Now This?! What Next?!

Front Page: I was floored when I saw the New York Times this morning. It featured a puff piece - as all New York Times articles are, since Judith Miller and Jayson Blair left - on Homeland Security's new secret weapon.



That's right, we're arming dolphins now. Don't they see the slippery slope down which this could lead?!

When I was president, we never allowed the Second Amendment to be desecrated like this - simply, for aquatic creatures, bearing arms is a privilege, not a right. But now we're treating these dolphins as though they're our allies. How do we know that? Did that good-for-nothing mole Flipper finally score us some valuable information? I doubt it.

More likely, just as we've seen in the Middle East, the weapons we give those dolphins will probably just get used against us. They'll wait for global warming to cause a rise in the oceans so that they can infiltrate our territory more easily, and then they'll strike with the lasers that we just gave to them. Boom - we're dead from dolphin attack.

Plus, those guys are smart. Who wants to bet that they develop nuclear technology before either North Korea or Iran? Let's send weapons inspectors underwater as soon as we can - we might already be too late. The only other possibility is to use another undercover agent who can work his way unnoticed into the hierarchy of the dolphin regime and shift their attitudes towards Americans. I think there's only one man for the job.



There is no Soviet domination of Eastern Europe,
Gerry

I Have Caused Much Suffering

Front Page: I feel pretty bad about having "died." I mean, sure, I miss my wife and kids and I wish they knew that I'm still kicking around. And I'm kind of angry at McCain - he paid me a bazillion dollars to keep me from running for election, and the next thing he does is ardently back Bush's troop surge? Yeah, agreeing with Bush is electoral gold, John. Way to torpedo yourself. Are you going to convert to Mormonism next?

But the person I feel most bad about is the person who seems mostly deeply affected by my untimely "demise."



That's right, Britney Spears. Apparently, I am to her as Diana Ross is to Michael Jackson.

Now, I have to tell her that I was not completely bald. If she'd wanted to duplicate my look, she should have left plenty of hair on either side. Like so:



A forgivable mistake, though. I mean, come on - she's in mourning, and it's all my fault. Part of me is tempted to send some communication to her, but the McCain campaign (hey, that rhymes!) told me I can't get in touch with the outside world; I can only use my blog. But if anyone who reads this knows her, tell her that I'm okay, all right? Oh, and that I wore underwear whenever I went out partying.

There is no Soviet domination of Eastern Europe,
Gerry

Babel On

Gerry's Corner: Well, as everyone knows, it's awards season in Hollywood, and with the Oscars coming up, I've realized once again that I hate the movie industry and everything for which it stands. (Maybe that's over-dramatizing a bit, but come on - I'm allowed a little literary showmanship! It's my blog, after all.) When the nominees were announced, I found that I'd inadvertently already seen two of the films up for Best Picture: Little Miss Sunshine - you can read what I thought of that here and The Queen. Now, I had liked The Queen, but that was mostly because I never thought it would get a Best Picture nod. I mean, to me, getting nominated in that category is a bit like getting kissed by death. If the Hollywood elite love something, it usually means I won't. The Queen seemed like a safe bet - gossipy, dowdy, and British, but no Dame Judi Dench in sight. It looked a bit like a made-for-BBC movie. I thought for sure I could enjoy it. Well, there goes that theory. Now, I'll have to dislike it out of hand.

Dukakis, still sore from the fact that I'd beaten him our most recent grappling match, accused me of being racist.



"You heard me, Gerry. Just because something gets nominated for Best Picture doesn't mean it'll be trash. Look at Moonstruck, starring my cousin, Olympia Dukakis. You're trying to judge a book by its cover."



"Am not, Dukakis. I'm merely judging a movie by the award for which it's been nominated."



"You're missing the point, Gerry. Do you think, when I personally let Willie Horton out on a weekend furlough specifically to rape and rob a woman, that I thought it was a bad idea? Of course I did. But I didn't want to be accused of being racist, so I let him go have his fun."



"I see where that got you."



"I'm good at standing on principle and beating around the bush."



"If only you'd been better at beating Bush."



"That's a cheap shot. Here, Gerry, I'll offer you this challenge. I'll choose two Best Picture nominees and one non-Best Picture nominee. We'll watch them together—"



"Will you make me popcorn?"



"What? Sure, popcorn, the whole nine yards. And if you think—"



"It's actually ten yards, Mike."



"It's just an expression, Gerry."



"Well, it's an inaccurate expression, Mike. If I'd known it was still going to get all popular like this, I would have signed a law banning it during my presidency."



"Focus, Gerry! All right, so I won't tell you which movie is which, and if you honestly think that the non-Best Picture nominee is better than either of the Best Picture nominees, then I'll shave my eyebrows off."



"Ha, ha! Funny-looking Dukakis."



