years driving around really, really fast, and then blow this Popsicle stand? I don't think the Bush administration is up for asking hard questions like this.

So that's when I suggested creating the Office of Homeland Security. Apparently some people still think "law enforcement" and "intelligence" are reasonable ways to keep all the damn crazies and assholes out of this great land of ours. Well, forget it, people. My idea at the time was building an enormous electrified barb wire fence that goes around the entire country. What the United States also needs is a very, very large sign, probably suspended from orbit somehow, that says "THIS COUNTRY PROTECTED BY ACME HOME SECURITY SYSTEMS!" These signs work like a charm for keeping burglars out of rich people's houses, and will undoubtedly also keep crazies and assholes out of this great land of ours, especially if the sign is in the shape of a police badge.

I guess the idea of an Office of National Security kind of stuck with President Bush, because once he got back to DC, he started calling me and bugging me to actually run the damn thing. The problem is, I can't stand his press secretary, Ari Fleischer. You may remember the whole scandal with Bill Maher, host of Politically Incorrect, getting scolded by Ari Fleischer for having an unpopular opinion and then having the audacity to express it. Fleischer stated: "It's a terrible thing to say, and it's unfortunate. There are reminders to all Americans that they need to watch what they say, watch what they do, and this is not a time for remarks like that; there never is."

Oh really.

With all due respect, Ari "Would Someone Please Get This Broom Handle Out Of My Ass?" Fleischer, we the American people will continue irritating the shit out of you for the rest of our natural lives, what with our wacky "“ideas" and our zany "freedom of speech," long after you and the entire American government is finally replaced by the alien leaders who will supervise our exit to the space ark with their Electric Human Prods of Shameful Delight. You can keep fighting your war on drugs and your war on terrorism, but don't you fucking dare tell us what to think or when to say what we think. Despite every recommendation I've made to every secretly convened Congressional panel I've faced over the last 142 years of my unnatural, strange-white-powder preserved life, this great land of ours remains a democracy, not a totalitarian regime where you, Ari "Please, It Hurts So Much Up There!" Fleischer, get to wear a funny mustache and march around in shiny boots ordering your minions to do the yard work and take out the trash and, oh, when you get around to it, round up all the dissidents and have them shot out by the garage. This world is bad enough already, without you trying to shut all the smart people up.

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