"That's right, funny-looking Dukakis. And if you pick one of the two Best Picture-nominated films as your favorite of the three, you have to tell everyone that I am superior at grappling."



"But - oh, come on, Mikey."



"It's a fair bet, man. You come on."

So we went to see Babel. I could guess right away that it had been nominated for Best Picture, because it was terrible. Just - words can't describe, and I'm no librarian, so I probably wouldn't be able to figure out what words to use to describe it anyway. Here, I'll try and summarize the plot for you: Cate Blanchett, playing a frosty wife to a bearded Brad Pitt, gets shot by a Moroccan kid who's supposed to be herding goats and shooting at jackals, except that he mistakes a tour bus for a jackal. The gun was indirectly from a Japanese safari hunter guy, whose daughter is an oversexed deaf-mute (but the gun connects them!). Meanwhile, Brad & Cate's children's nanny takes them south of the border, to Mexico, for her son's wedding, except that her nephew freaks out at customs on the way back and tosses them out in the middle of the desert, which leads to the nanny getting deported. What would have been great is if those kids had turned out to be the ones that shot Brad & Cate - their own parents! What symmetry! Alas, it was the Moroccan kid who had all the fun. The message was supposed to be that not all Arab-looking folks are terrorists, but I saw the message as this: they can't help killing people with their guns!

Anyway, I hated hated hated that movie. Dukakis is one step closer to shaving his eyebrows. I told him he should shave one since I was already winning. He told me to go to hell. I told him that hanging out with him made me feel like I was already there. Then, he gave me a noogie. After that, we debated how to spell 'noogie.' (Dukakis insisted it was n-o-u-g-i-e. He may be booksmart, but I bet he got a lot of noogies in his school days.) Then, we grappled to a tie.

There is no Soviet domination of Eastern Europe,
Gerry

Under Attack

Gerry's Corner: It sure is a lot tougher to blog regularly when you're presumed to be dead. I've had to wear disguises whenever I go to the internet cafés near my secret location. Hats, scarves, Uggs. It can be exhausting to be secretly alive.

Front Page: I know that many of you were breathlessly hoping that I would write chapter one of Gerry and Not-Betty: A Love Story, but I've decided to hold off on that. For one thing, it wouldn't be fair for me to write my side of our romance without giving Not-Betty the opportunity to offer her own perspective, but since she doesn't know I'm living and breathing, it's probably not feasible for that to happen. I'll work on that, though. Maybe I'll have a guest blogger who's in on our little secret write as though he was her and channel her love for me.

For another thing, though, how can we continue on today as we had in previous days, now that we live in a new and frightening America? I certainly no longer take my life for granted, now that yet another terrorist attack has been perpetrated on domestic soil. Even more terrible, the enemy doesn't look like any that we've seen before:



These suicide bombing America-haters spread themselves all over downtown Boston two days ago, stopping traffic and menacing the populace. Once again, the police and fire departments acted as heroes, rushing towards the conflagration while the average citizens sat paralyzed, many in states of cynical bemusement brought on by the liberal elites in the media. But Boston's finest only uncovered the tip of the iceberg - these destructive devices have infiltrated the retail market! Before you know it, kids will be training for jihad by constructing their own similar devices. We may already be too late.

The worst part is that it's pretty clear that the men who brought this new wave of terror to our country were not even intellectually powerful or especially crafty. I mean, come on now:



Look at them!

These are the schmucks who we're spending billions of dollars in Iraq to protect ourselves against?! They're laughing at us. And we're letting them! Why have we not hung them like Saddam, or one of his associates whose head was so loosely attached that it popped off like a dandelion when he was dropped through the gallows? It's been 48 hours or so - the United States demands swift justice. Anything less is unconscionable.

At least there are some people who understand the significance of today's strike:



Gerry's Corner Redux: One last thing. A confession. Two days ago, back in the pre-1/31 world, Dukakis and I were playing a sweaty game of grappling. We were doing it old-school. Singlets, no brass knuckles, no technical takedowns. But man, the next morning my back was killing me. And over and over in my head, I was hearing Dukakis's voice in my head. Your pros don't outweigh your cons. Say my name, Gerry. You were never elected president. Your pros don't outweigh your cons. Say my name. The pain was too much for me to bear. I took three Advils, all at once. I know you're supposed to only take two at a time, but I couldn't help it. You were never elected president. Never mind that Dukakis had been a spectacular failure as a candidate - at least he'd gotten to ride around in a tank. Not me. Not good ol' Gerry Ford. I'd pardoned Nixon, but why couldn't I pardon myself?

Anyway, the three Advils deadened the pain, at least in my back. Since it's an over-the-counter drug, it's not particularly lethal, after all. Next time I grapple with Dukakis, maybe I'll make him have to take some advanced medicine for pain. Unless we're both off fighting terrorists on their turf, here in our new world.

There is no Soviet domination of Eastern Europe,
Gerry